Young Writers Society

If they were going to be undercover it wouldn't do to to have a military escort with the quartet. Devlin was relieved that while Xerdex didn't seem too eager to help, he had given enough coin to get a pair of rooms and comfortably be fed for at least a few days. Devlin had a feeling that things would go south before then. Miles insisted on giving Gwyn one of the rooms to herself as a matter of privacy. And so Devlin and Miles found themselves outside of an upstairs room in The Blacksmith's Tavern. They let Malcolm unlock the heavy lock and go in, but as Devlin was about to enter Miles put a hand to his chest.

"Wait. We need to talk," he whispered

"About what? Devlin said. Does he know who Xerdex is?

"About what we're going to do. About how you want to find this Eridan. About what to do with these two children."

Devlin breathed a sigh of relief. "Malcolm wants in on this. It's personal for him. I'm not going to stand in his way for revenge."

"Why is that? He's not combat ready, he's just an emotionally unstable child."

"No he's not. He's a young man who just lost everything. And if we don't keep him close he's going to go on his own and possibly ruin everything, because he doesn't have a clue how to get what he wants right now."

"And you think keeping him close to the chest is the best move? Why not talk to the Magistrate? See if we can't get him and Gwyn shipped to the capitol. I don't like the idea of having two young civilians caught up in whatever it is we are caught up in. And let's be honest, we don't know exactly what's going on here either."

Devlin shook his head. "Xerdex isn't going to do that for us. I had a hard enough time getting these rooms and not a jail cell. I'm not pressing that luck. We might need it in the coming days. Malcolm and Gwyn will be fine."

Miles snorted. "I don't think anyone is going to be fine for a long time, least of all those two."

Devlin shook his head. " Not very uplifting for a jester."

"Minstrel. I don't just aim to humor. I aim to touch the heart."

"Well, Minstrel, what say you we go down and touch some hearts."

Miles chuckled. "That I can agree to."

Devlin opened the door to their room. Two narrow beds hugged walls on either side with a small end table between them. A window with open shutters sat above it, giving a perfect eyeline to the fingernail moon. Malcolm had lit the lantern on the end table that was enough light to illuminate the entire room. Devlin could see Miles doing the quick math in his head as soon as he entered.

"Don't worry, I'll take the floor. Believe me, it'll be better than the frozen mountain ground I've been sleeping on. And we all know Miles needs his beauty sleep."

"They say it makes your hair grow back faster."

Devlin laughed, for the first time in what seemed like a long time. "Perhaps you shouldn't perform so late at night anymore."

"Ah, but that's when the mind is most loose, the will to defend least strong. That's when you get to see who a man truly is. The inhibition has dropped and all that remains is raw emotion."

"When you sing your best?"

Miles eyes narrowed. He smirked. "When those listening are most open to talk."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

By the time Miles had talked to the innkeeper about performing it was already late and many had left for the night. Those with jobs less dependent on beating the sun to rise, and perhaps a few with no job, or any place to go, stuck around, mostly drinking. Malcolm and Devlin had ordered food. Devlin got a platter of fish while Malcolm had wrinkled his nose and opted for a basic meaty stew and bread. Malcolm headed for the nearest table, but Devlin put a hand on his shoulder.

"Follow me."

Devlin led them to a table in the corner, up against the wall with a view of the entire first floor including the main entrance and the door leading to the kitchen and back entrances. Malcolm sat down, but despite his hunger he got off one question first before diving into the stew.

"Why'd we do that?"

Devlin sprinkled some seasonings on his fish. "It's always good to see the whole room. Easiest to observe everyone. You're out of the way as well. People pay less attention to you." He knocked the butt of his knife on the wall behind them. "No one can sneak up on you either. It's safest all around. You can see all your exit points."

Malcolm frowned. "I thought we were safe here. You're not even wearing your military overcoat. Why would anyone come after us?"

"Always take precaution when possible. It never hurts to be safe, but it might pay to not be."

Malcolm wolfed down his stew while Devlin slowly cut and ate his fish, removing bone as he went. He flagged down a barmaid and ordered a beer for himself and a water Malcolm.

"You know my fath-" Malcolm's voice caught in his throat. "He would let me drink all the time."

Devlin said nothing. He took another bite of his fish. Miles was tuning his lute near the front of the bar. Malcolm's gaze was floating around the room. His arms were crossed and Devlin noticed his leg shaking.

"Are you nervous?"

Malcolm cocked his head to his side/

Devlin gestured to his leg. "The shaking. Are you nervous."

"No," Malcolm growled.

"Then what are you?"

Malcolm said nothing.

"You know, I did the same thing the entire way over from Gormica when I was a small child."

"You weren't born here?"

"No. I was born in a little seaside port called Artheuoan. I was brought over when I was five."

"Brought over? With your family?"

"No. A mentor, I suppose you could call him. His name was Bera-Thuin. He knew my parents."

"Did you know your parents?" Malcolm spoke with a quiet reverence, something that Devlin had not seen out of him up to this point.

"My mother. I never met my father."

"What happened?"

"He was arrested for thievery and conspiracy. Sent off to gods-know-where. I've always assumed he's dead."

"Conspiracy? What did he do?"

Devlin scoffed. "Provide for his family."

Malcolm sighed. "Do you miss him?"

Devlin sank back in his chair and stared as the ceiling. "As much one can for someone they never met. I don't miss a personality, a memory or a person. I miss the ideal. The opportunity of what my life could have been. Of who my father was, and of what we could have done together."

Miles began to sing, a soft ballad about a girl and boy falling in love on a river's edge. It was a classic love song. Malcolm wrinkled his nose. Devlin noticed.

"Not your style?"

"Not really."

"Perhaps not the most relatable to us in a time such as this."

"I had a girl I liked when I was younger. But unlike this song, she wasn't fair as a sunrise and sweet as honey. More like mockthistle."

Devlin's eyebrows raised. "Didn't end so well? What's mockthistle?"

"It's a plant. Sweet enough when you first taste it but then it turns bitter the more you chew it."

"And this girl, she was sweet?"

"She seemed that way." Malcolm shook his head and his voiced hardened. "But then she betrayed me. She was selfish and needy."

"And how did she betray you?"

"She ruined my family. Disgraced my father. And now he's dead, and she's still alive." His voice faltered and tears welled in his eyes.

The pieces began to slide into place. "Carris? I know that you said you were friends. But you wre romantically interested as well?"

Malcolm met his gaze through blurry eyes. "I looked after her like few would, and that still wasn't good enough for her. I hope she did die on her way here. She deserves it. She and Eridan both do. We both had our fathers' taken away from us. We can both make it right. Who was yours taken by?"

Devlin steeled his jaw. "General Bouillon. Sea Commandant of The Royal Astorian Fleet."

And Magistrate of Atheron.

"Astoria? But..." his voice trailed off.

"Yes, I'm in their army. Life is funny like that sometimes. But as a wolf, to catch a sheep you must sometimes dress as one."

"And have you caught your sheep yet?"

"No. But the flock is near."

Devlin sat forward and smiled as the barmaid approached with their drinks. He thanked her and took a swig. It was perfectly acceptable beer, certainly not above average. But paying for it with Bouillon's coin made it much, much sweeter. One could say the opposite of mockthistle. He offered the mug to Malcolm.

"I believe that we will have our revenge sooner than you know, and we will drink a draught of victory and justice. But for now, let's drink one of resolve and commitment. Our fathers did not die in vain. We will not live in vain."