As his hand reached for the door, Bird paused, drawing in a long breath. Just four days’ ride out of Buhlent, but it felt like four hundred. The chaos of the city streets and the vibrant tapestry of every race and culture the Eastern continent had to offer were long gone. This far inland, civilization was a patchwork of small, mostly human communities varying wildly in tolerance and perspective. This town was wedged between the foothills of the Glimmerstone mountains and the Shand.

  What is this place called again? Doesn’t matter.

  He knew the pub was still the best place to source information and funds. The familiar apprehension made his whiskers twitch. I wonder what reaction I’ll get today—curiosity or contempt?

  He looked at his companion, a female halfling named Whydah, mildly resentful that she always fared better. Not quite as small as a gnome, her human-like features allowed her to blend in more successfully, especially when accompanied by a six-foot talking black house cat.

  He offered a silent question in his raised brows. She looked up to meet his gaze, brushing her light brown pixie cut off her forehead before subtly nodding her head in response, and he pressed inside, ducking below the door frame. He’d learned that lesson the hard way several times since landing on the continent.

  Not a bad crowd for mid-week, and the sun hasn’t even dipped. His yellow eyes darted quickly, reading the room for some indication of the type of evening to expect. A low purr rumbled in his throat, seeing a blend of farmers and travelers of both sexes with a couple of dwarves and elves mixed in for good measure. The ubiquitous pause when he entered any tavern was shorter than usual, with most everyone returning to their briefly interrupted conversation unconcerned. This is a good start.

  He took in their surroundings, formulating rapid conclusions that would shape the rest of the evening. The place itself was utilitarian and unpretentious, from the dim lighting to the barren walls. Primitive hewn wooden tables and benches, boasting a rich patina of time and use, dotted the interior, while a basic bar counter occupied one end. The walls and ceiling were adorned with bundles of plants in various stages of desiccation, likely drying for cooking or medicinal purposes, or perhaps to blunt the general reek of pub that found his nostrils regardless.

  Glancing towards the other end of the room, he spied his prize—a small musician’s area currently littered with extra tables and supplies. A young woman in her mid-teens flitted among the crowd, bringing drinks and food to the patrons. Judging from the family resemblance, her father was behind the bar. As he approached, the man broke into a smile.

  “Welcome to Barrel’s Wash. I’m the proprietor, Egon Barrel. What’ll it be?”

  A glance behind the man reminded him again of the limitations of their current geography. In Buhlent, he would have chosen a shot of Neverclear, particularly if the establishment had the catnip-infused variety, or perhaps one of the chic ‘cantails’—cocktails imbued with minor magical cantrips that were currently all the rage. There would be none of that here. Bird could see immediately that The Barrel was only a horn-and-bottle joint, offering ale by the horn or local whiskey by the bottle, with nothing more complicated apparent among the crowd.

  Despite knowing the answer, he cast a sidelong glance in Whydah’s direction. “Ale?”

  She smirked, appreciating that he never assumed, even after countless drinks in countless pubs. Receiving the slightest of nods in reply, he held up two fingers to the bartender.

  Egon reached under the counter to retrieve two clean horns.

  “Coming right up. I didn’t catch your name…”

  “This is Whydah, and I am Singing Bird, but you can just call me Bird.”

  The rolled ‘r’ in his name announced an accent different from that of the proprietor and not local.

  “Bird…but you’re a cat…” Egon’s voice trailed off with a quizzical smile.

  “A Tabby, yes, with a natural conversation starter!”

  Egon chuckled. Unable to resist the opportunity for a dad joke, he shifted his gaze to Whydah, who had scrambled up onto a barstool, putting herself almost at eye-level with the proprietor.

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  “Are you sure you’re old enough for ale, young lady?”

  Bird winced. Whydah’s slightly declined head, single raised eyebrow, and icy side-eye did their job, rapidly shutting down the proprietor’s awkward chuckle at his own joke.

  Egon muttered something about being right back as he moved to the other end of the bar where a tapped keg lay on its side on a rear shelf. He promptly returned, both horn handles in one hand, grabbing a small towel from a stack beside the keg and dropping it in front of them before serving their drinks. Its purpose became immediately apparent as the ale sloshed out of the over-filled horns with a flourish as part of the presentation.

  “That’ll be 4 coppers, please.”

  Bird fished a slim coin purse out of his leathers. Running low. We’ll fix that soon enough.

  Egon nodded in appreciation as Bird passed him the coins, then asked, “Will yous be wantin’ supper?”

  The tabby’s ears pricked up at his word choice. Interesting. He masks his local speech with outsiders to build rapport, but he slipped.

  “Not just now, perhaps in a bit.” His response was smooth, offering no hint of the observation.

  The proprietor nodded in confirmation. “Last orders for food at eight. Maeve has a lovely roast lamb tonight if you’re interested.”

  Egon sized the two of them up with genuine curiosity. “So, what brings you two to our little town?”

  Bird leaned towards the heavyset man across the bar to create an air of secrecy.

  “My partner and I are treasure hunters,” his voice barely audible above the clatter and din of the pub. “We love a good mystery, as much for the story as the coin.”

  “How exciting! And, you think there’s treasure here, in Preeble?”

  Preeble! That was the name!

  “Not exactly.” The cat paused, considering how much to reveal. “We heard whispers in Buhlent about something…” he made quotes in the air with his fingers “…very valuable, hidden somewhere in the mountains around here. Is there any truth to that?”

  The proprietor held his gaze, stone-faced, for a moment before bursting into a belly laugh. That pause was just a hair too long. He knows something.

  “Around here? That’s a good one, Mr. Bird!” he sputtered through the laughter. “Look around.” His hand swept the crowd. “About the most valuable thing in Preeble is Gena Corson’s cow. It won a blue ribbon at the county fair.”

  The tabby pressed him further, looking for another slip.

  “No local legends…mysterious goings-on...or more strangers in town than usual?”

  Egon shook his head as he idly wiped the bar’s already clean surface. “Sorry to disappoint you!” His gaze returned to meet the cat’s. “I wish I could say there were. It would make life a lot more exciting!”

  Anticipating the gap in conversation, Whydah spoke for the first time.

  “Is that a stage down at the other end?” She turned her head and pointed over her left shoulder.

  “What? Oh, yes, indeed it is, though we don’t get many musicians here at The Barrel, as you can tell by the state of it. I don’t think we’ve had any performers since last harvest when Elmer’s lad and a couple of his friends got up and did their best on feast night.” The proprietor’s head tilted in recognition. “Why do you ask? Are you musicians?”

  “Well, I am,” Whydah replied. “He’s the voice.”

  Only a hint of judgment that time, she’s getting better.

  “Ahh, well, there you go, Mr. Bird, that makes up for some of the irony of your name!”

  “Not exactly,” Bird sighed. “It’s more of a spoken word storytelling act, set to her music.”

  Egon raised his eyebrows, a slow nod complementing his grin.

  “Yes, I thank my parents every day, Mr. Barrel,” Bird smiled sarcastically.

  “Were you two looking to perform tonight?”

  “If you’ll allow us—just busking for coins, of course.” Whydah forced an influencing and hopeful smile onto her lips, which Bird knew to be purely for show.

  She’s getting better at that, too!

  “I don’t see why not!” the barkeep chirped enthusiastically. “It’s been a while, and I’ll bet the crowd would love it…something different!” Egon lifted his chin and spoke loudly past them, “Gella, can you make room on the stage when you get a minute, please? We’re going to have live music tonight!”

  The girl turned immediately, attuned to her father’s voice through the din of the pub, and nodded before distributing steaming plates of lamb, potatoes, and gravy to a table of four.

  “Maybe we will have some lamb before going on—if that’s ok?”

  Now it was Whydah’s turn to raise her eyebrows to him in an unspoken question. With a reassuring look, Bird retrieved one of the two remaining coins he had been rubbing together under his leathers and placed it on the bar. He felt optimistic about the evening’s prospects in more ways than one.

  “Of course, Mr. Bird!” Again, Egon lifted his head, shouting to his daughter across the pub, “Gella, two specials down here!”, his outstretched hand gesturing above their heads.

  Bird continued to watch him as the proprietor deftly turned his attention to two new customers approaching the bar, welcoming them in his universally optimistic tone. Entirely genuine. Over his shoulder, he heard Whydah.

  “How about there?”

  He turned to see her pointing to a small table against the wall, halfway down the bar.

  “Perfect.”

  He got Egon’s attention and wordlessly signaled their new seating destination in the universal pointing language of pubgoers everywhere. Answered with a confirming nod from the proprietor, the pair picked up their packs and horns, threading their way through the modest crowd to the vacant seats.

  They were indeed perfect. With their backs against the wall, a few feet from the door, and seated across from each other, their perch allowed for subtle observation of everyone in The Barrel.

  Far enough from the next table that quiet conversation wouldn’t be overheard, and should they need to make a hasty exit, that wasn’t far either. As an added benefit, Whydah’s legs didn’t dangle as obviously from the small benches. This will do nicely.

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