Holsley cringed at the familiar hums of boisterous conversation, hardy laughter, and mugs clinking. The Smiling Bard was fit to bursting by the time he had made it back, and he rushed through the door as if his life depended on it.

  Dan wasn’t standing behind the bar. Holsley frantically searched for him, but the legendary bard wasn’t amongst the crowd. Instead, he found the boar-like Daldorra behind manning the counter. She was frantically passing out foaming mugs of ale to the overwhelming horde of patrons. She caught his eye and gave him a stern leer.

  Holsley slipped under the bar and got to work. He grabbed wooden mugs and, two at a time, pressed them against the tap of the barrels. It must have been quite the rush today. The rag bucket was already filled to the top and overflowing from where the spilled swill had been cleaned up. He could practically taste the alcohol soaking through it.

  ‘You’re late,’ Daldorra huffed, not turning to regard him. She took a coin from a man across the bar before handing him his ale.

  ‘I lost track of time.’ Holsley glanced over the heads of the patrons and finally laid eyes on Dan. The old bard was preparing himself on the stage near the window. He spotted Holsley and gave him a firm shake of his head.

  Holsley gulped.

  Everything went quiet when Dan strummed the first note. The crowd became instantly transfixed, and suddenly, the bar seemed less demanding. Some returned to their chairs, and others leaned against the counter, but not one shied away from the sudden chorus of music. Dan strummed again, slow and captivating.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ he said, laughing, roving his eyes across the crowds. ‘What’s the matter with you lot? Ain’t you got jobs to go to or something?’

  Some laughter erupted at that.

  ‘Alright.’ Dan took a swig from the tankard sitting next to him on a stool, then cleared his throat. ‘I’m going to dedicate this one to our own bar boy, Holsley, who never seems to be around for a rush of rotgut swingers.’

  Dan swung into the redrose lute, bringing the tavern to life with the sound of music. His fingers deftly teased the strings, and he broke out into song. Holsley stopped to watch him for a moment. He was incredible. Absolutely incredible. Holsley felt him grow sad. It suddenly occurred to him that he might never be that good, not with all the practice in the world.

  ‘Oi!’ Daldorra barked at him, snapping him from his moment. ‘Drinks!’

  Minutes passed quickly, and the crowd became tempered. Eventually, they managed to get everyone served and away from the bar. A few stragglers lingered to refresh their tankards, but mostly, the task was done. Holsley wiped the sweat from his brow as the crowd applauded Dan, and the old bard took a little bow.

  Holsley gulped again when he saw Dan hop off the stage and march towards him.

  ‘Right. With me.’ Dan beckoned Holsley to follow with his finger. ‘Dally, do me a favour and watch the bar.’

  Daldorra nodded dutifully.

  Holsley very reluctantly followed Dan to his room. Once inside, Dan pointed him to the bed and crossed his arms. Holsley had seen that look on Dan’s face before. It was the one reserved only for when he had to be a strict disciplinarian, like when Holsley had accidentally broken one of his flutes.

  ‘You’re late,’ he said simply. ‘Why?’

  ‘I just got caught up playing.’ Holsley shrugged innocently, taking a seat on the bed. ‘I didn’t realise what time it was. Sorry.’

  ‘You were with Roland Darrow again, weren’t you?’

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  ‘No!’ Holsley protested. ‘Honest. I was playing.’

  ‘Yeah, where were you playing then?’

  Holsley froze. His first thought was to say the markets, but that would have been a mistake. Dan knew he and Roland frequented there. He thought on it. He could say the balconies, but by the time he came up with that believable lie, enough time had passed for Dan to catch on that he wasn’t being truthful.

  ‘Holsley.’ He stamped his foot. ‘It’s one thing to meet up with the ruffian, but it’s another thing entirely to lie about it. So, you two were in the markets today, then.’

  ‘Yes,’ Holsley replied, defeated. ‘Sorry.’

  A bell rang out in the tavern, the one reserved for calling last orders. This was followed by the scattering of feet. Unusual for this time of day. Both of them ignored it for the moment.

  ‘What were you two doing?’ Dan asked sternly. ‘Tell me truthfully.’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Holsley!’

  ‘Fine, we stole a firelighter.’

  ‘A firelighter?’ Dan raised an eyebrow. ‘From who?’

  ‘Uh.’ Holsley massaged his shoulder like there was suddenly an ache there. Dan stared daggers at him, and when the young bard looked up into his eyes, his resolve melted away like ice in a fire. ‘Kythos Ravenpeak.’

  Dan did a double blink. ‘What?’

  ‘It was Roland’s idea,’ Holsley moaned. ‘And we weren’t caught or anything.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Dan rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘Are you telling me that you stole a firelighter from a tubhead? Sorry, not even a tubhead. A bloody Ravenspeak? Holsley, out of all the stupid things you’ve ever done, this has to be—’

  There was a knock at the door.

  Holsley hadn’t noticed it until now, but the pub outside his room had grown suddenly quiet as if the people had left. Angrily, Dan marched towards the door and found Daldorra standing on the other side. Her face was grim.

  ‘There’s some tubheads here,’ she said, dourly. The dwarf glanced over at Holsley. ‘They’re looking for Holsley.’

  ‘You stay in here.’ Dan pointed at Holsley before he paced back out into the pub. He had left the door open ajar, though, and Holsley rushed to it in order to peer out and take in the scene that was unfolding.

  Dan moved down the stairs, Daldorra close behind him. Across the way, standing at the entrance of the front door, there were tubheads — the same ones from the markets. The tavern room was empty now, and Holsley could guess why. Most people didn’t like tubheads on the best of days, but down here in the alleys, they actively fled from them.

  Holsley was in trouble. He knew that instantly. Kythos could only be here if he had learned who Holsley was and where he lived. If Kythos found him here, there would be big trouble. What he hadn’t told Dan is that Kythos was no longer any regular tubhead; he was actually a Ward Captain, and stealing from them carried a pretty hefty penalty.

  Death.

  Heart aching, stomach churning, skin itchy, Holsley quickly drew up a plan in his head. There was a surefire way out of the situation, and he didn’t hesitate to act. The young bard knew he couldn’t get into trouble if he wasn’t caught. So, with that in mind, he gathered up his lute and made a dash for the window.

  He wasn’t very good at climbing, but fortunately he had done this a hundred times before. The young bard exited over the windowsill and wound up on the second story of the old tavern. Carefully, he navigated his way across it just as he heard sounds from inside.

  Holsley had seen enough barfights to know when the furniture was being kicked around. The tubheads were tumbling tables and chairs, most likely in order to find him. Stupid, he thought, there’s no way he’d be underneath a table. Still, he needed to move. It would be only a matter of time before they gave up on overturning tables and decided to search upstairs for him.

  The roof creaked under his weight but held strong until he reached the corner of the building. There was a pipe, one that led down the side of the wall and into a barrel full of water. The young bard grasped the pipe and positioned his feet towards the wall. Then, hand over hand, he guided himself down.

  CRASH.

  At the last five feet, Holsley slipped and fell from the wall. He hit the barrel at speed and rolled into the weed-ridden cobblestones. He let out a restrained growl of pain. That had hurt something fierce. Holsley nursed his now bruised side as he stood up and stumbled away into the nearest alley.

  Above him, he heard a crack on one of the rooftops. Holsley looked up, fearing a tubhead might be nearby. He saw nothing. Shrugging, he continued and was soon lost to the buildings around him. If tubheads came looking, they wouldn’t be able to find him now that he was within the labyrinthine series of alleyways.

  From there, Holsley’s plan was simple. The tubheads would search the tavern and find no signs of him. Dan would charm them. He’d lay low for about half an hour and then return. Dan would probably yell at him, and he would probably deserve it, but it would be nothing that couldn’t be made up over a cup of tea and a few more lessons on the lute.

  This time, he wouldn’t seek Roland out. That had been the cause of the trouble. Instead, Holsley decided that he would actually go to the balconies nearby and sit in the gardens and practice his lute. He shifted the instrument on his shoulder, the strap cutting into his skin. This time when he returned, he wouldn’t have to lie to Dan about where he had been.

  Holsley stole away, never knowing what he was going to return to.