Chapter 28

Most of the businesses had been abandoned in the small village located at the crossroads of two minor roads. There was a market that looked like it hadn’t seen a trading day in months. Slaves didn’t go to the market, while slave owners brought in goods by the wagon-load from larger towns. An abandoned building that might have been a hardware store faced the street, with a door that hung loose on its lower hinge made of leather. A stable with a single worn out horse in the corral occupied the other corner. There was only one business that looked like it was doing well and that was a tavern.

Sid stopped and looked up at the sign with a picture of three sheaves of wheat. He decided that it was a universal law that taverns did well in the best of times, and the worst of times. He recalled reading about a silver town in the old west that was abandoned and the last place to close was the saloon. He turned to Fred and said, “This appears to be the place.”

“I’ll go in with you,” Fred said getting ready to dismount.

“No. I want you to go back to the troops and let them know that I’ll be here a while,” Sid said twisting around on his saddle to look over at Fred. He shifted the reins of the horse he was leading to his other hand.

Frowning, Fred said, “I’m your sworn man. Don’t make me choose between following your order and protecting you.”

“I don’t need protection,” Sid said not wanting to go through this discussion again.

“I’ll go in and have a drink while you are taking care of things. I promise that I’ll ride and get some troops if something happens that you and I can’t handle,” Fred said.

Deciding that was as good of a deal as he was likely to get, Sid said, “Okay.”

The two men tied up the three horses before entering the tavern. The low door required Sid to bend down to avoid hitting his head. He was going to have to remember that if he needed to make a hasty retreat. Inside, he was presented with a typical low-end tavern; complete with dirt floors, tables that were more likely to give you a splinter than support your weight, and chairs that were big logs cut to height.

The man at the bar looked over his visitors and decided that they, like most strangers, were trouble. They weren’t wearing the uniforms of the slaver army and they didn’t look like an overseer. He reached under the bar and put his hand on the club he kept there. Deciding there were better ways of handling them, he put his hands on the bar. Attempting to sound friendly, he asked, “What brings you men out here?”

“Passing through,” Sid answered looking around the public room. There were a couple of rooms off the back end of the public room.

“So what can I do for you?”

Sid wandered over to the bar and said, “Well, a little watered wine for my friend and me would be a good start.”

When the man didn’t move to pour a watered wine, Sid pulled out a quad from his coin purse and tossed it on the bar. The coin attracted the man’s attention. His hand flicked out and the coin disappeared. Turning his back to Sid, he poured a pitcher of watered wine. After setting the pitcher on the counter, he put two pewter tankards next to it. Smiling, he said, “There you go.”

Sid picked up the pitcher and filled one of the tankards with some of the watered wine. He slid the tankard across the bar and said, “Drink.”

The smile disappeared from the barman’s face. He looked down at the tankard and then up at Sid. With a much weaker smile on his face, he said, “I don’t drink.”

Sid pulled out his sword and put the point to the man’s throat. In a hard voice, he said, “You do now.”

Swallowing heavily, the barman picked up the tankard. It slipped out of his fingers and fell to the floor. In a nervous voice, he said, “It slipped.”

“There’s another tankard here. Fill it and have a drink,” Sid said without taking his eyes off the man.

Without looking away from Sid’s eyes, the barman reached for the pitcher and knocked it over. Watered wine flowed across the counter and dripped to the floor. He smiled and said, “Clumsy me.”

Sid said, “Fred, would you mind going behind the bar and fixing this man a tankard of watered wine out of the leftmost barrel?”

“I’d love to do that,” Fred answered while making his way to the bar.

The barman grabbed the club under the bar. Before he could get it out, Sid had hit him atop his head with the flat of his sword. It was not a gentle blow. The barman crumpled to the floor. Sid climbed over the bar and squatted next to the barman. Looking up at Fred, he said, “I would say this man definitely didn’t want to drink his own wine. You’d almost think it was drugged or something.”

“I can see where a suspicious man would think that,” Fred agreed with a smile.

Sid tied up the man and propped him up against the wall. Rising from his place on the floor, he said, “Let me check the rooms.”

“I’ll watch him,” Fred said while pouring a tankard of watered wine from the suspect cask.

“What’s that for?”

“In case he wants something to drink when he wakes up,” Fred answered with a smile. He wiped down the bar before taking a seat on it where he could watch the barman in comfort.

Sid went to the doors in the back of the tavern. He opened the first and saw that it was empty. He went to the second one and opened it. It too was empty. This was not a good sign. The third door opened onto some stairs that went up to the second floor. Frowning, he followed the stairs to the room at the top. This room was not empty, but there wasn’t any one in the room. This was clearly the living quarters of the barman.

Sid searched the room but didn’t find what he was seeking. Disgusted, he went down the stairs and said, “She’s not here.”

Fred looked over from his perch on the bar and said, “I guess we’ll have to wait here until this fellow wakes up.”

“I didn’t hit him that hard,” Sid said wondering why the man was still unconscious.

“I’ve got an idea,” Fred said eying the man on the floor.

“What?”

“How about I open the taps on all of these kegs, here, until he comes to?”

Smiling at Fred, Sid said, “That sounds like a wonderful idea to me.”

There was a low growl from the man on the floor. The barman said, “I’m awake.”

Sid walked behind the bar and looked down at the man. A full minute went by before he said, “Fred, why don’t you go fetch Gregor?”

“Gregor?” Fred asked surprised by the request.

With a grin that no man ever wanted to see given in his direction, Sid said, “Yes. Gregor was sold into slavery by a barman who drugged his wine. I have a feeling that he’d just love to talk to our friend here.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I bet that Gregor could get answers to any question that we might want answered.”

The barman groaned and then said, “I’ll answer your questions.”

“Where’s Alice?”

The temptation to deny that he knew anyone by the name of Alice was almost too much. One look at Sid’s face convinced the man that the time for games was over. He answered, “I sold her to Curtis. He took her down to the Yellow Onion in Oaktree, the town two days east of here.”

“Why did you sell her?” Sid asked curious about the reasons why the man would get rid of a Damsel. Even though he had no idea what the woman looked like, he knew that she had to be attractive. He said, “She’s a pretty woman.”

“She was very pretty, but she was a burner,” the man answered.

“What’s that?” Sid asked. He’d never heard the term.

“Some women have private parts that will burn the cock right off a man. The only way you can f•©k them is with a sheath. With a woman that pretty, a lot of men will put up with wearing a sheath. Of course, out here men aren’t all that particular about the looks of the woman. They’re in it for the action and the sheath kind of kills that,” the barman answered. He wondered how it was that Sid didn’t know about burners.

Sid said, “It won’t really burn the cock off of the man.”

“No, but it sure feels like it. It took two days to put out the fire after I first experienced her,” the barman said with a frown.

“You say that she’s at the Yellow Onion in the town two days east of here,” Sid said.

“That’s right.”

Shaking his head, Sid said, “That leaves me with a problem, Fred.”

Looking at his fingernails as if he had discovered something very interesting on them, Fred asked, “What kind of problem, Sid?”

“Well, if I go running down to the Yellow Onion, then this fellow here has four days to run away. It would be really hard to track him down if he was lying to me,” Sid said. He scratched his chin as if deep in thought.