She tugged on her cloak, drawing it around herself as snug as she was able. Water dripped from the hawklike tip of her hood as she weathered the breezy drizzle. The wind was warm enough, but the rain had a bite to it once it broke on her skin. She envied the vendors who lined the cobblestone street. They knew the early spring around these parts well and came prepared with awnings and canopies to guard their goods and their comfort.
She shook off a shiver and made her way along the glistening cobbles. “Over yonder and down the way.” That’s what the man had told her when she asked where she could find the great tavern. Hardly helpful, but she’d make do with it. It wouldn’t serve to ask a second and risk drawing more attention.
She passed several dirty alleys and culverts and even the odd sidestreet. None of them quite struck her as what the man may have been referring to. One gully in particular gave off a stench that nearly had her heaving. When she looked down into it, she saw a rancid, thick, vomit-green fluid. Oh, gods, she thought. Could it be? She covered her mouth swiftly and hurried along, yet the stench seemed to cling to her even after she had lost sight of the sewage. She shook herself as she made her way, as though that would somehow cleanse her of the malignance.
Once she reached a wider intersection, she was able to mark her destination. The roaring cacophony to her left gave it away at once. As she turned and started down the new lane she received an earful from the crier at the center of the square. “The Withering continues to spread outside the city walls! Remain assured, good folk, that it shall not reach nor perturb you! Merely honor the citywide curfew and all shall be well! Entry to Westgate remains forbidden excepting those with written and stamped permission from the nobility!”
Naturally, that did not include the vendors and their goods. For what would the nobility drink and feast upon if not for fresh meats and spirits? Couldn’t have been easier to sneak in, she thought. All she had to do was suffer an hour-long ride in a rickety wagon with a dozen hens as travel mates. Honestly, they were better company than half the folk in this city.
She drew her hood back part way to get a proper look at the glowing establishment she had just arrived at, squinting as the rain flecked her brow. In front of her rose the infamous Hallowed Hearth. The tavern sang proud against the otherwise mellow din of the damp street. Two tall but thin wooden doors swung incessantly at the belly of the hulking building. Gleeful workers shuffled hurriedly in as carousing drunkards stumbled feebly out. She ducked into the bustle of a passing group of workers, seeming to vanish amongst them as they waded into the tavern.
Her efforts at discretion fell apart the moment she sized up the place she’d entered; her reserved demeanor gave way to wide eyes and a gaping jaw. She stood still for a few moments, overwhelmed. A few paces ahead of her lay a lengthy hearth filled with glimmering coals and embers. All around it were dozens upon dozens of wooden tables and not a single seat left empty. The rhythmic thumping of a band at the back of the sprawling room carried over and through the laughter and hollering of the denizens. The air in the tavern was warm and heavy with the scent of stews and ales as servers danced in and out of the kitchen. It was, somehow, as though there was nothing wrong in the world.
Her eyes widened farther when she looked up. Smoke rose from the hearth up to an opening in the roof so high up that the daylight through the hole was a dim glow. Raindrops trickled in and seemed to disappear far before having any hope of reaching the embers below. Around the smoke plumes were several fenced landings, and they too were dappled with occupied tables. Each of the floors seemed to have a low ceiling with just enough space for an average person to avoid knocking their head. The place was cavernous!
Her stupor was broken as another group of workers bumbled past her, knocking her one way and then the next. She furrowed her brow and shook her head in frustration at her irresponsible lapse. She was there for an important meeting; not to gape at the wonders of the locale. And for this meeting she’d need to reach the fifth floor.
If reaching the staircase was a battle, ascending the steps was a war in full. Every three steps she’d have to carefully step past visitors who, having failed to find any seats amongst the tables, opted instead to get comfortable in the stairway. Servers marched to and fro in an evident hurry, shouting for all to clear the way as they somehow kept dishes and meals from taking flight. Most surprising of all was when she was forced to sidestep a drunkard who had tripped on his own legs and was tumbling down the steps. Others cheered and laughed as the poor sod grunted and snorted his way down to the ground floor. And the servers deftly skipped around the wrecking ball of a man with hardly any visible alarm.
The nonchalance of the place shook her. These people had no inkling of what was festering back west. The powerful people within the city had convinced them all that there was little to worry about, that they were as safe as they could be within Westgate’s solid, stone walls. A vision of the rancid gully she had seen earlier formed in her mind. So naive…
At last she reached the fifth floor. She had to crane her neck to the side and hunch her back slightly to avoid hitting her forehead on the woodwork overhead. A cursory glance around the landing marked her quarry. A row of booths lined the back of the room, past all the round tables. She started towards the dimly lit booth in the far corner – the one with gray curtains drawn, hiding its occupants from the rest of the tavern.
As she made her way, a pair of city guards pushed past her, urgently dragging a man that appeared unconscious. A moist smear appeared along the way he had been pulled through, and a cruel stench lingered.
As she neared the corner booth, she saw a gruff, scrawny man sporting a thick, wiry beard by the curtains, squinting at her as she approached.
“A western wind,” she answered.
The man’s scrunched-up face had her wondering if she’d be turned away, but after a terse moment, he spoke again: “Enter.”
I just recently finished this novella, which would be too long for a single Tumblr post. You can read the full story here!
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