Hearts Return - Part 2

The sun is still lingering above the western trees, flirting with dusk, when Zandrianna and Emrabeth arrive at the Stoat and Stout. Though early, the popular inn is already fairly busy, the stables more than half full; maids and grooms scurrying about in well-practiced chaos.

Laughter sounds from inside, a shattering mug, a cry of outrage, and then a pair of lads comes shooting out the front door and down the path, nearly barging into Emrabeth as they tear past her and out the gate. Behind them, a red-faced man pursues partway, then stops, huffing and leaning on a fencepost. The two women turn to watch.

"Your father will be paying for that, Thomas Miller," he calls, "Just you see." He wipes his pudgy hands on his white apron and runs a hand over his bald pate. "What're you all staring at," he says, generally, "back to work, th' lot of you!"

Emrabeth brushes herself off as she watches the lads disappear from sight. "Seems like a lively enough place."

"Lively enough to work the room as bards," Zandrianna replies as she leads them into the inn. "Let me do the talking though."

"Suit yourself lady, but I know how to wheedle a deal or two." Emrabeth winks at Zandrianna and does a quick spin, her dark curls bouncing with the movement. Zandrianna merely rolls her eyes and heads up to the counter.

A blonde barmaid looks up and greets them with a smile. "Hallo," she says, cheerily. "Dinner's not serving for another half-hour, but we've got bread, if you'd like it with your drinks." She points toward the wall to her left. A bit of chipped slate hangs there, on which drinks and prices have been marked with soapstone. "I'll take your order in a moment," she adds, finishing filling the last of the three pint glasses she's holding. She steps to the opposite end of the bar, where three middle-aged men with weather-beaten faces are arguing the finer points of tillage.

Zandrianna waits patiently for the woman to return. "Actually, while the supper does smell lovely, we need to see to renting a room to stay. Two, if it's possible." She looks over at Emrabeth, who's busy making eyes at a dark haired man leaning against the wall, and crosses her fingers.

The blonde looks dubious. "Not sure what we've got left," she says, then looks past them. "Pa!" she calls, in a sharp mezzo-soprano that easily through the hubbub. "How're we on rooms?"

The red-faced man, who had lumbered past Zandrianna and Emrabeth just a few moments before, is now huffing his way back up into the tavern's main room. At the holler, he turns and approaches the counter. Sweat beads on his balding head and dampens a bushy mustache which seems intent on effecting a hostile takeover of his cheeks. "Rooms? Got no rooms. All booked up for folks comin' in for th' wedding." He frowns, thinking. "Might have one for tonight, can't rightly remember. Come tomorrow, though, they're all reserved." He appears to notice Emrabeth and Zandrianna for the first time. "Is it you ladies wanting a place for the night?"

"Yes, we need a room for the next few nights." Zandrianna motions to Emrabeth, who's paying her little mind at the moment, having worked her way over to where the man was stranding. "My companion and I are bards, and we heard about the wedding so we traveled out this way to see if we could find work."

The innkeep puffs out an amused breath, creating something of a commotion on his upper lip. "You and half the bards in the county," he says, ironically. His voice softens as he takes in Zandrianna's expression. "No offense to you an' your friend, ma'am, but we've got more bards than we know what t' do with. Even some of those who know what the manor lord is like have shown up anyway, hoping for a bit of largess." He huffs again. "Not that that'slikely. Anyway, much as I appreciate your offer - or the offer I expect you're working up to - fact is I'm full up of lodgers and overfull of bards right now. I think I can put the two of you up, as paying guests, tonight… but after that?" He spreads his hands. "I only got so many rooms."

The frown on Zandrianna's face deepens. 'Hadn't counted on this,' she mutters. "If there's no rooms here,” she asks, louder, “then would you have any recommendations for where my companion and I should stay?" She glances over at Emrabeth who appears to be having a lively discussion with the man against the wall. She cringes as his gaze travels down Emrabeth's form and vows to talk to the girl about her choice in men. Then she realizes the innkeep is speaking to her and returns her attention to him.

The man is tugging on his mustache. "Well... only other inn the village's got is the Tarnished Tankard. I suspect you'd find both room and work there... but... well, it's a bit on the rough-and-ready side. May not be quite what you're looking for." He glances over toward Emrabeth's conversation. "And your friend might not want to be quite so familiar with the sorts they can get drinking over there."

"Be that as it may, we still need some place to stay. The Tarnished Tankard?" She glances over at Emrabeth again, who is heading back in their direction, with a casual sway of her hips that has more than one man pausing to watch her pass. Zandrianna shakes her head. "If you could tell us how to get there, I suppose there's no use but to go at least see it for ourselves."

One of the patrons is waving at the innkeeper, and he gestures toward the blonde behind the counter. "Letty, tell these folk how to get there. Seems Shawn Tinker's gone and got a bumblebee up his butt again, oh, begging your pardon," he adds to Zandrianna, before hurrying off.

Letty shakes her head, amused, then turns to Zandrianna to give her directions. She finishes with: "You watch yourselves over there. Not as nice a place as ours, even if it's me sayin' so."

After thanking Letty, Zandrianna turns and motions to Emrabeth to follow her outside. "Well, that's going to be a problem," she says to the other woman as the start up the path. "Ceolfred is counting on us to be at this inn, and I've no way to tell him different."

"We'll figure something out," Emrabeth replies, though her voice sounds less than sure.

Soon, the two stand before another inn, the building rising up from the somewhat neglected landscaping like a tale of days past. Emrabeth wrinkles her nose. "You sure this is the right place?"

Zandrianna studies the building, a dubious expression on her face. "We did follow Letty's directions exactly, so it must be." She squares her shoulders and motions towards the door. As if at her gesture, an evening breeze turns the chipped sign, which hangs from only one of its two chains, over the door, depicting a well-worn and cracked tankard.

In contrast to the Stoat and Stout, the interior seems sulky; the few employees moving about lethargically and the patrons keeping mostly to themselves in the dim interior. The two women cautiously make their way up to the counter, and wait to get the attention of the barkeep. Emrabeth, after assessing the mood, grabs Zandrianna's arm to get her attention. When Zandrianna looks over at her, she shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips. “Let me,” the younger woman whispers.

The barkeep – after giving the two women a sullen glance, and waiting for a minute or so, as if expecting them to leave – finally sidles over: a thin man, with a nose sharp as a shovel. "We got light ale, dark ale, an' bitter. No mead t'day. What'll it be?"

Emrabeth leans on the counter, careful to avoid a wet patch of dubious origin. "We'll take two ales - dark for me, and light for the lady there. And two rooms for the next few days."

The barkeep rubs, then picks his nose, before turning to fill two more-or-less clean mugs with the requested drinks. "Beer I can do you. Rooms, you'll have t' talk to my brother over there. Hey, Wilt, c'mere."

The other man behind the bar, with a sigh, pushes himself upright and ambles over. As he gets closer, it's clear that he and the barkeep must be twins, or good as... the most marked difference being that this brother's nose has healed askew from at least one break. "Hmph?" he grunts, inquiringly.

"Need two rooms for a few days, near each other if you've got." Emrabeth says. She reaches over to accept the ales from the barkeep and, after handing one to Zandrianna, reaches into her blouse for her coin pouch.

Wilt nods, following Emrabeth’s movements.. "Can do that. How many days? You here for th' weddin' or just passin' through?"

"For the wedding. My companion and I are entertainers. Hoping to get a little work at this wedding." Emrabeth hands the coins to the first brother and, as he turns to put them in the till, she reaches up and surreptitiously wipes the edge of the mug with her sleeve before drinking out of it.

Wilt studies them sharply. "Entertainers? Well, I'll tell you the same as I've told the others who've come by. Got no need to be giving away rooms, entertainer or no. If you're any good, I'll let you play, an' you'll get one meal free that night, each of you. Just don't be expecting much by way of appreciation. Times are tough, and if folks hold their coin tight, I won't be blaming 'em."

Emrabeth hears Zandrianna sputter behind her and reaches back to pat her hand. "Oh we're good enough. And I can pay for the rooms, no worries there. Throw in a hot bath for my companion and we'll take it." She grants the men a crooked grin before taking another long swallow of her ale.

Wilt snorts, unmoved by her charms. " I'll give you two the rooms up under the eaves. Small, but right 'cross the landing from each other. And it'll keep some of the noise from coming up... or down," he adds, meaningfully. "When you're settled in, come play me a tune an' I'll decide if I'll be having you play or not." He turns to his brother. "Walt, get me the keys to the two third-floor rooms." Turning back to the women he says, "So, I assume you'll be entering the competition then?"

Zandrianna speaks up first. "Competition?" she asks, her eyes hold equal parts surprise and interest.

Wilt turns to her. "Course. To pick which entertainers perform in the banquet hall itself, ‘stead of just out in the courtyard with the rest of us. Thought you said you came hoping to play?"

"Of course we did," Emrabeth replies, smoothly cutting Zandrianna off. "My friend here's just tired after our travels. We'll be at the competition."

Wilt nods. "Well, if yer planning on practicing in the rooms, do it quiet like." He takes the keys his brother offers and passes them over. "It'll be first and last night paid up front," he tells them. "Or all at once, if you prefer."

Emrabeth pulls out several silver and lays them on the counter before taking the keys Wilt holds out to them. "We'll be as quiet as a whisper," she assures him, before turning to Zandrianna and handing her the keys. "Why don't you go up and look at the rooms, while I bring in our bags." Not waiting for a response, Emrabeth strolls across the room to the doors.

Zandrianna heads over to the staircase, carefully testing the railing before ascending to the third floor. The sconces along the corridor, coated with a layer of soot and dust, barely give off enough light to see by and she stumbles once as she finds a step with a loose board. Finally she makes her way to the two rooms the innkeeper had indicated and turns the key in one of the grudging locks.

The last rays of sunlight peek through the curtainless windows, offering Zandrianna a view of the room - though closet would be a more accurate description - with a worn dresser and a bed that seems to sag right in the middle.

"I've seen outhouses bigger than this," Emrabeth says behind her, causing Zandrianna to startle briefly.

"I'm sure we can manage just fine for a few days." Zandrianna moves aside to let Emrabeth inside, and the younger woman sets one of the bags down on the bed, along with Zandrianna's lute.

"I'll take a look at the other room and see if it's any better," Emrabeth says, taking the other key.

Zandrianna moves towards the bed and runs a finger along her lute, smiling briefly.

"No such luck," Emrabeth says, stepping back into the room. "Besides, this room has a nice view of the ... hmmmm. I guess that's supposed to be a flower bed down there. I'll just go settle in, then we can see about getting a meal."

Once Emrabeth leaves, Zandrianna sits on the edge of the bed, worrying her lip with her teeth. Ceolfred wouldn't have any idea where they were, and he'd been quite insistent that they took rooms at the first inn. Now, having seen the dilapidated conditions of this establishment, and the general malaise that seemed to permeate the very air of the building, she understood why. But how were they going to get word to him?