Malureon stands in the shadows of a stone archway, one shoulder leaning against the brick wall. He could feel the cold roughness of the stone through the sleeve of his jacket as he presses into it. One hand rests on the hilt of his sword, while the other combs through the hairs of his newly trimmed goatee. He was in no hurry and continues to lean against the wall, content to wait for as long as necessary. Those passing by notice Malureon’s immaculate appearance and assume he is just one of the noble gentries. He wears his black hair long; it just brushes the top of his shoulders. He always ensures that his clothing fits perfectly and is of the highest quality. He spares no expense and invests much time toward his outward appearance. Despite the scar running over his left eyebrow, many say he is quite handsome. While he waits in the shadows, his blue eyes scan the town square. Folk bustle around making purchases, talking, laughing, and arguing with the merchants and their neighbors. It is shaping up to be a calm and beautiful afternoon in Pelargir. It has been some years since he had been in the city of his birth, and he was a bit surprised how much it hadn’t changed.
After several long minutes, a short, balding man approaches Malureon from across the square. His balding head bobs and reflects the mid-afternoon sun. His brown eyes dart back and forth as he makes his way across the busy market square, he is clearly anxious. Malureon notices with some disgust the man’s dirty clothing and sweaty brow. The man bows and nervously twists his hands when he stops in front of Malureon.
“Stop fidgeting, Halbern.” Malureon growls.
Halbern drops his hands to his waist and nervously opens and closes them against his legs, “Sorry, sir.”
Malureon sighs, exasperated that he is forced to rely on such a man as this. He speaks quietly, his deep voice a near whisper, “Have you found him, then?” As he speaks, his blue eyes flick up to meet the gaze of a beautiful young woman who passes by, his mouth sets in a deep frown and he scowls. She quickly averts her gaze and darts past the archway, deciding to travel a different way home.
Halbern turns his head to briefly look at the woman and swallows loudly. He pulls a dirty cloth from his pocket and wipes the sweat from his brow, “Aye, sir. He be in the tavern as we speak, sir.” He hastily tucks the cloth into his pocket and looks around.
Malureon nods, flips a silver coin at the man, and snarls, “Now, get out of my face.”
“Y-yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Halbern pockets the coin and scuttles away, his eyes fixed on the ground ahead.
Satisfied, Malureon pushes off the wall and strides through the market. He stops at a stall where a pretty young woman is selling scarves, caps, and gloves. He picks up a pair of black leather gloves and nods his approval before placing a gold coin on the table. Malureon speaks whispered words of flattery close to her ear, offers the woman a charming smile, and tucks the gloves into his belt as he makes his way toward the tavern. People passing by her stall would see a slight tinge of pink staining her cheeks.
Malureon pushes on the wooden door of the tavern and steps into the smoky and dim room. He stands in the doorway as he waits for his eyes to adjust to the lighting. When he can see clearly, he takes a few steps into the space, his boots thumping on the wooden floor as he approaches the bar.
The barman straightens when he walks in, taking an account of Malureon’s fine attire. He offers Malureon a welcoming smile, “What can I get ya to drink, my fine sir?”
Malureon, places two gold coins on the bar, “A private dining room, a bottle of your finest whiskey, two glasses, and your assurances I shall not be interrupted.” He leans one arm on the bar, his eyes never meet the barman’s eyes. Instead, they are fixed on a thin man sitting in a corner smoking a pipe. Malureon narrows his gaze watching as the man’s pipe flares with each puff, highlighting his distinctive features.
The barman lets out a gasp of surprise upon seeing the gold, “Bless my soul…er, I mean…yes, sir. Give me a moment, I shall fetch a lass to help me get a room prepared fer ya.” He ducks out from behind the bar and walks quickly down the hallway toward a back room.
When the barman is gone, Malureon and the man continue to study each other across the room. When the barman’s footsteps can be heard coming back, Malureon lifts one finger and indicates to the man he is to follow. The thin man nods once, taps out his pipe, and rises to his feet. He picks up a gnarled walking stick that was leaning against the table and slowly makes his way across the room.
“This way, sir…if ya please.” The barman eagerly motions for Malureon to follow. “I hope this room is to yer likin’, sir. Now, ya be lettin’ me know if there be more ya need, eh?” The barman babbles in his enthusiasm to please the wealthy stranger.
“I shall, indeed.”
The barman stops in front of a door near the end of the hallway, turns the knob, and pushes open the door. Malureon winces slightly as the hinges squeal in protest. He takes two long strides into the room, making note of the shuttered window on the opposite wall, the fire burning in the hearth, and the whiskey bottle and glasses set out on a small table between two chairs facing the fire. He catches the intake of breath from the barman, who awaits Malureon’s response.
“This will do. Now, leave me. If I need anything more, I shall alert you,” he turns around and looks down at the barman, offering him a cold stare.
“Aye, sir. I be makin’ sure no one bothers ya.” The barman ducks out of the room, closing the door as he leaves. Malureon hisses as the hinges again let out a protesting squeak.
Malureon walks to the table and is uncorking the bottle when the door opens with another annoying screech. He does not lift his eyes from the table and pours a generous amount of the amber liquid into each glass, “You are a hard man to track down, Uhtrric.”
*Stay tuned for Part 2*
