Tiller discovered the door to the tavern a while after he moved down the street. He’d missed it at first. It was set in a little alley just off the main street. Barrels and crates had been stacked willy-nilly in front of the establishment, unintentionally obscuring it from view.

  He pushed through the doors and entered. As he took in the space his face fell somewhat and he breathed, “shit, fuck, shit.”

  Spinner’s was the high fantasy equivalent of a dive bar. The ceiling was low, the lights were low, the whole tone was low and the morals were lower. The room was dingy, dirty, dark and completely thronged. More than half of the patrons bore weapons. The air reeked of spilled beer and urine.

  Pod was surprisingly difficult to find. One might think that a little man with blue skin would be easy to identify, but not with this company. Many of the patrons were of large, hulking or otherwise eye-catching races: a troll, ogres, something that looked like an aborted attempt to make a lizard have a baby with a monkey. More than that, there were a lot of small-statured peoples, what must have been dwarves, goblins and more than a few leprechauns.

  Tiller’s eyes swept the space, hearing arguments and rough-voiced shouts, searching for the face he knew. Then he spotted him.

  Confused, Tiller cocked an eye at the ceiling, speaking low so as not to seem crazy, “No… I didn’t spot him.”

  Oh. Then he spotted him, right over there behind the lizard-headed dude kissing the elf lady. No, not that lizard-headed dude kissing that elf lady. Yeah, that one.

  Tiller crossed the bar carefully, intensely aware of himself. He was a stranger, a human, a stone-band. This felt like the kind of space where a man could easily be stabbed for being different or having anything of value.

  Whispering again, “I wasn’t thinking any of those things… I just didn’t want to spill anyone’s drinks. But now I’m thinking those things.”

  Tiller succeeded in crossing the bar, neither spilling drinks nor receiving stabbing.

  Pod’s eyes were already half-lidded, his head wobbling uneasily on his neck. He was perched on a bench by the wall, his feet not coming close to touching the ground, two hands wrapped around a wooden tankard that overflowed with foam. Tiller could not restrain himself from licking his lips at the sight of the foam.

  Seeing Tiller approach, Pod shouted too loudly, “How’d all the purchasing go? I can see you’re overloaded with merchandise. Very productive. Verreeee productive.”

  He was slurring.

  Tiller moved to scoot onto the bench by Pod, happy to have his back against the wall. He had pulled some long looks from several of the patrons and he felt uneasy.

  “I was getting prices. I need to be as efficient as I can be. If I can squeeze one extra seed packet out of the deal then that will be ten more gold in a week’s time that I can use to buy ten more seed packets, which becomes a hundred, a thousand, you get it?”

  Pod took a draught from his tankard, smacking his lips wetly. “You think really funny. Why at that rate of goin’ you’d have to cover half the land in earth, wouldn’t you? And there’s no way Maeve, me, you and that vermin of yours can tend a thousand plants.

  “You don’t tend anything. You pass out drunk under the trees while we work.”

  “I carry shit, don’t I?”

  “Yes, Pod. You do carry shit. Surprisingly well, in fact.”

  “Well then, there’s no way I can carry a thousand plants’ worth of fucking produce all the way to fucking Medley then, how’s that? Now what the fuck are you doin’ in here spoiling my afternoon?”

  Tiller said, “I need to look at my book for a while, decide what I’m doing. I also need to find someone to take care of our little problem…”

  Pod arched a brow. “Little problem? If you were Maeve I’d think you were talking about my prick! Get it, little? Problem? Ah, never mind, what the fuck are you on about?”

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  Tiller held Pod’s eyes meaningfully. “You know… the little problem we’re having with our rent. Remember?”

  Pod just looked back vacantly. He opened his mouth, but only poured more beer in.

  Tiller leaned very close and hissed in his ear. “We need to find someone to take care of Bonk before he takes care of us!”

  Beer exploded from Pod’s mouth in a perfect spit take. Staring wide-eyed around at the crowd, he spluttered, “Fucking hell! Not so fucking loud! Shit and blast it! He’s got cousins everywhere. Bastard could walk in any minute. There’s every chance he’s upstairs right now, crawling all over one o’ the tarts.”

  Tiller shuddered at the thought of Bonk using the prostitutes in the tavern. He’d seen a couple himself, elf girls mostly, and there was no denying that they were very attractive. Also very delicate and slender. Not the ideal match for the hulking ogre.

  Tiller sat up straighter. “Well, you said we’d find someone here who’s worth hiring to deal with you-know-who. So… how do we go about that?”

  As he spoke, Pod drained the rest of his tankard. It was quite the feat. The tankard must have been a pint in volume; Pod was very much not. Almost no sooner was the vessel empty than a figure was standing at the table, sweeping it onto a tray and placing a fresh one before the swaying leprechaun.

  The bartender in question was perhaps the most terrifying being that Tiller had yet to lay eyes on. Logically he could see the man was working in the bar, was a server, and surely posed no threat. Still, he couldn’t help but recoil in horror. He wore an apron, shirt and pants, even a little dishevelled dickie bow. But from the shirt’s sleeves, six of them, protruded long, coarsely haired arms that ended in fairly close approximations of human hands. The face was a nightmare of drooling fangs and too many eyes.

  It made sense, of course. Spinner of Spinner’s Tavern was some kind of spider-person.

  Pod said, “Oy, hand on a tick, Spinner. We’re lookin’ to get someone to do a bit of a job for us. Involves a bit o’ stickin’ and chopping if you get my drift?”

  Spinner’s voice was disconcertingly normal, if a little rough. “Want some killin’ done, issit?”

  Pod said “yes” at the exact same time Tiller blurted “No!”

  Two eyes in a blue face and many eyes in a spider face turned to look at him. “Well, not necessarily. Maybe. I wouldn’t rule it out. But intimidate, scare away, beat up a lot, any and the same would be fine. Killing’s a last resort.”

  Spinner chuckled mockingly. “Them that think killin’ is a last resort is usually disappointed when they meet them that think it’s a first resort, get me drift?”

  Pod said, “Ah, don’t mind him, Spinner. Soft in the head. Farmin’ type, you know the sort. Killin’ is just fine. Who’s about? Who’s up for a job?”

  Spinner ignored Pod, staring at the empty space on the table in front of Tiller. “Sittin’ isn’t free in here, fella.”

  Tiller looked up, “Oh…”

  It flitted through his mind to ask for water, but he knew that was not what the spider wanted from him. It occurred to him to ask for tea, coffee, juice, if they possessed such things. But the simple fact was that Tiller craved a beer. Pod’s new pint, again overflowing with thick, dense foam, was mouth-watering. If he was going to have to part with coin to be here, he might as well get what he wanted.

  “How much is a beer?”

  “Which beer?”

  “Uh… the cheapest one?”

  “Quarter.”

  Tiller reached into the sack of coins. His fingers found the edge of the half-coin he’d gotten in change when he bought paper and pencil. Feeling somewhat stupid, he held it by both ends and applied pressure. So easily, too easily, the coin snapped into two perfect quarters. He passed the coin to Spinner and a foaming mug, just like Pod’s, was dropped in front of him.

  Spinner said, “Right. So you wanna get someone for some killin’, issit? Well, the twins is in tonight, over yonder.”

  Spinner hooked a thumb with one of his many hands towards a corner on the opposite wall. There, two goblins were sitting, their laps occupied by barely dressed elves. Tiller’s eyes dilated as he noted the stone bands on both of their wrists.

  Pod eyed them a little less enthusiastically. “I dunno. Fella we want to take care of is a big ’un.”

  Spinner said, “Is he higher’n a stoney?”

  Pod said, “Nope.”

  “Well then, two stoneys can surely knock off one stoney. The Twins is sneaky fuckers. He’ll never even see them coming.”

  Tiller was eager, delighted even. If they were on some kind of stealth path, like assassins, then they could get rid of the Bonk problem without even risking exposure. To his mind it was perfect.

  Pod said, “I’m still not so sure. It’s a proper big ’un we’re aimin’ for.”

  Spinner narrowed his eyes. “Not a patron o’ mine, I hope. I know what happens beyond the walls is no business o’ Medley’s, but I make it a per-og-a-tive not to facilitate the murders of any of my patrons.”

  Tiller eagerly took a sip of his beer. “Good to know.” It was crisp and malty, the head thick and creamy. It shocked him how good it was. He had expected far less. And it was cold.

  Pod said, “No, no! Wouldn’t do that to ya, Spinner. You know I’d never do somethin’ like that to ya.”

  Spinner continued to eye the leprechaun for a moment before sighing.

  “Alright then. The Twins’ve been the best ’round here for a long time, especially if it’s proper killin’ you want to get done. But there has been a new fella ’round the last few days. He’s out on a job now, but he seems pretty damn good himself. Name of Cutter. It’s funny, actually, ’cause I’d never seen one of whatever he is before. All pink and soft-lookin’. But now I think about it, he looked just like you.”