10 – Aftermath by Asprin, Robert

The clabbered milk was served in masars, wooden cups darkened by the sweaty palms of hundreds of previous users. As the tapster paused, midway between reaching for the coin now or drawing the beer first, Samlor said, “I’m trying to find a man in this town, and I’m hoping that you might be able to help me. Business, but not . . . serious business.”

That was true, though neither the tapster nor any other man in this dive was likely to believe it.

Not that they’d care, either, so long as they’d been paid in honest coin. “A regular?” asked the balding man softly as his hand did, after all, cover the gold which Samlor was not yet willing to release.

“I doubt it,” said the Cirdonian with a false, fleeting smile. “His name’s Setios. A businessman, perhaps, a banker, as like as not. Or just possibly, he might be, you know , . , someone who deals with magic. I was told he keeps a demon imprisoned in a crystal bottle.”

You could never tell how mention of sorcery or a wizard was going to strike people. Some very tough men would blanch and draw away-or try to slit your throat so that they wouldn’t have to listen to more.

The tapster only smiled and said, “Somebody may know him. I’ll ask around.” He turned. The coin disappeared into a pocket of his apron.

“Uncle, I don’t like-‘

“And the beers, friend,” Samlor called in a slightly louder voice. There was little for a child to drink in a place like this. Star didn’t have decades of caravan life behind her, the days when anything wet was better than the smile of a goddess- The beer was a better bet than what- ever passed for wine, and either would be safer than the water. “This is a very special knife,” said a voice at Samlor’s shoulder. The Cirdonian turned, face flat. He was almost willing to disbelieve the senses that told him that the stranger was pursuing his attempt to sell a dagger. In this place, a tavern where unwanted persistence generally led to somebody being killed.