10 – Aftermath by Asprin, Robert

“Get away from me,” Samlor said in a clear, clipped voice, “or I’ll put you through a window.”

He nodded toward the wall facing the street, where wicker lattices screened the large openings to either side of the door. The sides of the room were ventilated by high, horizontal slits that opened onto alleys even more fetid than the interior of the tavern.

Samlor meant exactly what he said, though it would cause trouble that he’d really rather avoid.

Star wasn’t the only one whom fatigue had left with a hair trigger. The man wasn’t a threatening figure, only an irritating one. He was shorter than Samlor by an inch or two and fine-boned to an almost feminine degree. He wore a white linen kilt with a scarlet hem, cinched up on a slant by a belt of gorgeous gold brocade. His thigh-length cape was of a thick, soft, blue fabric, but his torso was bare beneath that garment. The skin was coppery brown, and his chest, though hairless, was flat-muscled and clearly male.

The stranger blinked above his smile and backed a half step. Samlor caught the beers that the tapster glided to him across the surface of the bar, “Here, Star,” said the Cirdonian, handing one of the containers down to his charge. “It’s what there is, so don’t complain. We’ll do better another time, all right?”

The beer was in leathern jacks, and the tar used to seal the leather became a major component of the liquid’s flavor. It was an acquired taste -and not one Samlor, much less his niece, had ever bothered to acquire. At that, the smoky flavor of the tar might be less unpleasant than the way the brew here would taste without it.