Tom made his way toward the tavern, eyes out for trouble. It was full dark, and the clouds blocked the moon, but bits of light leaked out past shutters, and off in the distance he could see the glow of rock lights in the more upscale part of town. There was just enough illumination to walk without a lantern.

The Wandering Ax had two rock lights above the door, each wrapped in a thin gauze that had been dyed green, making a pool of green light surrounding the entrance. Tom liked the effect, but frowned. I guess they're going to be out of fashion for a while—spell casters will be far too busy pouring magic into amulets to refill nonessential things like rock lights. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, closing it behind himself to keep out the chill.

He needn't have bothered; the tavern was very warm. The kitchen, the crowd, and a roaring blaze in the wide fireplace—all supplied plenty of heat. Lanterns hanging from the beams overhead shed lots of light as well. This was clearly a popular drinking spot.

Tom let his eyes range over the place, scanning for people who stood out. He spotted two bouncers and gave each a friendly nod and a smile when they looked his way. Several patrons eyed him curiously as he walked, looking for a table to join.

He spotted one empty chair. A woman with long brown hair sat in the seat next to it, and gave him a slow look up and down with a smile. But the man on the other side of her was glaring at him, and pulled the empty chair closer to the table with his foot. Tom nodded politely and moved on.

A blonde woman in a nice green dress walked towards him purposefully. He split his attention, watching her and continuing to search for a seat. A moment later, she swept in front of him with a smile and said in a practiced voice, "Welcome to the Wandering Ax! I'm Summer. Can I help you find a seat?"

"Name's Tom, and yes, thank you!" he answered, raising his voice a bit so that she could hear it over the noise of the crowd.

Summer nodded, and then did a slow, graceful twirl, taking in the room, before facing him again. "It's getting very busy out here, but we have private rooms if you need a table to yourself."

"No, thank you. I'm here to make friends."

"Are you, now?" she asked, sounding interested. "What kind of company are you looking for?"

"Oh, anyone, really. I just got into town tonight and I wanted to get a feel for the place."

Summer's eyes shifted, as if she were rethinking something on the fly. "Well, then, welcome to Oak Mill! If you have any questions, feel free to wave me over, or you can ask for me at the bar."

"Oh, I've always got lots of questions," Tom answered cheerfully. Just then he felt his stomach rumble, though it couldn't be heard over the din. "And a big appetite."

Summer blinked a couple of times, her smile growing wider. "Good to hear. Maybe we can chat some more later, then. For now...let's try over here." She beckoned, then led the way to a nearly full table. "Gentlemen, have you room for one more? Tom here is new to town and looking to make friends."

The five men looked at each other and nodded quickly. A big man with short, curly red hair answered for the table. "Sure, Summer! Hey, Tom."

"Thanks, fellas." Summer was poised to leave, but didn't forget the person in front of her too soon. "Tom, can I send Willow over with something to start you off?"

"Northern Ale and a double dinner for me, and a round for the table, thank you," Tom told her at once. There was a muted cheer around the table, more of a happy grumble.

"I'll tell her. Bye for now." Summer glided away, already heading for someone new coming in the door.

"You're off to a good start, Tom," the redhead declared with a gap-toothed grin. "Name's Finn. Thanks for the round."

"When my purse is empty, I lean on friends. When my purse is full, I share." Tom took the last seat and settled himself. "Good to meet you, Finn."

"Are you a lumberjack, Tom?" another man asked.

"I've felled my share, but not for a while. More recently I've been a blacksmith, a guard, and a merchant. I try my hand at everything I can."

"And you're not afraid of hard work, good. I'm Seamus Farmer, by the way."

"Tom Walker."

A couple of the men reacted to his name. "Tom Walker? Are you the fellow who lost an elf?"

Tom nodded. "I am. I'm guessing he started screaming my name as soon as he was caught?"

"Well, we weren't there, but it's been a bit of excitement the past couple of nights. It's not every day an elf wanders into town!"

"It is for me," Tom argued, spreading his hands. A couple of the men laughed and nodded, and he smiled back. "So, besides my wayward elf showing up, what's been going on in town lately? How's business?"

"Business is good and steady," Finn declared. "We're not going to run out of trees any year soon, and everyone needs lumber."

"Glad to hear it."

"Is there anything in particular you're looking to find out, Tom?" Seamus asked.

"Well..." Tom paused as a very cute barmaid dropped off his food and the drinks. "Oh my, I am starving."

"Looks like it!" Finn eyed the double serving with amusement.

"I'm gonna dig in here, but the reason I'm asking is, I'm starting to work as a merchant and trying my best not to screw it up. Is there anything you've got too much of around here, or not enough? I gotta figure out all this buying and selling business." Tom took his first bite, and promptly breathed on it with his mouth open. "Hawt..." he mumbled, reaching for his ale.

Finn laughed at his discomfort. "Well, there's never enough booze, that's for sure!"

"Yuh guys make yuh own?" Tom asked around his second mouthful.

"Not a lot. We have to buy food and have it shipped in. Not a lot left over for brewing. If you brought food with you, you'll get a good price."

Tom shook his head. "No such luck. Gods, this is good stew." He shoveled in another spoonful.

"Hunger is the best spice, I guess. What did you bring to town?"

"Salt."

Eyebrows went up around the table. Finn raised his mug in Tom's direction. "You are either smart or lucky, Tom Walker. There's a shortage here at the moment. All the tanneries are feeling the pinch."

"Sell it quick, so maybe everybody will get a little less cranky around here," Seamus suggested.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"I will. Why are people cranky?"

"I dunno. Somebody pissed in the guards' porridge or something, and they're hassling everyone else."

"Yeah, they worked over my man pretty thoroughly. I'll probably have to hire a healer so he'll be fit for work."

"What have you got an elf for, anyway?"

"It wasn't planned, that's for sure." Tom ate a bit more, and swallowed. "Things happened, and I ended up with a whole shipment of slaves. Wasn't my idea, but I figured, instead of selling them, why not try renting them out for day labor? It's working so far. They don't have much Western yet, but they're still pretty useful. I just have to keep finding them work so they earn their keep, and find a place to stay the winter—elves don't do too well in the cold."

"If you have a whole pack of elves, maybe Oak Mill isn't the best place for you these days," Finn suggested warily.

"I'm getting that impression. I'll be moving on soon, but hey—I won't hold it against you guys. Everybody's got their history. So...what do you guys do for fun around here?"

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

Tom spent time with a couple more groups, just chatting with them and getting a feel for things. He learned that there were four tanneries just outside of town (they weren't inside the town walls because of the smell.) Most towns only had one, maybe two, but Oak Mill made its living from the rich forest all around.

Eubexa's suggestion to buy salt in Rivermarch was looking better and better. Tom carefully took note of which tanneries were the largest and the smallest, and any other details he could pick up without getting too nosy or obvious. He also was trying to find out what goods he could buy in town to sell elsewhere.

Lumber was heavy and bulky, which was why it was often shipped by water. The creek that served Oak Mill as a water supply also floated logs and barges. Apparently, they had spent no small amount of effort straightening, deepening, and widening the creek in places to make it more passable. Tom listened with genuine interest as a man who had worked on the project explained how they did the job in detail. Always something new out there, he mused.

Furs and leather were much better options to be the next cargo. Tom would keep an eye out for alternatives, but he was leaning towards buying those two with his income from the salt. All this assumes, optimistically, that we can get out of town soon and keep heading south, of course.

The anti-elf sentiment in town seemed especially strong, and it turned out there was a reason. A fairly large group of former soldiers had traveled together out of the Eastern Empire after fighting elves in one of the wars. Some bore scars or lost limbs, and resentment was natural. The group had settled in Oak Mill years ago.

"So, if you're not human, you're going to have trouble here, is what I'm hearing," Tom said, as if he hadn't already figured that out a few times over.

"Well, elves, anyway," his latest drinking companion corrected, slurring his words a bit.

Tom accepted that with a nod. "Well, sure, it would be crazy to hate dwarves."

"Ayup. Eshpeshially...hic...with dwarves livin' right here in town."

Tom blinked, not sure he had heard right. "Sorry, did you say dwarves live in town? In Oak Mill?"

"Ayup."

"I thought they always stayed underground?"

"'S not like they're trolls, man. Trolls, those bastards! Those...they need to stay out of the sun. Dwarves can walk around fine, they just don't like it. Don't like it," the fellow repeated carefully.

"So why are they in Oak Mill, then?"

"Trolls?!" the man looked like he was trying to panic but lacked the mental coordination to do so at the moment.

"No, dwarves!"

"Oh." The fellow subsided, going back to slouching in his seat. "I dunno."

"Huh. Hey, friend, drink some water too, you'll be glad in the morning," Tom urged.

"I'm glad right now, why d'you think I'm drinking?"

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

Considering its isolation, Oak Mill had a decent population, but after Rivermarch, almost any town would feel small. Tom didn't see an information dealer like Edge around, and maybe he didn't need one this time. Looking for such a person in each town he visited was a habit of his, and it had turned out to be useful fairly often in his travels.

Despite wanting to get back to Diavla, Tom stayed out fairly late. Scouting out territory was always the first priority, and he wanted to be very sure that the elves weren't going to be attacked in their house. Also, he had to check for any signs of demons. He moderated his drinking, knowing that he would not be getting to sleep right when he got home.

Finally, he decided that he had learned enough for one night, and went to settle up his bill at the bar. "One moment, please, sir," the older man behind the counter asked, and walked off to make change from the large silver. Summer came up to him as he was waiting.

"Hello again, Tom. I hope you had a pleasant evening."

"I did indeed." It wasn't hard to smile at the woman; she was very easy on the eyes. "Beautiful dress, by the way. That's a nice shade of green."

"Why, thank you! I notice we have the same tailor, in fact. That shirt is from Whistler's Fabric Emporium in Rivermarch, is it not?"

Tom's eyebrows went up. "You have a very good eye, Miss."

"Summer, please, Tom."

"Summer," he agreed with a nod.

"Tell me, have you any news from the Whistlers?"

At that, Tom's smile faltered. "Sadly, yes." He took a breath. "I'm afraid Mr. Whistler was killed by bandits a few weeks ago."

"What?" Summer had gone very still. The news was hitting her harder than Tom had expected.

He nodded. "I'm afraid so. I had to bring the news to his widow. The caravan was attacked between Middleton and Rivermarch."

Summer's expression was carefully neutral. "Tom, would you please come with me for a moment? I'd like to hear more of this in private."

"Of course." He followed her through one of the doors in the back. It led to a hall, and at the end was a small office. She gestured him toward a chair, but he stood respectfully while she sat behind her desk. She took a deep breath, shaking her head.

"My gods. She must be devastated. Those two had a great love between them."

Tom nodded. "So I gathered. She's a strong and kind woman, and Vanity Taylor is there to help her."

"Do you know who did it?" Summer asked in a cold voice.

"A large group of bandits, led by Davis the Knife." Seeing the dark look in her eyes, he added, "Davis is dead now, along with nearly his entire band."

The rage faded somewhat. "Good." Her eyes darted rapidly as she thought. "What happened to the Whistlers' wagon?"

"I delivered it to her."

"You were there? At the attack?"

Tom nodded again. "I had the honor of slitting Davis' throat personally. I didn't know Philip Whistler long, but he seemed a good man, and apparently a good husband."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"Of course." Tom recounted the story of the bandit attack on the caravan. He didn't even have to edit out the elves' involvement in the aftermath, since their existence was public knowledge, or soon would be. His only omission was that Sheema was a healer. Summer asked incisive questions throughout, making sure she understood the situation accurately.

It almost feels like reporting in to a guard captain, Tom thought.

"And the wagon was intact, when you delivered it?"

"Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Well, like I said, we made use of a couple of rolls of fabric getting together basic clothes for the elves. Aside from that, she didn't say anything about anything being missing when I went back. Why, is there something in particular you were checking on?"

"Oh, no, it's just that Philip Whistler always brought his wife presents when he returned from a trip. It would be sad if those had been lost." Tom had the vague sense that Summer was being dishonest, but he had no idea why or what she would have to gain from it. "I've been friends with both of them for quite a while. I'll pay her a visit as soon as I can. Did she happen to send me any letters or packages with you?" There was that undercurrent of intensity again.

"Not that I'm aware of, Miss...?"

"Daring. Summer Daring."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "That's an unusual name."

She smiled as if expecting that response. "Maybe sometime I'll show you why I have it," she answered with a wink.

Tom smiled politely. "Oh, we are going to have a delivery from Whistler's in the coming days—more clothing for the elves that they were still working on when we left Rivermarch. If Mrs. Whistler includes something for you, I'll make sure to deliver it before we leave town."

"Thank you, that's very kind."

"Not at all." He shifted slightly. "If there's nothing else, I should probably get on home and check that nobody has burned down the house around the elves."

"Of course. Where are you staying?" Tom's guardsman instincts were tugging at his soul, but it sounded like a perfectly innocent question.

"Anna Houser set us up with a place on Summer Street," he told her, seeing no reason to lie. "I'd bring all the elves by here, but they don't seem to be very welcome in town at the moment."

"So I gather. I hope things work out for you and your elves."

"Thanks. Me too. Good night, Miss Daring." He bowed a bit to her and left, closing her office door behind him.

That was...odd.

Tom picked up his change from the bartender on the way out. Maybe the Whistlers are simply good people, with a lot of close friends all over. Simon Law, Summer Daring... He shook his head and walked home, alert to his surroundings.

I never did find out what the Widow Whistler was doing in the City Lord's audience chamber that day. Maybe the Whistlers are important people for more than just being good tailors.

Well, I suppose it's none of my business. I already have quite a lot on my plate to deal with. And someone I'm looking forward to dealing with... Tom regained his smile as he anticipated spending the night with Diavla in a big, warm bed.

None of my business, he repeated to himself firmly.

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