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The female continued wailing and lamenting, screaming for mercy.

“Jhan!” Quin shouted.

Jhan looked in his direction.

“Take care of it.”

“Gladly,” Jhan said, turning to the four condemned individuals with a cold, unfeeling smile.

“I’ll show you the same mercy you intended to show the youngling,” he said.

~~~

“No, he’s my brother. He’s gone missing and I’m trying to find him,” Mirilla did her best to growl out harshly. She was standing in another bar, or lounge, or drinkery, or brothel, whatever this one was called, they all served about the same function, and she’d been in so many of them over the last week or so that she’d actually lost count. The only difference she’d found, was the sad, lost eyes of most of the females working in a brothel. Other than that it was all the same. Males trying to forget their misery, females trying to help the males forget as long as they had money to spend to forget.

“I don’t recall a male that fits that description,” the barkeep said. “Either buy a pint, or move along.”

“I don’t want a pint. I’ll ask the other patrons if they’ve seen him.”

“No, I don’t think you will. Nobody spends time unless they buy the right to.”

Mirilla growled a bit, though it wasn’t half as frightening as the growl of a Cruestaci male — she was trying, though. “Fine. Give me a pint, and a pint for those standing at the bar as well.”

The barkeep looked up and down the bar. There were at least thirty people standing at the bar. The tables were full as well, but the male had only mentioned those at the bar. “What about those at the tables?”

“I said the bar. I did not say the tables.”

“You did at that,” the barkeep said, quickly scanning the credit band on the wrist that was held out for him to scan for payment of the most likely poison alcoholic beverages she’d just bought.

The barkeep noticed three things as she pulled her arm back and tucked it within her heavy cloak. One — the credit band she wore was black. That was indicative of a credit band with no limit on spending. Two — the wrist the black band was encircling was not as sturdy as it should have been had the wearer been male. In fact, the wrist, the hand and its fingers were all feminine in design. Three — the band was far too large for the arm it was being worn on.

As he went about filling enough tankards to supply all of those standing at the bar with a fresh pint, courtesy of the female who’d just paid for them, he slyly pulled a vial out of his pocket and turning to go back to the bar while he pretended to drop the tankard, drizzled some of the contents of the vial onto the handle of the tankard. Slipping the vial back into his pocket and setting the tankard to the far left of all the others, he finished filling all the tankards.

He grabbed four of the tankards in one hand, holding them by their handles, and the fifth he held by the tankard itself, making sure to avoid the handle. “Compliments of the gentleman here!” he cried loudly as he smiled grandly for the benefit of all. “Here you all go, come get your tankard!”

Mirilla waited patiently while all those she’d been trying to work her way through to ask about Mir’ Ahn returned to their places. Shaking her head at the ridiculousness of the situations she’d found herself in in the last week, she started toward the opposite end of the bar.

“Here’s yours!” the barkeep insisted.

“No, thank you. I don’t want one.”

“Oh, but you must!” he pressed, shoving the tankard at her so vigorously that it sloshed over the side and onto her.

Mirilla instinctively grabbed the tankard by the handle that was so obviously shoved her way, then walked down to the opposite end of the bar where she sat it down. She began asking if anyone had seen a Cruestaci male and gave a description of Mir’ Ahn. When she got nothing but no’s in response, she turned back toward the door, planning to leave, but her head began to swim. Her equilibrium was off, her stomach lurching.

“You feeling alright, there?” the barkeep asked.

“I’m alright,” she answered, forgetting to keep her voice gravelly.

“Here, have a sip or two. It’ll help,” the barkeep said, handing her the tankard again.

Mirilla curled her fingers around the handle again.

“There you go. Drink some now. It’ll make you feel better,” the barkeep said.

“No, I don’t… I don’t need…” Mirilla dropped the tankard to the floor as she reached out for the bar top and tried to brace herself with both arms grasping across the top of the bar.

The barkeep smiled sinisterly as he removed the credit band from her wrist. “Won’t be needing this anymore now, will you, female?” he asked as he leaned into her field of vision. “Won’t be needing much of anything anymore.”

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