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1
CARUS
Darkness is only natural in a place like this.
I sit at a corner table in the dimly lit tavern, and as more plumes of smoke rise from nearby tables, I lean my head against the cool wall behind me.
I have visited this tavern dozens of times. By now, I know every single one of the regulars, and I can guess at each of their conversations.
I know the patterns of the people who walk in and out of the place, and I know every one of the barmaids by name.
This place isn’t anything special. Except that it is the easiest place to commit a crime on Aerasak.
A barmaid comes around, her voluptuous curves swinging. Her movements are graceful, despite the heavy tray in her hand.
“Would you like another one?” I cannot place her accent. It is harsh and low and her voice is thick and almost hoarse.
Not from this part of the planet,I think idly to myself. She could be from anywhere, really. Accents have never been my strong suit.
And Aerasak is large, sprawling, and unwieldy. New places, people, and accents spring up every day as if organically.
As if the planet is a living thing with a mind, a conscience, of its own, making fun of us. As if it allows new beings to sprout just for fun. Just to trick us. Just to make us say, ‘Hey, you weren’t here a second ago.’
The barmaid stares at me pointedly and clears her throat.
I look distractedly down at my glass. “Oh, yes, of course.” I smile at her, and it is a dazzling smile. She smiles back with uncertainty in her eyes before she gently takes my glass and whisks it away.
She returns within seconds, with a glass filled with amber liquid. I suppose she has seen me before.
I suppose she knows who I am by now. Knows me enough to know the kind of drink I like.
I sip my drink slowly and savor the rich, rasping flavor that slides over my tongue. This tavern, this establishment, might be very out of the way and slightly low class, but they do serve a damn good dram.
I lean my head back against the wall again. And I sit and observe.
It is early evening, and the sun has crept away from the windows. The only light now comes from the haphazard, dancing flames of the torches that are attached to the walls.
The building that this tavern is in used to be the fortress of an ancient King who lived on Aerasak before even the demons came here. People say that stories of that King are only legends now, but I can see it in the way the ancient volcanic rock is secured together.
I can see the proof of that old King’s existence in the old but sturdy metal bars that keep the torches secured to the walls.
I tilt my head then and listen to the dregs of the conversation that float over to me. There is an immense sense of privacy in this place. Maybe it is the constant, thick plumes of smoke that obscure all sight.
Maybe it is the sound of the steady splash of alcohol coming from the bar.
Maybe it is the low, thrumming thread of music that comes from a music box close by.
“…moving them at dawn. Before any of the filth is out.”
I smile at the words. The people at the table next to me are known smugglers. Their words are tense and so is their body language.
I finish my glass of liquor as I listen to them argue quietly. Clearly, one of their trips around Aerasak has gone wrong recently.
“…not risking it again. Not again!”
I grow bored quickly by their conversation. It is too simple. Too obvious.
I glance over at the flames, flickering dangerously in the torches. They look like they could spill over at any second.
