“Did you see another way in?” Roswell asked.
“No,” Mr. Barnard said. “The back door in the alley was locked and a large man was standing next to it.”
“Just one?” Caleb asked.
“He was the size of two, maybe three men,” Mr. Barnard replied, holding his arms out wide to make his point.
Caleb turned his attention towards the tavern. “Either way, we will need to get inside so we can go to the second level. The fastest, and most direct, path is to enter through the main door.”
Mr. Barnard looked unsure. “I think if we took more time, we could come up with a better plan than this.”
“We don’t have time,” Roswell asserted. “Every moment we stand here arguing is a moment that is wasted.”
“Fine, but if I die, I will haunt you for the remainder of my days,” Mr. Barnard said.
“As I would expect you to,” Roswell stated. “We will bring the ladies around to the back door. That way we will only have to fight off that one man.” He paused. “Sorry, one large man.”
“Do not underestimate that man,” Mr. Barnard advised.
“We won’t,” Roswell promised.
They started walking towards The Drunken Bear Tavern, skirting the animal carcasses that were strewn on the pavement. Roswell knew that they were in for the fight of their lives and he was ready for whatever the outcome was.
Caleb arrived at the door first and opened it, following them inside. Roswell stepped into the dimly lit hall and all the men stopped drinking long enough to glare at them.
The dark-haired serving wench crossed the room and asked, “Are you sure you want to be here, blokes?” She appeared to be genuinely concerned for them, as if in her own way silently warning them that they were in danger by just being here.
“We do,” Roswell confirmed.
With a frown on her lips, the serving wench said, “Go along, then. Find a seat and I will be with you shortly.”
Roswell saw an empty table in the corner and walked over to sit down. His eyes roamed over the room and he saw the set of stairs along the back wall.
Once they were situated, Mr. Barnard leaned in and said, “Everyone is staring at us.”
“Let them stare,” Caleb responded. “They will go back to their drinks soon enough.”
The serving wench approached the table and asked, “Do you blokes want something to drink?”
“Three drinks of whatever it is that you are serving,” Roswell ordered.
“You three don’t look like you belong in these parts,” the serving wench remarked as she perused their fine clothing. “I should warn you that our ale isn’t what you are undoubtably used to.”
Caleb offered the woman a kind smile as he placed a gold coin onto the table. “Thank you for your concern but it is unfounded. We have no qualms with drinking the ale at this establishment.”
She quickly snatched up the coin and said in a hushed voice, “If I were you three, I would leave this place and never come back.”
“We have business we need to see to here,” Roswell shared.
“No business is worth your life, sir,” the serving wench said before she raised her voice. “I will get your drinks now.”
As the woman walked off, Roswell turned his attention towards the stairs. “I need to get upstairs to the second level and find our sisters.”
“How do you propose you do that?” Mr. Barnard asked.
“We need a diversion,” Roswell replied.
Caleb bobbed his head. “I know just the thing.” He shoved back his chair and rose. “Gentlemen, may I have your attention?”
