"That's a relief," Alaire replied wryly, stepping into the carriage. The carriage lurched forward, and in a few moments it was careening down the hill at full "Father always does get angry when I take off from official events like this," Kai shouted over a deafening rattle, seating himself awkwardly in the shifting, sway- ing vehicle. "Says it embarrasses him for me to go off like this. With any luck no one will miss me. Ah, there it is!" Kai produced a leather flask and handed it gra- ciously to Alaire.
Glad I wore at least a thin coat to supper, Alaire thought, watching his frozen breath, visible even inside the carriage. Gods, Kai probably doesn't even feel the cold, in his condition. He braced himself in the frigid, plush seat, stained with wine and beer and who knew what else.
He took only a small sip and returned it. Not too bad. A red, fruity party wine. Just the thing for young, inexperienced tastes. Nothing like the wine he would have had at home, for supper. He respected good -- Naitachal would have killed him if he had simply gulped the stuff with no care for anything but alcohol content. And after that bout of sickness and hangover at thirteen, he had learned to respect what bad wine could do. Kai, naturally, took a long swallow of the decadent stuff. Probably strong, too. A quick, cheap drunk.
It was difficult to talk or drink, in the swaying vehi- cle. They rode for some time, while Kai did most of the babbling, sometimes shifting into his native lan- guage. Mostly useless blather, Alaire realized after a moment. Although it was hard to hear over the loud clatter. The wooden cage Kai had imprisoned him in was going full tilt, as fast as the dieren could go, Alaire guessed. Twice, huge potholes violently jostled the carriage contents, landing Alaire in the floor, and Kai on Alaire's lap, laughing hysterically. The rear axle made a strange grinding noise, which got louder as their journey progressed. What lethargy Alaire felt earlier had evaporated. Now his blood roared in his ears; he clutched the sides of the carriage and feared for his life.
"Whoooooeeee!" Kai said as the vehicle slowed to a halt, then gracelessly stopped. He tumbled onto the floor as the carriage lurched once more. "Wanta go back and do that again?"
Alaire, politely, but vehemently, refused. "No.
Where are we?"
"Where do you think?" Kai said, getting off the car- riage floor, where he had landed. "Where the real fun is. In the happy part of town!" He tumbled out the door, leaving Alaire to follow.
Alaire emerged from the carriage, knees shaking, and stepped down onto cobblestone. Without com- ment, he noticed one of the carriage lamps had shaken free and fallen to the street, somewhere behind them.
Also, a spoke in one of the wheels was missing.
Grateful to be on solid ground again, Alaire looked quickly around the street where they had stopped. It was a narrow, cobblestone avenue in an old part of town, lined on either side by many cheap, ill-kept tav- erns. A few torches lit the streets, with too many shadows for Alaire's comfort.
A small group of men staggered out the door of the tavern nearest them, singing and leaning on each oth- ers' shoulders. Alaire had hoped to be able to let his guard down, but when he saw the great contrast between their clothing and everyone else's, he shud- dered. Might as well paint a target on our backs.
Attack us, we're rich, he thought. Good thing Nai- tachal's got most of the money.
But strangely, no one seemed to pay them any par- ticular attention. The street crowd, rough workers, ne'er-do-wells, loafers, probable thieves, who knew what else, all seemed hell-bent on getting drunk that night. As did Kai.
The Crown Prince led him down the long, four- story canyon of bars, brothels and places that of "entertainment." Alaire's eyes nearly fell out of his head when he saw an advertisement for a show. Some- thing for everyone, he thought. That is, everyone except non-humans. Not a sign of elves, orcs, or dwarves anywhere.
Kai led him directly to the first tavern on the right.
Carved on the wooden sign hanging over the door, dulled with age, was the image of a large dragon on its back, its legs sticking straight up. The tongue lolled lifelessly to one side. THE DEAD DRAGON INN, Alaire read, deciphering the strange but legible Suinomen script. Charming.
"Here we go," Kai said cheerfully, stepping over an unconscious man blocking the doorway. "First stop."
"Of how many?" Alaire asked, not expecting an answer.
The tavern was small, cramped and smoke-filled.
Through the haze Alaire made out about a dozen tables, lined up on either side of a long, narrow room.
Barmaids scurried from table to table, balancing wooden steins on teetering trays, serving rowdy cus- tomers, fending passes, keeping up with the orders. In one corner, a musician played a harp, singing some ballad in the Suinomen tongue. His presence sur- prised and cheered Alaire, who had resigned himself to enduring the bellows and howls of drunks. Beauti- ful. Maybe this will be fun after all.
Kai stood glaring at everyone in the tavern. Alaire finally noticed this, he thought the boy was looking for a place to sit. Then he saw he was looking for something else entirely.
"You, there, in the pansy outfit!" a large, drunk man roared, from the nearest table. "This here be the adult's bar! The nursery, it be down the street. Now git!"
An odd silence fell over the tavern, with the excep- tion of the harpist, who continued playin Though Alaire clearly saw the harpists muscles tense, and his legs brace for a quick escape.