He visits an old friend

After having enjoyed a drink and gotten rid off the three harlots, Quinlan had gotten dressed and ventured out onto the streets to see what he could find out about the missing crosier.

Like most days, Quinlan was dressed in a fashion which didn’t convey that he was a wizard, since that would just make him stand out like a sore thumb, but had instead opted for a pair of boots, a pair of simple brown trousers and a tunic. Since it was raining outside, he had also gone for a heavy leather coat and a hat.

Even though it was barely past midday and a light drizzle was going on, the Kettle was still a den of immoral activity. The streets weren’t quite as packed as they were at night, and the whores and johns stayed indoors, but plenty of bars and brothels were open around the clock, to accommodate the constant stream of sailors and travellers who arrived in the city looking for someone to fuck.

Taking a drag from his cheroot, Quinlan avoided a massive puddle of rainwater as he moved into a dreary alleyway and proceeded to walk all the way into it before transcending the steps leading down to the rugged wooden door above which a sign on which it said “Pitt’s”, which was the name of the establishment which Quinlan was about to enter.

Pitt’s was the consciously non-appealing name which the bar’s owner, Obadiah Pitt, had chosen to give it when he founded it after his distinguished career as a sell-sword had come to an end twenty-odd years ago. It was a place for other sell-swords, investigators, thieves and assassins, where they could get away from it all and enjoy a bit of quiet in the company of their peers.

Pushing the door-handle down, Quinlan found that the door was unlocked, and so pushed the door away from him before stepping into the bar itself. Usually being open six days a week, it wasn’t unusual for Pitt to close the bar for a day or two without announcing it. His customers were accustomed to it, and would return a few days later to find it opened again.

Opening at around ten in the morning and staying open till way past midnight, Pitt’s was rarely housing more than a dozen patrons at anyone time, and it was equally rare that less than five customers were present there. As always, there was no music and no dancers or whores, this simply wasn’t the place for people interested in any of that.

Glancing around the place and counting eight customers apart from himself, Quinlan shook his shoulders and gently swung his hat through the air in front of him to get rid off the worst dampness brought about by his stroll through the rain.

As he walked up to the counter, Quinlan passed by three men busy playing a game of cards, and judged from the way they were looking that they must have been at it all night.

Miele, Pitt’s youngest daughter, was tending bar at the moment, and she sent Quinlan a warm smile as he came up to the counter.

“Hi Quinlan,” Miele greeted the wizard. She was clad in a simple white dress which managed to be quite modest while at the same doing very little to hide her hourglass figure. The nineteen-year old brunette was a stunning creature, with a bust that rivalled most that Quinlan had ever seen when it came to its ample size, and he found himself wondering for the umpteenth time what Miele dressed like when her dad wasn’t around. He was pretty sure that she knew a couple of tricks: growing up in the Kettle could hardly have left her a virginal figure.

“Hello Miele,” Quinlan handed her his hat, “is your dad around?”

“He’s in the back… you’ve come to see him?”

“Uh-huh,” Quinlan nodded, and Miele said nothing as he went on to get behind the counter and walk through the doorway leading out of the barroom.
Climbing up a short flight of stairs, Quinlan entered the Pitt family residence’s kitchen, where Obadiah was currently enjoying his breakfast.

“Quinlan,” the massive man nodded at the wizard. Despite being almost sixty years old, Obadiah remained quite phenomenally powerful, although he was no longer quite as similar to a bull as he had been when Quinlan had first met him thirty-five years earlier.

“Obadiah. The hand’s still working alright?”

“Yep,” Obadiah flexed his right hand, which looked slightly smother than his left one. It had been severed by a deranged wizard’s machinations twenty-two years earlier, and it had been Quinlan who had counteracted the wizard’s spell and managed to replace it. Doing that had been a truly arduous task that had required more than a day of constant struggle and which had taken its toll by having him age a whole year or so.

“But you didn’t come here about my hand, did you?” Obadiah asked, fully aware of the fact that they had carried out the exact same conversation a couple of times a year for the last twenty years.

“No,” Quinlan took a seat opposite to Obadiah, “I need to ask you something.”
The spell to keep anyone from listening in kicked in, leaving the two of them free to talk.

“What about?”

“You haven’t heard anything about a big job during the last couple of days, have you?”

“I might have,” Obadiah grinned, “I might have heard about a really big job, and about the people who are supposed to have carried it out.”

“Oh yes?”

“The People’s Front is back.”

“What, again?” Quinlan sighed. The People’s Front was one of more than a dozen different organizations which formed to fight for the common good of the common people before disbanding, either voluntarily or thanks to outside pressure, and then formed again when the need arose. Quite a few of them were alright as far as Quinlan was concerned, just being organizations which did a bit of good in regards to a certain issue, but then there was the Chartists and the People’s Front, two groups which were aiming for something much more radical. The Chartists were aiming to establish a contract which each citizen would strike with the state, granting him certain rights and bestowing him with certain obligations, while the People’s Front wanted “a true rule of the People.”

The People’s Front had been wiped out only to be reformed a few years later by new members at least a dozen times as far as Quinlan knew, and its members were always quite keen on handing out pamphlets declaring their opinions and aims. One of the more curious suggestions was the destruction of the Kettle, with a massive public square being laid in its place on which the people could gather to express their opinions and debate on what to do.

“Yeah, they’re back alright. I heard about them a couple of weeks ago, appears that they’re growing fast, and rumour has it that they’ve even carried out a couple of raids.” Obadiah explained.

“Raids? Don’t they just result in Fronters’ being killed or arrested?”

“Well yes, but not this time around apparently. Seems like this time around they’ve got themselves a leader who actually knows what he’s doing. Of course, a couple of days ago I got word that they’re supposed to have carried out a ruddy great score.”

“How curious.” Quinlan stroked his chin.

“Aye, particularly in light of the fact that there’s another little rumour going around about another little group of people, real professionals this time, who have formed into a group to carry out a job.”

“You don’t happen to have their names, do you?”

“Oh yes,” Obadiah nodded his head again, and gave Quinlan the names of the people involved. Quinlan guessed that the People’s Front was being set up as a scapegoat; someone powerful would build them up and then set them up. His bet was that if Dacca were to be ousted over the crosier, then the damn thing would appear a few days later and the People’s Front would be announced to be the ones’ who had stolen it.

“Thank you, old friend.” Quinlan stood up, “You’ve been as good a friend as always.”

“It’s not like I don’t owe you,” Obadiah replied to his old friend and associate. Apart from fixing his hand, Quinlan had put a spell on both of Obadiah’s daughters while they were still growing in Mrs. Pitt’s stomach, ensuring that they would grow up to be healthy and beautiful.
As a result, the two daughters looked nothing like their massive, ox-like father or their short, jovial mother.

Placing his hand on Obadiah’s head, Quinlan cast a spell and waited as it had its effect on Obadiah.

When Quinlan pulled his head back from Obadiah’s head, the larger man looked around the room and then grinned again as he looked at Quinlan, his confusion seeming to disappear.

“You again?” Obadiah said to Quinlan, “I wonder what we talked about this time…”
It had been at Obadiah’s request that Quinlan had begun to wipe his mind from any memories of what they had talked about during their short meetings, claiming that this would be more secure.

“I could tell you, but you know…” Quinlan’s mouth cracked open into a smile.

“Aye, I do know.” Obadiah got up on his feet, “Well, come by sometime and have a pint, would you?”

“I’ll do that.” Quinlan promised, and then descended down the stairs. He now had two leads.