The interior of the Hammer and Tongs was gloomy at best – the daylight that came through the narrow windows was beginning to fail, and the tavern’s only lighting came from the slender candles on the tables that spotted the common hall. The furnishings inside spoke of comfort without any attempt at show – everything was solid, well-made and clean. Right down to the oak beams of the rather low ceiling, on which Seth nearly brained himself immediately after walking through the front door.
In one corner, a group of half a dozen or so young men in the clothes of the merchant class were seated around a table – their heads all craned inwards, engaged with half-heartedly hushed voices in what sounded like a rather heated discussion. A couple of older-looking men leant against the bar, a barman with a moustache that radiated enough respectability for a Duke filling a pewter stein for one of them as the other chatted inconsequentially. There were a few more of their type seated around the common hall – another group of youths occupied the opposite corner from the first, less numerous and rather more finely dressed. Occasional gales of laughter rose from their table, causing one of the first group to shoot them the odd venomous glance.
Approaching the men at the bar, Seth nodded to them. They regarded the still-bloody man with a wary interest – their caution lessening slightly when he offered to buy them both a drink.
“Very good of you, sir,” said the first man – a short, stocky fellow with a meticulously groomed beard. “D’you come here often?”
“No.” Taking a drink for himself, Seth paid the barman and took a sip. “This is my first time in Delberz.”
“A great city. A
great city.” Seth got the impression that the short man had been drinking for some time already today. “Lived here all my life I have, man and boy, boy and man.” He held out a pudgy hand. “The name’s Adler. Reinhardt Adler.”
“Seth Adelbert,” said the Squire, shaking it.
The short man’s companion shook Seth’s in turn. He was thin, clean-shaven apart from sideburns of greying whiskers, and rather more sober than his friend.
“Wilhelm Tures. Can we help you, Herr Adelbert?”
“I was wondering if I could find someone to tell me about the gunpowder trade here.”
“Not sure you’ve come to the right place, lad,” said Adler, jovially. “It’s all striplings and youths here now, all boys, no men of business. Wilhelm and I only come to keep old Dieter happy, isn’t that right Dieter?”
The barman nodded amiably, going back to cleaning the stein in his hand.
“You want to buy or sell?” asked Wilhelm.
“Neither, for now.”
Tures nodded, sucking his teeth.
“I do a little business with Greitling, the gunsmith in the Altmarket.” He paused – unintentionally allowing Reinhardt to butt in.
“Wilhelm here’s a lawyer, don’tcherknow. They’re a litigious lot, these shopkeeps. Always getting into disputes over something or other, and it’s always old Wilhelm has to sort ‘em out.”
He laughed, mostly to himself. Seeing that his friend had finished, Wilhelm continued.
“I can give you his address, if you’d like. Apart from him, I think there’s only one other merchant who stocks the stuff in town – Karlsen, in the Neumarket.”
The lawyer took a sip from his beer.
“I don’t think they get on too well. By all accounts, Karlsen’s undercutting Greitling, selling poor stuff on the cheap, and never mind to whom. At least, that’s what Greitling says.” He took another sip. “Frankly, I imagine if you asked Karlsen, he would give you the same story about Greitling. Tradesmen are often like that.”
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OOC: Ale here is 4p a pint – you’ve spent 12 on one each for yourself and your two new friends.