“All cities are sewers which trap the worst,” Hammen replied as if disgusted as well.

Garth looked down at him and said nothing. The old man looked up at him as if lost in depressing and disturbing thoughts.

“What is it?” Garth asked.

“Nothing, One-eye, nothing at all,” Hammen said quietly.

Garth looked over at the Benalian and found that, in spite of himself, he rather liked the woman. She was a tough fighter, to be sure, yet there seemed, as well, a touch of near-childlike innocence to her in regard to the ways of the world. He sensed that she had fought the oquorak out of a true need for money and had actually expected the Brown fighter to behave honorably. Though she tried to conceal it ‘neath her leather armor, she moved with a soft feminine grace that somehow seemed out of place.

Hammen led the way through the warren of streets, finally stopping at a small tavern, and, leading the way, he ducked in through the low door. The tavern master looked at the three suspiciously.

“I’m closing.”

You mean you don’t serve strangers here,” Hammen replied, looking around the crowded room, which had fallen silent.

A number of the patrons were gathered around a table, watching as two of their compatriots played a card game which represented the fighting of magic users, the onlookers ignoring the new arrivals, so intent were they on the duel being fought out with the cards.

The tavern master pushed his way past the crowd watching the game and walked up to Hammen. He looked at him closely and then threw his head back, laughing.

“Hammen, have you gone mad? I’d sooner expect to see you dressed as a whore than as a fighter’s servant, and damn me if, come to think of it, the two aren’t the same.”

“Then your mother would make an excellent servant, and so would your wife and daughters,” Hammen snapped back, and the tavern master laughed even louder, pointing to an empty table in the corner of the room.

Hammen led the way to the table and the three sat down, the master coming up with a heavy earthenware pitcher and three mugs clasped in one hand and a red-hot poker in the other. He slammed the mugs down and then plunged the poker into the pitcher, the scent of boiling rum wafting up.

“Hot buttered rum, the best in the city,” Hammen announced with a sigh as the woman reached into her satchel and pulled out three coppers and placed them on the table. The tavern master looked down at them, disappointed, and then back at the woman.

“Three coppers for a pitcher is the going rate where I come from,” she said quietly.

“Well, not here.”

“Yes it is,” Hammen replied, waving the master away.

“I hate cities,” she said quietly, pouring a full mug for herself and draining off half of it.

“Then why are you here?” Garth asked.

She looked over at him.

“I can see you’re part of a House.”

“For the moment.”

She sniffed disdainfully.

“Hanin are not welcome in the Grand Master’s city,” Hammen replied, “and especially during Festival. The four Houses make sure of that as well.”

“Well, you won’t see a Benalian serving a color; we’re our own.”

“So why are you here then?” Garth asked, and then he paused, looking at her.

“Norreen, that’s good enough for here.”

“Norreen, then, so why are you here?”

“I was a shield carrier to my lord,”-she paused-“but he’s dead.”

“So you failed to protect your lord and now you’re unemployed,” Hammen interjected.

“Something like that,” she said quietly.

“So go home then,” Garth said.

“She can’t,” Hammen said. “It’s a question of honor. The Benalia caste system is strange beyond imagining. At the start of every new lunar year the highest caste of the year before becomes the lowest and the next highest moves up and so on down. The only one who can break the caste cycle is a hero, a rank awarded to warriors who are shield carriers to a lord or win great honors and renown. I’m willing to bet her caste ranking is going to be the lowest and she wants nothing to do with it. Since she is not a hero, she would be a servant, which isn’t to her liking.”

Hammen looked over at her and she said nothing.

“Let me finish my conjecturing. There’s a man in here someplace, there always is, most likely a loathsome fat toad. Women of the lowest caste cannot refuse the demands to mate from one of the highest class; this toad wants you, and I half suspect that you’re a virgin and want to save your honor, plus you don’t like warts.”

She looked at him coldly but her face reddened slightly and Hammen snickered.

“Madness,” Hammen said. “I never could understand you Benalians.”

The Benalish woman stiffened.

“No worse than this damned Festival.”

“Ah, there’s at least logic there. The Houses get to test each other to see which has the best and thus gain prestige and contracts for the forthcoming year. Merchants and princes can evaluate fighters they might wish to hire, the mob is entertained, and the winner gets to go with the Walker, bringing prestige to his House. It’s all so amusing.” And he shook his head.

“And the Grand Master makes all the money,” she replied coldly.

“So why do you care?” Garth asked.

“I don’t.”

“But you are looking for employment here since all the great princes will be arriving for Festival.”

“Would you tell your servant to shut up,” she snapped angrily.

“Hammen, shut up.”

“Oh, please don’t beat me, Master,” Hammen whined sarcastically, before emitting a long belch. He looked over at the woman and grinned lasciviously.

“I think my master here is rather taken with you. If you’re in agreement, we can take care of this virginity problem. I have a cousin who owns a rather nice place to lodge the night. I’ve heard Benalish women are rather exciting. All I ask is that I get to watch through a peephole. My cousin rents them out to old men like me.”

She pulled her dagger out and slammed it into the table, a clear signal of challenge.

Hammen held his hands up with mock terror.

“I am not a fighter of magic or a warrior, so don’t soil your blade, good lady.” And he laughed again.

Garth looked over at Hammen and flicked his own blade out of its sheath as well.

Norreen finished the rest of her drink and slammed the mug down with such force that it shattered.

“I wouldn’t sleep anyhow with a One-eye, especially one with a servant who makes me want to vomit from the stink of his breath.”

She stood up and stormed out of the tavern. Garth looked over coldly at Hammen.

“Thanks for your help.”

“Oh, no bother, Master. Just saving you a lot of trouble. Benalish women who are warriors are notorious for crushing men’s hearts. They make it a sport, especially if he’s a different caste. It’s one of their ways of gaining prestige. Besides, she’s a virgin and they are an eternal bother, always falling in love with the man who relieves them of that concern, following him around and whining about love. I figured it best to protect you from it.”

“I don’t need your damn protection.”

“Around here, Garth, you need my protection,” Hammen said quietly. “Benalians are usually more trouble than they’re worth, always picking fights, always trying to break out of their caste cycle, especially when they’re women and thrown to the bottom of the heap. Ones like her are half-crazy from it, and the half-crazy are the sane ones compared to the rest.

“Now if you’re interested, my cousin keeps a nice supply of exotic women in his lodging and for a small fee I can arrange some entertainment. With your money I bet we could even get two at once,” and, as he spoke, Hammen leered hopefully. “Certainly you won’t mind my renting a peephole while we’re there.”

“Let’s go back to the House,” Garth said coldly, and Hammen looked at him, crestfallen.

As he stepped out into the street Garth looked around, as if expecting to see someone, and then looked back at Hammen.