Chapter 57

The inn was a quiet bustle. It was afternoon and the guests had only just begun to arrive at the only bar and entertainment place in the city. Jefre sat comfortably in the corner of the inn and, holding a mug of beer in his hand, he was looking around checking the gathered people. 

There were four merchants, one local drunkard, two peasants celebrating a good deal on grain they had sold, a whore cuddling up to a tipsy young man, and three silent middle-aged men. From their clothes and demeanor, Jefre judged them to be mercenaries. He looked at them carefully for a moment; one of them had a crooked nose, a clear trace of a fight he must have fought in the past. The second was balding and the rest of his long hair hung in greasy strings from his head. The last was the youngest, he had a birthmark on his cheek in the form of a red spot the size of a golden aren coin. They didn't talk much, they sipped beer and, just like Jefre, were looking around. 

Jefre raised the mug to his lips, pretending to drink. No, he didn't feel like drinking beer, he never drank alcohol, but here he had to sit at something to match all those people and a sober man in an inn was way too suspicious.

It was already dark when the stranger who had been following his woman entered the inn. Jefre recognized him immediately. He watched him while the stranger ordered beer and a bowl of thick, fatty soup. As soon as he finished eating and drank the mug of beer he had ordered, he looked around the inn and then approached the three mercenaries. He started discussing with them. In all the din, you couldn't hear what they were saying, but from the movement of their lips, as far as Jefre could make out, he was inviting the mercenaries to a game of dice. After a while, all four of them indulged in gambling, Jefre sensed an opportunity. He stood up and, with slightly unsteady steps, walked over to the four players.

"Gentlemen - he stammered, pretending to be drunk - can I join you? I have money." He said, waving a bulging pouch in front of their noses.

"Sure - the balding stranger agreed - the more the better. Right, guys?"

The three others nodded and smiled meaningfully at each other.

"You may start - Jefre said, sitting down - what's your name?"

"Red - the man replied when asked - and you?"

"Jalo. - Jefre lied - Innkeeper! - he shouted loudly towards the already crowded bar - Beer for me and my friends. I'm paying!" 

"Sure my lord - he heard the answer and after a moment mugs of beer landed on the table, placed with such force that foam ended up on the floor and partly on Jefre's lap. Jefre immediately took out a golden coin and gave it to the bartender.

"Let's play then - Red threw the dioices."

* * *

It was strange, but Moros had always imagined a place like this differently. It should be full of mysterious potions, a cauldron above the fireplace, maybe some skulls or bundles of herbs. Before he entered, Moros felt a nervous pressure in his stomach and fear. Genuine fear. 

Machaja, because that was the name of the woman he was looking for, was a herbalist. That was her official name. In reality, she was known for preparing the best poisons in this part of Katamir. Setia had described to him in detail the way to her home and given him instructions on what to expect. 

The herbalist's home was not a sunken cottage in the middle of the forest, but a brick tenement house located in the center of the city of Karisa, located half a day's journey from the border with the five principalities of Hadgard. The room he was in was whitewashed, bright and clean. The furniture was made of simple pine wood. He sat on a bench at a table standing next to a window made of glass, not an animal's bladder, and that fact alone spoke a lot about Machaja's financial status. In the room there was also a closed wardrobe and a chest standing in the corner, as well as two sturdy chairs. On the wall hung a tapestry depicting some plants. 

He was let into the house by a little girl, she could have been 8 or 10 years old. She led him to this room, and now he waited. He wondered what such a woman might look like, she probably wouldn't be an old lady with a face covered in warts. He was waiting and he was still feeling uneasy. After a while, the door to the room opened and a tall, slim woman between 30 and 40 years old entered. She had a dark complexion like a typical Catamarian, long black hair braided in a braid reaching down to her waist and unusually dark eyes similar to Setia's, to one of her eyes. He specified in his thoughts.

"Welcome." She spoke with a very melodic voice. She knew the Hadgard language and this made Moros very happy.

"Greetings, Madam." At the sound of his welcoming Machaja smiled, showing even white teeth.

"No one here calls me that - she said sitting down on the chair standing opposite him - call me by my name, just Machaja. What are you looking for?"

Moros cleared his throat, he was slightly embarrassed. The woman made a big impression on him and he felt embarrassed in her company. He smiled to cover his embarrassment and then took a deep breath and decided to recite the formula he had prepared earlier.

"I need two poisons, one with a delayed effect and the other with an immediate effect and an antidote." He said in one go avoiding her eyes.

"Which poison do you want the antidote for?" Machaja watched him, smiling slightly.

"The one with an immediate effect." Moros felt himself blushing. 

"I see, this delayed-release poison is supposed to be spectacular in its effects?" The herbalist asked in a calm, matter-of-fact tone.

"Spectacular?" Moros was surprised.

"Is the person who takes it supposed to die in agony, sweat blood, or is their body supposed to rot and fall off their bones while they are alive, or is it supposed to vomit until they die of hunger and exhaustion." Machaja fixed her dark eyes on Moros's face and he felt a trickle of cold sweat running down his back.

"No, it's supposed to be a gentle death, painless if possible." Moros felt strange talking about the method of killing.

"I understand with what delay this poison is supposed to work?"

"I don't know, two or three days?"

"Well, that's clear. For you, two poisons and one antidote will be ready tonight." Machaja stood up from her seat, that was a clear signal that the conversation has just ended.

"I'll be here in the evening." Moros also stood up and accompanied by Machaja reached the door. He looked at this extraordinary woman for the last time, smiled embarrassed by her proximity and left after saying goodbye.

Outside, he took a deep breath, the whole meeting seemed so unreal to him. Too bad, he knew why he was going here. Now he didn't want to think about it anymore, he went straight to the inn "Under the Full Barrel" where he left his horse and decided to spend a few days overnight before returning to Emfer and to Tendred. Walking down the cobbled street, he tried to clear his mind and not think about what Setia was planning and what he was helping her to do. He liked Tendred, if the prince wasn't in love with him, Moros would gladly spend every free moment in his company. And now he felt trapped by this unrequited feeling. He passed another tall stone building. All the houses here were whitewashed, but attention was drawn to the colorful doors and shutters and burnt roof tiles, which he did not see in Hadgard, where the roofs were covered with boards soaked in tar. He looked around carefully, absorbing all the details of the construction and surroundings. People passing him on the street turned to look at him. He had light hair and amber-green eyes, which immediately distinguished him from the crowd of dark, swarthy Katamirians. There was no shortage of merchants from Bazaldia or Orchad, but they were few and far between.