Chapter 14: Chapter 11 Smuggler Business

“Those guards are heading in the direction we need to go. Krynnzal does business out of the Dragon’s Hoard tavern three blocks that way,” Rook whispered, turning to face Lyzander in the darkness. He relaxed when he heard the tavern's name, he knew where it was from here. 

 

“Okay, you go on ahead. I’ll follow from up there,” Lyzander replied, gesturing to the rooftop of the adobe-walled buildings in much better repair than the ones found in the slum.

 

Rook nodded in understanding and started to walk forward in a practised way to avoid guards' suspicion. Lyzander got a jogging start toward the wall and calculated his approach. Leaping to a street-level window sill, he used that to spring upward to catch a thick crossbeam. 

 

Adjusting his grip, he swung sideways to grab and haul himself onto the railing of a balcony. He followed Rook silently along an unbroken line on the rails in a crouch. He kept her in sight until they arrived at an intersection, the guards conversing in hushed whispers in the centre.

 

Rook hesitated and turned to survey the rooftops in search of him to see what he wanted her to do next. He tucked himself into the shadows to avoid her gaze, watching to see what she might do. One of the guards glanced at Rook standing conspicuously under the moonlight. He nudged his partner and gestured in her direction. 

 

They immediately stopped speaking and separated, one stepped off the current street and turned down the intersection. The other spun on his heels and approached a lively tavern illuminating the street a short distance away. Lyzander could see Rook’s confusion at being ignored by the watch.

 

He quickly climbed to the ground and silently approached her from behind. She was startled the moment he rested a hand on her shoulder and placed a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her crying out.

 

“We’re here. Those guards are acting awfully suspicious, see that one in front of us? I think he’s going where we are. I think we should wait outside to see their intentions before we go in,” Lyzander suggested.

 

Rook nodded in agreement, they stuck to the shadows as they followed the guard. Lyzander noticed the man had a slight limp, with his right foot lagging behind. Lyzander directed Rook into an alcove opposite the boisterous tavern as the guard entered. 

 

The building’s shutters were thrown wide in the midsummer heat, allowing a clear view inside. Lively patrons in labourers' attire laughed and joked with one another, downing tankards of ale and mead. The tavern grew quiet and solemn when everyone noticed the newly arrived member of the watch. 

 

A drunk completely oblivious to the change in atmosphere stumbled backward, knocking into the guard and spilling his ale down his dusty tunic. He immediately turned aggressive and turned to confront the guard. Before he could act, his peers dragged him back and he realised how close he came to misfortune. The guard ignored the man and crossed the room and sat beside a Lizardfolk woman at the bar. The room immediately ignored the guard and returned to laughing and carrying on.

 

“That’s Krynnzal. The guard must be on the take. She must have something going down. Which means we should be able to get you out of Hazelhaven tonight,” Rook said, stepping toward the tavern.

 

Lyzander hesitated, adjusting his pack and slouching his shoulders before following. The pair pushed open the tavern door, stepping into a wave of heat and stench of sweat from the press of gathered bodies. Lyzander kept his gaze lowered and his hands on his straps as they navigated across the room. 

 

He tried to stay close to Rook but the drunk they had seen earlier stumbled between his path, a new drink in hand. He noticed Lyzander standing a head shorter than the rest of the crowd, a frown creasing his brow.

 

“Eh? What’s a kid doing in here?” the drunk asked in confusion. A man next to him slapped a palm against the back of his head.

 

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“Look at his forearms, idiot,” the other man admonished.

 

“Oh, I forgot we’re in Claya, Halfling territory. My utmost apologies, sire. Let me buy you a drink… fuck you stink. Hey, do I know you?” the drunk asked. Lyzander stepped around the man with a sigh of annoyance. The drunk continued to watch him a moment before returning to his cup.

 

Searching around the room for Rook, Lyzander noticed the gaze of a dangerous-looking man watching him over the rim of a tankard. The man kept staring at him without flinching as Lyzander tried to dodge his eyes. More and more people were pointing him out to their mates in the crown and more eyes fell on him.

 

I’ve been recognised, what happens now?

 

The man watching from a table in the corner of the room audibly cleared his throat. Everyone watching Lyzander heard the sound and unanimously turned their gazes away, pointedly looking in a different direction. Lyzander was bewildered by the sudden shift in attitude and felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

 

He turned to discover the guard they had followed, glaring down at him. Immediately alert, Lyzander prepared to escape the situation by any means necessary. The guard released his shoulder with a wry grin and a highly exaggerated yawn. 

 

“Ah, it seems I’ve had a few too many to drink. I thought you were someone I knew. I better hurry to my post, my watch is about to start,” the guard said, giving him a dramatic nod goodbye.

 

He sauntered out of the room accompanied by knowing chuckles from the others in the tavern. Lyzander watched the man leave in confusion, the guard’s lame leg impossible to ignore at this close proximity. Despite the guard’s best efforts to hide it, Lyzander could see the mismatch in his stride indicating a genetic defect.

 

“Relax, boy. Crabfoot was just letting you know there won’t be any trouble from him. He’s on the payroll. Come take a seat,” A feminine hissing voice called from across the room. The crowd parted to give him a clear path to the Lizardfolk woman seated at the bar.

 

Glancing around himself suspiciously, Lyzander approached the bar. The Lizardfolk woman invitingly patted the seat next to her. He climbed onto to stool as she pushed a drink in front of him, gesturing for him to drink before speaking. He sniffed the mug before chugging the drink back. 

 

Letting out a light burp, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and placed the mug down. He noticed Rook staring at him quietly from nearby, a torn look in her eyes. Krynnzal glances at her.

 

“You scamper on home, little rat. Your brood is in a bit of a bind and needs you to go lend them a hand. Something about Fae Fire and the Brushfoot Boys. I’ll take care of your friend here,” Krynnzal instructed, Rook gave Lyzander a look that spoke volumes about her feelings for him. She reluctantly turned into the crowd and left the tavern. 

 

Krynnzal the smuggler was gorgeous in an alien, Lizardfolk way. Her blue-green iridescent scales shimmered and gleamed in the tavern’s lantern light, captivating Lyzander’s attention. She wore tight-fitting functional clothing that highlighted her figure, showcasing her curves and adding to her allure. Her hair was a vibrant red plume, adding a touch of boldness and flair to her already stunning look. She watched Lyzander with a fierce and appraising gaze.

 

“Now, we can get down to business.”

 

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