Caracara's Hunt 10 First Job

"I just have one question, why does it have to be me?"

"Arawn, we've been over this already," Corwal said with a roll of his eyes. "They know my face, and Eliot is too young. No one will take him seriously."

A frown settled on Eliot's face, but Arawn had bigger problems at that moment. He was standing before a mirror, dressed in new clothes. They were less colorful, but now there was a sword on his belt, and a dagger in his sleeve.

Never having used such things, he found it uncomfortable and weird to move with them. The sword kept b.u.mping into his legs, threatening to stumble him at any moment. The dagger was less annoying, but he could always feel its cold presence. What if he nicked himself instead of an opponent? Wouldn't that be hilarious?

"You won't injure yourself, I promise," Corwal said, patting his shoulder. "It's the most obvious course of action, and all you have to do is say a few words. No matter how people react, I'll know what happened just based on their actions."

Arawn wasn't so certain about that. What would it matter if he pretended to be a young lordling looking for his elder brother? It was certain that n.o.body would tell him anything. There was n.o.body that normal people hated more than n.o.bles.

"Master, do you really trust him?" Eliot asked at that moment. His voice was soft, but there was steel in it.

"He saved my life." Corwal didn't even bother to glance back at the kid. He examined Arawn one more time, then nodded to himself. "I think this is fine. I'll hire a carriage to bring you to the tavern."

Once he left, Eliot leveled a deadly stare at Arawn. "If you endanger Master, I'll never forgive you," he warned with seriousness.

"I thought you were already fine with me?" Arawn said while tugging at his sleeve. It was frilly at the end while the arm was hidden under folds and folds of cloth. Five arms could have been squeezed in with how much of it there was.

When Arawn had asked about it, Corwal had said that it was an old tradition, from the times n.o.bles had to always carry daggers with them. Tight-fitting clothes would betray any weapons, but if one was always swaddled in cloth, who would ever know what they were hiding?

"I'm glad you helped Master, but he trusts you too much. That's why I'll be watching you," Eliot stated. He stood with arms crossed and eyes narrowed, a picture of defiance.

"Sounds smart. Do that."

His words startled the kid, who grew even more suspicious, but Corwal came back into the room at that moment. He pulled on Arawn's hand, pulling him into the foyer.

"You remember what you have to say, right?" When Arawn nodded, he continued. "Good. If you feel any danger, just abandon the ruse and leave, got it? No risking your life. This is the fastest method to learn anything, but not the only one, so don't worry too much. Just do as we agreed and it'll be fine."

His words kept repeating, and Arawn looked up, wondering what was happening. Was Corwal actually worried for him? But that made no sense. The man knew what he could do. If he wanted to worry, he should pray for everyone in the tavern and not him.

Still, a strange warmth once again spread through Arawn's chest. He couldn't help but smile to himself.

Once the carriage came, he sat inside it by himself and waited to arrive at his destination. Corwal had said that he was pretending to be a minor n.o.ble, but Arawn couldn't understand how the carriage was 'nothing much'. It had plush seats, foot warmers, and thick curtains to block the cold and gazes of the people outside.

By the time the carriage stopped, Arawn was almost asleep. He blinked a couple times, trying to wake himself, then stretched. Something sharp touched against his skin, and he instantly lowered his arms; he'd almost p.r.i.c.ked himself with the dagger.

The driver opened the door, and Arawn jumped out. He wobbled a little, but found his footing and paid the man. Corwal had given him the exact amount, and it was an easy transaction.

He raised his head and looked at the sign with a crude bucket drawn on it. White foam spilled from it, and Arawn guessed it was the rumored beer. He'd never tried it, but after hearing what the criminals did upon getting drunk, he thought it was for the better.

The tavern was near a better part of the city, but not in it. The wooden walls were crooked, and a beam at the top was missing. Loud noise came from inside the building. People were shouting and toasting, calling for more beer. Someone laughed.

'You're stalling,' Arawn told himself, but he didn't want to go inside. What if something went wrong? There were so many people in the tavern that he could hurt without meaning to do so. 'But you've promised Corwal you'll do it…'

How had that even come about? All he could remember was strolling around the house, asking Corwal a thousand questions about everything, then the moment the sun started to set, he was put into fancy clothes and told to pretend to be a younger brother in search of his elder one.

"Are you coming or not?" a voice asked from behind, and Arawn whirled around to see a rotund man with a pleasant smile.

Upon getting a better look at him, the man grinned wider. "First time? Don't worry. Everyone has those. What do you say, I'll buy you the first one?"

The friendliness unnerved Arawn. Why would anyone act so nice upon a first meeting? It was lucky if people didn't try to kill you, thinking that you were a small fry.

"I'm on business here," he said in a soft voice, then went to the door and pushed it open. He couldn't just stay outside forever. The sooner he did as asked and repaid Corwal for the food and shelter, the sooner he could leave.

The smell of spilled drinks and sweat a.s.saulted his nose, making him gag. Was that the beer? Why did it stink so much?

As he wondered that, the rotund man pushed him forward. "Come now, lad. Let's find a table and drink ourselves under the table. Isn't that a great plan? I think so!"

Arawn ignored him and went to the bar while watching the strange world around him. Most of the tables were already filled with gruff men. They were well-muscled and looked dangerous as they glared at him from atop their mugs, but few had any noticeable scars.

From his experience, it meant that they were more bark than bite.

This relaxed him, and some of his self-consciousness faded. Even if they thought he looked ridiculous, no one would attack him. Most likely.

"What d'ya want?" the barkeep asked, speaking with a drawl Arawn barely understood.

"My brother came here a week ago and never came back. I want to know what happened to him."

The barkeep picked a tankard and cleaned it with a rag which was even dirtier than the tankard. "How'd he look?"

"Taller than me, brown hair, well-dressed, likes to boast that he'd be a better king when he gets drunk."

"Oh... " The barkeep thought for a moment, frowning, then shook his head. "Can't recall anyone like that. You might be in the wrong place."

Arawn gritted his teeth. He was already being told to leave? Corwal had mentioned that it might happen, but he'd hoped they could get at least give him a few hints about what had happened.

"I see. I'll ask the others just in case."

"Waste your time if you want. No one like that had come here."

Feeling somewhat stumped, Arawn pushed away from the bar. He had a feeling that he was missing something, but he couldn't put a finger on it. The barkeep acted weird, not raising his eyes for anything but a cursory glance at him, and the patrons weren't any less strange.

At first, he'd thought they just disliked his n.o.ble status which was obvious from his clothes, but why then had the animosity increased when the nearby tables had heard about his purpose for coming? A few men even looked like they were talking themselves into standing up and giving him a beating.

Not wanting to escalate the matters into a fight, Arawn turned to leave. Although he was disappointed and felt like he'd failed, it was more important not to hurt anyone. If someone came at him with fists swinging, he wasn't certain if he'd be able to hold back the power within him from las.h.i.+ng out.

The sound of something sharp cutting through the air caught his attention, and he fell on the bar without a second thought. Two mugs crashed to the ground, followed by a dull thud of metal embedding into wood.

The whole tavern went silent.

From a corner of his eye, Arawn saw a dagger sticking out from a stool where he'd been standing moments before. "Well, now I've got something," he muttered to himself and went to pull the dagger out.

As he did so, something whooshed through the air again. Having expected it this time, Arawn whirled around with the magic in hand. It surged through his veins, speeding up his heart, and blinding light darted off from his fingers. It cut the dagger apart and rushed toward the attacker's body.

The man who'd stood up from his seat in a corner stared wide-eyed for a moment. Their eyes met, but there was no pity in Arawn's gaze. If he'd been even a bit slower or less aware, he'd been injured, and the whole tavern would've been obliterated from the magic's outburst.

Swift death was as good as anyone who tried to threaten him deserved. After all, whenever they did so, they were risking the lives of dozens of other people, which made it an unforgivable crime.

Arawn pulled the dagger from the stool and twirled it in his hand, thinking. He could leave, or…

He looked at the patrons in the tavern watching him with terrified gazes. A few people were even crouched by the door, wis.h.i.+ng to escape while he wasn't watching. Upon noticing his gaze though, they froze, curling up into themselves.

Even the barkeep had stopped polis.h.i.+ng his mug. He watched Arawn with a complex expression, like he wasn't sure what to do next.

"I came here to learn about my brother," Arawn said, his voice loud and echoing in the silent tavern. "You can tell me what happened to him, or I can make you." He threw a dismissing glance at the crumpled man in the corner, and everyone followed his gaze.

They gulped, their Adam's apple bobbing. Many looked at one another, their eyes wide and faces pale. A few had fisted their hands on the tables, but they didn't dare to make a move against a n.o.ble with magic at his command.

"I'm waiting," Arawn said in a harsh voice, narrowing his eyes a little.

He wasn't planning on hurting anyone, but intimidation was one lesson he'd learned well in prison. It worked wonders to gain whatever one wanted. And he wanted to know who'd set up Corwal so it wouldn't happen again.