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The Black Chapel
V
Taverns and their drunkenness still abound in the city of Bridgeville. Inside is often the center of a raucous chaos of drunks and song and empty merriment; and it is within taverns that thieves commonly ply their trade. The Tavern of the Dancing Maid is a haven, the oldest tavern in the city, and a long-time favorite of mine.
As one mounts the groaning front steps the noise and human stench assails the senses like a fist. It no longer affects me, but to the newcomer it is a powerful force. Welcoming warmth emanates from the eternally open door, and soft light enters the street like a beacon in the night. Inside, the air is heavy with smoke and filled with noise, but the atmosphere is always warm and inviting. The perfect tavern.
The Tavern of the Dancing Maid has been a family practice since before even I was alive. The current barkeep – I have known more than twenty generations of the Robins – recognizes me the moment I walk in the door, and knows better than to make any acknowledgement. I swiftly and silently take my customary seat in the furthest, darkest corner.
From this seat in this corner I have seen more deals made, tales told, song sung and fights begun than I could tell in your lifetime. As the Master Thief of the Bridgeville Thieves’ Guild I have always found it wise to know what is happening on the street. This is how I do so. The flood of humanity – scum and noble alike – flows through this sole tavern, it seems.
It was no surprise that in this tavern Minj began his work for Nicholas. A pity, but no surprise.
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copyright november, 1999 noah mclaughlin