Whiterun was an interesting, attractive city. It was noisy, too, even at the end of a day, with children running through the streets and shopkeepers calling out their wares, as well as multiple streams of water splashing through dedicated channels. Permanent businesses, including a substantial smithy, lined the main street. At the far end was a large building with a covered patio, filled with people eating and drinking; more people were entering the main building under a swinging sign.
“That has to be the inn,” Dagnell said. “I think we deserve a good meal and a real bed after all that travelling.”
“That we do.”
“I’m supposed to meet a man here, but I’m doing nothing before we eat. I’m starved.”
The Bannered Mare was just as noisy inside as out, with tavern wenches taking orders, clinking dishes and laughter, and a bard singing “Ragnar the Red” loudly and slightly off-key. Dag worked her way around to the bar, rented a room, and asked about food.
“Sure. It’s right this way,” the innkeeper told her, leading them up the stairs to the second floor. “I’ll send someone up to take your order.”
“Perfect,” Dag smiled at her. “Thanks.”
It was a nice room, clean and tidy, with a double bed and a balcony overlooking the tavern. Roggi glanced at the bed and then gave Dag an uncomfortable look.
“What?” she asked, kicking her boots off and stretching.
“One bed. She must have thought…”
“Oh come on, Roggi. Relax. We can both sleep there. I can’t imagine anything that would keep either of us awake. Except maybe for him,” she said, pointing down at the bard, who had moved into a loud and equally dubious rendition of “The Age of Aggression.” He had a decent enough voice, but staying in the same key for a whole song didn’t seem to be his best event. The tavern’s patrons seemed to like it well enough, though, so that was probably all that mattered.
The chorus was loud, and some of them attempted to sing along with the bard. “Down with Ulfric, the killer of kings…”
Roggi snorted. “As if they know anything about Ulfric, out here in Whiterun. Bah.”
“You seem to have opinions about Ulfric,” Dag said.
“That’s right,” he answered, looking out over the balcony in such a way that Dag couldn’t see his face.
“Well I’ve heard tales, and I’m from Stros M’Kai. None of them seemed very likely, though. Or very flattering, to be honest.”
Roggi just waved his hand dismissively toward the bard. “Some of them are pretty true, sorry to say. Ok. We’ll stay here. I just didn’t think it was especially proper, but I suppose we’ve been sleeping pretty close together on the road.”
“Yes. And it’s nobody else’s business anyway,” Dag said, turning as she heard steps outside. Then she stared in astonishment.
A gorgeous Redguard woman with a faded but distinct set of scars on her face had stepped into the room. “What can I get for you?” she asked, winking at Roggi. “Food? Drink? Something else?”
Roggi blushed. “I think we’ll have whatever is the specialty of the house tonight,” he answered. “And mead.”
Dag nodded. “Sounds good to me.”
After the woman left, Dag turned to Roggi. “Did you see…”
Roggi nodded. “Sure did. I wonder if she’s the one?”
“I’ll bet she is. I think I’d better keep a low profile while we’re here.” Dag frowned. There would have to be a wrinkle in the plans, wouldn’t there. It couldn’t just go smoothly. That would be too much to ask.
Then she giggled. “Maybe I should go find my contact and leave the room to you,” she said, giving Roggi a sly look. “She’s a lot prettier than I am, and she seemed interested.”
Roggi frowned, and sat down in one of chairs on the balcony. “Good grief,” he snorted.
“Well you do seem to be quite popular with the ladies so far, my friend.” She couldn’t blame them, really. Roggi was a good-looking guy, and travelling out in the sun had given his skin a healthy bronzing that suited him well. But he did not seem amused. Dag shrugged and dropped the subject. Besides, the Redguard had returned with their meal. They tucked into hot bowls of stew, crusty loaves, and tasty mead.
“Not quite as good as Black-Briar, but it’ll do nicely,” Roggi said, smiling.
After they ate, Dag left Roggi relaxing on the balcony and went down to the main hall to talk to the innkeeper again.
“I’m looking for someone named Mallus Maccius,” she said. “Any idea where he might be?”
“Sure,” the woman said. “Down in the back of the kitchen, over there. He likes to keep to himself. Don’t be offended if he’s not real friendly.”
The side room was half filled with kitchen gear and, at the far end, a lone table. Seated there was an Imperial man with stringy, shoulder-length black hair, incredibly pale skin, and some of the darkest circles under his eyes that she’d ever seen aside from war paint. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in a year. As she approached, he looked up at her and glared.
“Can’t a man drink in peace?” he whined.
Dag sighed. “Maven sent me.”
He looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. Wasn’t expecting a woman, I guess, Dag thought.
“Finally. I was afraid you wouldn’t show up in time. Have a seat.”
Dag sat and listened as he described the job at hand. It seemed that the Honningbrew Meadery had developed quite a problem with skeevers, and since vermin and mead didn’t mix well, its reputation was on the line. Its owner Sabjorn, though, had arranged for the captain of the Whiterun Guard to attend a “tasting” of his new mead recipe the following day.
“You’re going to go offer to help him with his problem before the captain shows up,” Mallus said with an unpleasant sneer. “You’ll treat the nest with pest poison and the rest will take care of itself.”
“Ok,” Dag said, perplexed. “You have the poison for me?”
“No,” Mallus said. “That’s the beauty of it. He’s going to supply the poison for you. He’s too lazy to do the job himself. And when you get in there, you’re also going to slip some of the poison into the mead vats, just in time for the Captain to have some.”
“Ugh.” Dag shuddered. That would make for a foul-tasting brew, to be sure, at the very least. It would probably make the captain quite sick, too. Poisoning the captain of the guard didn’t seem like a clever thing for Sabjorn to do. What a delicious scheme.
Mallus warned her that the brewery itself was locked tight all the time. The skeevers, though, had burrowed underground tunnels between it and the public meadery building; that’s how she would get in.
Dag nodded. “Ok, I can do that. In the morning. I’m dead tired.”
“Just don’t wait too long,” Mallus said. “We don’t want Sabjorn to suddenly develop a brain and hire someone else. I hope this works. Maven and I have been working on the plan for months.”
“So what do you get out of this arrangement?”
“Well first of all, I get rid of a debt that he’s had hanging over my head for ages. He doesn’t pay me enough that I can settle it with him. But even better, with Sabjorn gone, I can establish Black-Briar Meadery West. I’ll be set up for life.”
“And Maven’s competition vanishes. Makes sense. Ok, then,” Dag said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She left him and climbed back to their room, yawning. What an unpleasant man. She’d be happy to have this task done and over with.
Roggi had laid down on top of the bedclothes, still in his armor, and was sound asleep. Dag smiled. Well I’m not sleeping in my armor. She stripped down to her tunic and slid under the covers next to him. The man threw an enormous amount of heat, relaxing and reassuring to her. It wasn’t long before she was drifting off.