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The Tavern was hot and appallingly noisy, with a raucous screeching that passed for music emanating from the Gleemen in the corner.
The location, right next to the Market, meant it was full to bursting with drunken Packmen arguing and proclaiming the quality of their wares. A foul smell of unwashed bodies, vomit, wet dog and spilt beer, all combined to make Rame feel at home.
He had to admit that under the Goddess' rule the countryside was peaceful and civilised. The hamlets, isolated smallholdings, and Earth Mother Freyfarms, were all better run than the Trading towns.
But Rame had been raised in a rambunctious male dominated town, barely constrained by the Goddess, except of course for the ever-present Hexmen and to him this anarchy meant freedom.
Rame and Hal sat at a table next to a blackened oak pillar, embellished with charms and the names of fickle lovers. Its bulk vanished into the gloom of beams supporting the roof and a clutter of nets, brooms and dead things in cages. Behind them was an open door to the kitchen and a stone stairway, route to the Bawd house above.
A longhaired floppy-eared dog, with sad eyes, pressed its chin against Hal's knee and gazed adoringly up into his face. He scratched the animal absentmindedly behind the ear but otherwise ignored it and tried, without obvious success, to involve Rame in his quest to find the Talisman.
Rame was argumentative and Hal seemingly drunk, his hooded eyes slitted, curly brown hair damp with sweat.
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