Garvan decides to let it go.

"My point to all this," says Khulmur, taking a sip of ale. "If you can find three creatures in this city who will not kill you, call that three your family and be done with it"

"Or even one!" says Jorum. "Good enough for you."

"Right" Garvan says, ignoring Jorum. "Do not trust easily. And I hope you have more advice than that?"

Khulmur leans in closer. “I do," he whispers.

Garvan bends towards him, his heads nearly touching.

Khulmur takes a breath and raises his voice, “For the gods' sake, grow a beard if you can, boy. Make yourself the illusion of a man because this city takes no pity on children!"

“Ha!" Jorum slaps the bar. “Keeps your chin warm in winter, too!"

Garvan lets out a puff of air and straightens up.

Khulmur upends his mug. Ale spills down his beard braid. He laughs silently for a moment and then says, “My drink is gone. A pleasure to talk to you, but truth be told, I can only stand a minute or two with a human before I get to feeling drowsy."

"Talking to you takes it right out of us!" says Jorum. “Makes me want a nap."

"For a human, you are not so bad, though," says Khulmur.

“Every day, we meet worse!" says Jorum.

As though on the cue of some silent signal, the two dwarves turn to him and bow their heads. They then turn back to the bar.

'Well, that is that', he thinks. He has made friends with dwarves.

"Well met," he says as he swings off the stool.

The dwarves do not respond. 'Perhaps not friends exactly,' he thinks.

Nevertheless, this encounter will be something he remembers, he is sure.

He catches the eye of one of the young women who have been seated since he came in. The redhead refocuses on the woman across from her, but Garvan figures there's no harm in being friendly on his first day in town.. probably.

How does he approach them? Of course, he could just introduce himself, but they are in the middle of a conversation and he needs something to interject with.

He could make up an excuse based on the fact that he is new to the city. Maybe they know

a good butcher? No, that's not the sort of question for a pair of richly-dressed and bejeweled women. A recommendation for a good theater? He has been into a few plays in his younger years and found them enjoyable. Alternatively, he could pay one of them a compliment.

A few options come to mind for a compliment. Both women are pretty, but he does not wish to give a generic compliment. Better to focus on one thing.

The redhead has a lovely voice that carries through the room and is like music. The brunette has a dazzling blue dress. She probably paid a fortune for it.

The women are seated at a table on a raised platform, perhaps normally used as a stage for musicians. Although Garvan is normally comfortable speaking to women, he can't help but feel a twinge of intimidation as he approaches them from below.

"Apologies tor intruding, my ladies," he says as he steps up onto the platform. He now has both of their attention.

"But you have a voice that is pure music." He nods toward the redhead and widens his eyes to show his wonder.

A huge smile lights up her face. One can only imagine what it's like when you sing," he continues. "You could stop a charging gorgon with a voice like that."

"Thank you, kind sir!" she says, her beautiful voice rising into an ecstatic squeak.

The brunette is scowling, but she quickly adopts a forced smile as her companion looks over at her.

He doesn't want the brunette against him, so he quickly says, "And you... That dress is a wonder. You obviously have an eye for beauty."

The corners of her fake smile hitch up slightly. "Look at you, stranger" she says, not mollified enough. "Breathing flattery like a dragon breathes fire."

The redhead clears her throat. "Yes," she says, clearly projecting her voice now. "What business brings you to the Outer Wheel?"

Margaret's brothel address, according to miners, is right adjacent to the city's only theater.

"I was hoping to find some entertainment. In truth, I would enjoy a good play, and you looked like the sort who would be able to tell me where I might find a theater in this fine city." He pauses and then adds, "I only spoke the truth about your impressions upon me. I hope I did not offend"

The redhead smiles and waves a hand. "We are from middle wheel. There are two theaters in the Middle Wheel: Bard's Tale and The Dog's Snout. If you like the classics, then Bard's Tale. If you want comedy, well, then you have the other."

"What is your favorite play, stranger?" asks the brunette with an easier smile.

"I have not a favorite yet, but I look forward to selecting one." Realizing inexperience makes him appear naive and trustworthy, he takes a deep breath and adds, "I have not been to many plays. 'The Ogre and the Wolf' and 'A Dragon Squeezes the Bellows' are all I have seen."

"Those are children's plays!" the brunette snorts.

The redhead gives her a quick glare.

Garvan smiles humbly. "They were a joy to me at the time."

The redhead smiles indulgently. "As did when I was a little girl. I particularly enjoyed A Dragon Squeezes the Bellows"

"Yes!" Garvan exclaims. Then he laughs. "As I remember it, the dragon flew around accidentally poisoning the farmer's cattle by releasing ga-"

"I'd forgotten!" she interrupts, covering her suddenly-crimson face with embarrassment.

Garvan chuckles.

"Oh, but the effects!" she says between her fingers, her voice still as clear as a silver bell. "Did they use real magic in your production?"

"No.. Just wires and sulfur" Garvan says in sudden disappointment. He never considered that he hadn't even seen A Dragon Squeezes the Bellows at its best.

The brunette chimes in then: "We didn't mention that the Outer Wheel of this city has a theater-The Final Dance"

The redhead removes her hands from her face and straightens in her chair. Giving her companion a scowl, she says sharply, "Of course, we do not recommend it. Don't stay for long in the Outer Ring unless you want to be robbed and beaten. Especially in the evenings."

"Of course," says the brunette. "I was just trying to think of all the theaters. There's also High Mark in the Inner Wheel."

The redhead frowns at her friend again. "Never mind that one," she instructs Garvan, but she seems disinclined to elaborate.

"Ruffians there, too?" he asks.

"No." Her cheeks redden again. "They're just... It's only for-"

"She's right," the brunette says. "You're probably not their sort."

Then he remembers the social status of the inner wheel and realizes that she is belittling his social standing.

It appears the redhead is the happy drunk and the brunette is the mean drunk. He could say something to that effect or he could keep quiet.

What does he do?

He decides to let it slide.

"Well, perhaps I should leave you both to your conversation," he says, motioning to leave.

"No, stay a moment," says the redhead, putting up her hand.

"I am Imania, and this is Hele." Twirling one finger in her fiery red hair, she asks, "And you are?"

"Er, they call me Dragon'" he lies.

"Dragon," Imania repeats with a faint smile. "Well met."

"Well met" chimes in Hele half-heartedly.

"It was kind what you did for Emeline," says Imania.

"Who?"

"The serving wench, Emeline," says Imania.

"Oh yes, of course" Garvan replies.

"Her little boy went under the wheel of a carriage a fortnight ago," says Imania.

"The coin will go to the healer, certainly" says Hele.

By their dress and jewelry Garvan would estimate these women have plenty coin of their own. He wonders how much they have

given to Emeline. He decides it would be unwise to ask.

"Do you ladies mind if I sit for a moment and ask you about your fair city?" Garvan asks.

Hele motions to a chair. "Sit. But not too close. We are married women, and no city is too large for gossip."

"And you are more handsome than most," says Imania with a sweet smile that makes his heart beat faster.

He smiles big and bows.

Hele gives Imania a hard look.

"Sorry.." Turning a shade of red, Imania stares down at the table. "There are words you say, and words you keep." She mutters

this to herself as if she's very familiar with the admonishment.

"For her, wine muddles them together" says Hele shaking her head.

Should Garvan talk flirty, or should he remain normal?

He decides to take this opportunity of light flirting.

"Relax" He says, looking into Imania's blue eyes with his most smoldering look. "I keep secrets well, and I am a stranger here. Who would I tell?"

The redhead blushes deeply.

"Perhaps it is not that you keep secrets so well as that you leave them behind and forget them,' says Hele icily.

"Never" He says, staying focused on Imania. "And I make sure my secrets never forget me."

She smiles and then looks away.

"What shall we tell you of our city?" says Imania.

"A path to some coin would be a start" he says.

"The mining guild is the largest employer" says Imania.

He clears his throat. "An easy and rapid path to coin."

She laughs and then seeing that he is serious, thinks for a moment. "If you can swing a sword, join the Duke's men. They are always skimming and bullying the Outer Wheel."

"The authorities here are little better than a Thieves Guild," whispers Imania. "My husband.. He supplies the farmers in the area and-"

"Manure" says Hele, laughing. "Her man supplies horse manure scooped from the city streets."

"He does not scoop it himself" says Imania, looking pointedly at her companion. "His guild provides a service to the city while increasing the harvests of our local farmers"

"Gets paid by both the duke's treasury and the farmers" says Hele with a laugh. "Who knew what came out of the end of a horse could be so profitable?"

Garvan understands that despite the fact that they live in the Middle Wheel, her husband commutes to the Outer Wheel every day for business.

Imania lowers her voice to a whisper. "We pay a tax to the city guard. For protection." She makes a sour face.

Hele sighs. "And protection you get, not just from the Duke's men but from any other guild who wants into the manure business. Remember the Sweepers Guild? More than one of them got their skull cracked when-"

"Point is that the only real law here is the edge of a sword," says Imania, interrupting Hele.

"If you wish to do business, make the right friends," says Hele.

"True here and everywhere else," Garvan says. "The trick is to make the coin to make the friends in the first place."

"Well, you can talk to her" says Hele tilting her head toward the lone, cloaked woman across the inn. "She fancies herself a sorcerer or some such. I've heard she's looking to form a party to risk life for loot."

"She wants to go into the..." Imania hunches down over the table and whispers,.....sewers." She makes a face. "To hunt

whatever monsters are down there."

"A party was formed a moon ago. One of the Duke's men and several desperate rabble," says Hele. "A young farmer with a pitchfork was the only one to make it out alive."

"A pitchfork?" Garvan asks.

"Said it gave the reach he needed to keep the vermin at bay" She shrugs. "In any case, that doomed expedition did not encourage any more adventurers.. Except for her."

"It is no wonder says Imania, hunching even further down over the table. "You know what is said about her?"

"Imania, do not"

"That she raised the dead" whispers Imania.

"Gods," Garvan mutters. "Like a zombie?"

"Her cat," says Imania, her eyes wide.

"Her cat?" He says, blinking. "Do you jest?"

"To raise an animal, even a beloved pet, is illegal" says Hele. "Necromancy,' she adds in a whisper.

"So why is she not in the dungeon or her head-"

"Because it is only a rumor," says Hele, cutting him off. She shakes her head at her friend. "There are words you say and words you keep."

Imania smiles sheepishly at her friend.

The three of them are huddled together at the table. As though just noticing this, Hele sits back in her chair and motions to the serving wench, a pair of coins in

her fingers. "Dragon, my friend and I have enjoyed our talk with you, but it is time for you to leave."

Imania smiles sadly. "It will not do to be seen cavorting with strangers."

"People talk," Garvan says easily and gives them a wink.

He gets to his feet, takes a final

bow, and hurries over toward the table of this 'sorcerer'.

She might be able to assist him in evading the Seers' detection.

If this sorcerer is connected to the local guard, then she may know a thing or two, but she could also be dangerous to a man like Garvan.

'Be polite,' he reminds himself. 'If she doesn't want to talk, show respect.'

He places a hand on her table and puts on his most sincere smile as he says loudly enough to catch her attention, "You lookl ike you have a lot on your mind."

She looks up, and her scowling lips draw into a firm line. She has large, dark eyes. They rove over him. 'Sizing me up,' he thinks.

"Do you mind if I sit?" he asks, motioning to the chair across from her, the one the soldier had been sitting in.

She pauses, her eyes locked on his in a way that makes a shiver run down his spine.

She smiles back. It's a fake smile, but it's polite. She nods.

He takes a seat. "l am Dragon."

Her eyebrows rise. "You go by the name Dragon? Isn't that a bit self-aggrandizing?"

"..."

'What is she on about?' he wonders.

"Very well, you can call me.."

....."Goose" he says.

She laughs. She has nice, straight teeth. "Now that name strikes the mark. Well met. I am Melvina."

He relaxes into his seat.

"What can I do for you, Goose?" she asks.

Garvan is impressed that she actually said his new name with a straight face.

How does he answer her? He could tell her that he is new in the city and would like to talk to a local. Another option would be to flirt. She might be attractive, with a little paint on her face and a proper dress. Or he could pass himself off as mysterious.

Maybe make her guess.

"I am a fool for a pretty face," he says. "Yours appears troubled."

The corner of her lips turns up.

"I hate to see a damsel in distress, and I thought perhaps I could distract you with a few words," Garvan says.

Her smile goes away. "How very chivalrous of you; however, you are a stranger to me."

"I am a stranger to everyone here. I am new to your city and would like to start by making at least one very good friend." He leans in and gives her his most intense-and, he hopes, seductive--look.

Her eyebrows rise in mock surprise. "At least one, you say?How many very good friends would you prefer? What is your limit-or do you have one?"

Garvan chuckles and puts up his hands in surrender. "I wager only one. The one l am considering seems all I can handle... but I presume she is worth it."

Her eyes narrow, but she is smiling. "Mr. Goose, do you make a lot of assumptions? It is a dangerous habit."

She is not warming to his charm as he had hoped, but it is nice to see a woman's smile after such a tedious journey.

"I beg your forgiveness." He bows and takes a deep breath before saying tentatively, "I am hoping that you might be able to help me."

"How?" she asks warily.

"I am new to this city, and I was hoping I could find a local to tell me a bit about my new home," he says.

"You are not just passing through, then?" she asks.

"No... I mean to stay a while," he says. At her expression, he asks, "Why do you look so surprised?"

"I never have seen you before," she says. "And your manner of speaking, your accent, says you're from over the mountains."

"I have an accent?" he says.

She smiles. "It is so slight that most would not notice it. I study people."

Garvan shrugs. He'd rather not talk about where he is from. That could lead to other questions.

"To be honest, I don't even know anyone in this city, and I'm looking for an occupation," he says.

She shakes her head. "You don't look like the sort who would work in the mines," she says.

"I don't look strong enough?" Garvan asks.

"You appear healthy, and the gods have gifted you with some height and frame, but there are no calluses on your hands," she says. "You don't make your coin with hard labor"

"I'd rather make it with my courage and my wits," Garvan says. "They call Wheel City a place for adventure."

She leans in. "Really? Is that what you are? An adventurer?"

Garvan nods.