"Piss off!"

Giradin might have been shocked by the sheriff's response had he not been too busy trying not to laugh at the surprised look on Fulk's bandaged face.

The three of them stood in the streets outside the sheriff's office. The city militia milled about all around them, chattering to each other about how miserable they were still trying to clean up the mess from the fire.

"We're offering to help!" Fulk protested. "Whoever did that to the birds is--"

"You've helped enough!" the sheriff snapped, interrupting Fulk. "The Crows may have control of the city right now, but solving crimes is still my job." His dismissive scowl turned into a mocking smirk. "Besides... I'm not sure you're really still a Crow anyway."

"Rotten shit..." Fulk muttered.

The sheriff pointed his leather-gloved finger at Fulk. "Keep it up. Keep talking like that and I'll have you in the stocks."

"I'm not scared of you, lawman!" Fulk spat, both his fists clenched tight.

The sheriff opened his mouth to speak again, but Giradin knew he had to intervene before this escalated too far. He stepped between them and held up both hands. "Fulk, maybe it would be better if we let them do their job and we just rested for now."

"Rest?" Fulk repeated with incredulity. "How can we rest? Someone just threatened the Crows!"

"We don't know that for sure," said Giradin. "We're not militia. We don't solve crimes, we prevent the spread of a deadly disease. How furious would we be if the sheriff were to start... I don't know... treating plague patients? Would we trust him to give them medicine?"

"...No..." Fulk unclenched his fists.

Giradin gave a sigh of relief. "You said it yourself in Kinhan, we are not monster hunters. Whether man or beast, whatever did that to those birds is a monster."

Fulk snorted and shook his head, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lip. "That's a stretch... but, fine! We'll let the sheriff do his job."

Giradin turned to the sheriff and nodded. "Good luck with this one."

The sheriff shrugged. "If God wills it, the man who did this will be caught."

Giradin put a hand on Fulk's shoulder to try to steer him away from the sheriff, but Fulk shoved him away. "Don't touch me!" he snapped, then turned and stomped away.

Giradin followed. "Is all this anger really necessary?"

"'All this anger,' he says," Fulk grumbled. "I'm irritated. You haven't seen me angry. When I get angry people die."

Giradin chuckled. "So, you've never been angry at Shlomo?" He slowed down just a step to make sure he was out of arm's reach. "Does that mean you were just fondling his balls the other day, not threatening them?"

Giradin had expected Fulk to lash out again, and was prepared to jump out of the way, but to his surprise the murderer only chuckled and said, "Don't tell me you aren't curious what a circumcized dick is like, Giradin."

Both Crows laughed at Fulk's joke and shook their heads.

Once they'd gotten the laughter out, Fulk said, "Well, shit! What are we supposed to do with our time if we can't investigate what happened to those birds?"

Giradin shrugged. "Well... when's the last time you had fun?"

"Fun?" Fulk repeated, as if the word were some foreign concept. "Probably about... oh... maybe four years ago."

"Well, then, let's go to the tavern and have a good time," said Giradin with a smile.

"We're not here to have fun," said Fulk.

"Right, we're here as patients, at the moment," said Giradin. "Patients milling about in a city with streets full of shit and piss. A city where there were already a handfull of people hiding symptoms of plague. A city that hates the Crows for... well, too many reasons right now. Let's face it, we're probably dead men. If the plague doesn't get us, the people of Elekvaz will."

"You're doing a great job lifting my spirits," Fulk muttered.

"I'm just saying, why not use the time to eat, drink, and be merry, like Shlomo always says?"

Fulk considered it for a moment. "You mean... drink for some reason other than self-loathing and to drown the demons within?"

"Would it really be so terrible to do something other than work or wallow in self-loathing?"

Fulk pointed an accusing finger at Giradin, but the smirk on his scarred lips let Giradin know he wasn't serious, "Hey! Wallowing in self-loathing is my favorite pastime!"

..................

And so, the two of them found themselves at the Dutch Cavern Tavern.

With mugs of dark beer in their hands and plates of roast pigeon on their table, Giradin and Fulk sat and listened to the minstrels play and the serving wenches tell bawdy jokes. Jokes which were meant to implant sinful ideas in their patrons' minds as well as bring laughter.

"Another round here!" Giradin called out to one of the wenches, and she re-filled both his and Fulk's mugs. The two men clacked their clay cups together and Giradin said, "To living while we can!"

Fulk nodded and took a long drink from his mug, gulping down the beer. Giradin still couldn't imagine how someone could drink something so bitter so quickly.

"That one's looking at you," Fulk muttered to him and gestured to one of the serving wenches.

She was a young woman, probably around 19 years of age, with dark hair in curls and bright blue eyes. For a common woman, she was delightfully plump, so much so that the front of her dress could barely contain her ample bosom. The alluring gaze in her eyes and brief movement of her tongue along her ripe, red lips made Giradin's loins stir with lust.

"Don't just stare back," Fulk said, giving Giradin a pat on the shoulder. "She'll roll in the hay with you for a few coppers, I'm sure."

Giradin shook his head and turned his gaze down to the beer in his cup.

"What's wrong with you?" Fulk asked. "You waiting on some long-lost princess? Or are you a buggerer?"

"I'm the son of a whore, actually," said Giradin.

Fulk snorted. "Ah..."

Giradin sighed. "I was raised in a brothel, among a bunch of other children who didn't know who their fathers were. And when I turned eight I found out the reason why, when I walked in on my mother... 'conducting business' with one of her patrons."

"And you don't want to make another child who goes through what you went through... I see..."

Giradin chuckled. "No, it's nothing so noble as that. A few years ago, I found a dead man by the side of the road, and I picked his pockets. He had quite a bit of money on him, so I used some of it to pay for a night with a whore." He shivered. "Worst mistake of my life! All I could think of when I was with her was my mother. Gah! It just felt like incest the whole time."

Fulk chuckled. "Was your mother as plump as this one?"

"Don't."

"Because this one's got huge--"

"I SAID DON'T!" Giradin snapped.

Fulk closed his mouth and set his mug down on the table. After a moment of silence, he said, "You know, you're going to have to get past that hang-up eventually. Otherwise you'll never get to dip your wick. None of us are likely to get married anytime soon."

Giradin shrugged. "If the priests can live celibate lives so can I."

Fulk snorted. "Such a naif! You really think the priests actually keep their vows of celibacy? What do you think the nuns are for?"

Giradin shot him a glare. "That's blasphemy!"

"I agree!" Fulk growled. "It's blasphemy every time a priest sticks it in a nun, but it happens all the time. Or do you really believe every pregnant nun was raped by a demon?"

Giradin groaned and rubbed his right temple with his fingers. "Keep talking like that and God's going to smite us both."

"Ha!" Fulk downed more of his beer. "Well, if you're not going to have a go at the plump whore, I am. That bother you?"

Giradin waved a dismissive hand. "No. Do what you will."

Fulk tilted his head back and drank the last of his beer, then slammed the clay mug down on the table, adjusted his collar, and sauntered over to the plump serving wench, who gave a fearful look at his approach.

Giradin sipped more of his beer and listened to the flute-player as he wove tapestries of sound, taking Giradin away to happier times. Times he never actually had, but always imagined.