"But this stew has no meat!" Gossamer said. The tavern was silent, waiting for his next words. He enjoyed having their eyes on him, watching them lean forward in anticipation of his next line. "The keep looked at the patron and smiled. One of those wicked smiles that held meaning only known to its owner." He paused to let it sink in. "Not unlike my daughter, sir. She'll have no meat tonight as well."

The tavern broke into hysterics. Gossamer had perfected the timing of the jest a month back. He modified a story from an unskilled teller who received chuckles at best, having yet learned how to work a crowd. Coppers flew near the stage and Gossamer could hear many of the tavern's inhabitants repeating the last line and breaking into new bouts of laughter. It was worth more than the coin, though food cost, so he gathered up the coppers as he called out his thanks.

"Come, come. Sit with us," A burly man called out from a table near the crate Gossamer had been using as a makeshift stage. "We will buy you a mug, and perhaps some stew with meat in it." He burst out laughing, slapping a friend on his back. There were four of them sharing the end of a long set of tables.

"I thank you, sir," Gossamer said. "A good night requires good people." He sat down in the space they made for him.

A woman in clothes befitting of someone not lacking coin walked past and laid down a silver near Gossamer's hand. "Well told sir." She smiled and walked away.

"I wonder if she'll have meat in her stew tonight?" One of the other men at the table said. A short, thin man who would be confused for a boy had it not been for his gray hair. The table burst into another round of laughter as they bounced their mugs on the table.

"I enjoy this place," Gossamer said as he pocketed the silver. "I'd be happy to work a few more stories. Mayhap stay a few days, if you think the keeper wouldn't mind."

"He doesn't." A stocky man in a leather apron had snuck up behind and joined the conversation. "A trade is customary, say room and food for half your take, not counting that last story."

"You are the proprietor?"

"I go by Gothrow, and aye, this place is mine."

"Gossamer," Gossamer replied, turning on the bench to better face Gothrow. He held out his hand and the two clasped wrists. "If the crowd is good, you stand to earn more than your rightful share." Gossamer said it with a smile.

"And if they are bad, you will still sleep sound with a full belly. And my stew always has meat." Gothrow said. The others at the table laughed anew.

"Aye, then it is done. May our purses run heavy," Gossamer said. He didn't mind the high fee. Usually, an owner would offer food without a share of the coin. In this case, the tavern was already full, and the information Gossamer desired meant he needed friends. A share of the coin could grease that wheel.

"Ale is extra," Gothrow added. Gossamer laughed and retrieved the newly earned silver from his pocket.

"Then fill the mugs here, my good man. It seems I have room and subsistence for a few days, and I have little need for anything else." Gossamer tossed the coin. Gothrow caught it with a nod, his smile growing. Trust was beginning to brew.

"We meant to buy you a mug," The burly man said.

"And I'll let you, after we finish these," Gossamer said. His list of friends was growing.

It was well into the night, and many rounds of ale before Gossamer felt everyone was at ease enough for his purposes. Krugan, the burly man who had drunk more than his share created the opening.

"Where you from, Gossamer?"

"Here and there. A storyteller has no real home." Gossamer shrugged as if it was well known. "As of late, I was down south but fled north when the King's Own found cause to search all taverns for the red-haired one. They have a way of scaring away coin with their questions."

"He was here not long ago," Lavine volunteered. His mustache was covered in the froth from his last overly aggressive swig. "Created a scene, he did. Had the Brethren and King's Own running about like starving wolves."

"Here?" Gossamer said with innocence. "Mayhap, I shouldn't have come. I want to stay clear of the problems that boy stirs up. Saw some getting pulled aside just for saying they saw him."

"Here and gone," Krugan said after laying his mug down. He leaned in close. "Looked more man than boy, though he said otherwise. I was as close as you are to me now."

"Terrifying," Gossamer said. He leaned away as if he feared Krugan. "You spoke to him?"

"Nay, nay," Krugan said. "Others did. I only heard some of his words and watched as he ran past atop the tables."

"Peed his trousers most like," Lavine said. The table laughed.

"Did he kill anyone?" Gossamer asked with a forced tremor in his voice. He had learned long ago that feigning fear made others braver and that loosened tongues.

"Nay. That be a strange thing too. You hear these stories. You know, you all hear them." Everyone at the table nodded in agreement. "He stood there and said he hadn't done any of it. Well, most of it. Said he saved his sister or such from being chosen is all. He didn't look like he ate babies."

Gossamer struggled not to smile. With all the sightings he had chased down, this was the first that seemed reasonable. It took all of his storytelling skills to remain shocked at the horror of the red demon.

"He hurt no one?" Gossamer asked as if it were an impossible idea.

Krugan shook his head negative. "Some tried to take him down. He moved like the wind." He leaned into Gossamer again and whispered, "Said he could see like the Brethren."

"Horns and all?" Gossamer said, his fingers demonstrating next to his ears. It was Kelton, he was sure of it. Where Kelton went from here was Gossamer's next goal.

"No horns," Krugan said with a chuckle. "Stories be stories, and they grow in the telling. He was a man to be sure, not that I ever met a demon."

"Ahh, mayhap a demon can hide in a man's skin," Gossamer said. The table broke into laughter and Gossamer feigned embarrassment. Misdirection was the key.

"He is no demon, he is Kushiel's Answer," a bald man said from the table next. He said it with enough volume that many stopped talking and listened. "He knew things, claimed he was protecting others and was only trying to survive." Half the tavern was listening. "He is Unseen!"

Gothrow was moving up the aisle between tables at a quick pace. His eyes were dead on the bald man, and his expression was not pleasing. Some commotion erupted, some claiming for The Answer, others for Demon. It was apparent to Gossamer that the topic had come up before.

"Barnicus, I've told you to keep your opinions out of my place," Gothrow yelled as he neared the bald man. Barnicus blanched and started to rise, thought better of it and grabbed his mug, then promptly drained its contents. Gothrow grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck and lifted him from his seat.

Gossamer was trying to look innocuous until he spotted Gothrow's wrist exposed by the physicality. Wrapped about it was a weaved bracelet. Kelton's bracelet. Gossamer's mind envisioned a hundred ways Gothrow could have acquired the bracelet and discounted most of them in an instant. Standing within sword reach was a man that was either friend or foe. If foe and Kelton was no longer; the man would soon follow.

"A story," Gossamer announced. "I have one that none here have heard. A tale of a maid in search of a golden blanket."

"Aye, a story," Gothrow agreed, nodding his head to Gossamer in thanks as he dragged the trouble maker away.

Gossamer rose from his seat and once more ascended the crate that lay near the wall. The talk of Kushiel's Answer faded as he used his arms and body to attract the eyes. "Before I can speak of a woman whose beauty rivals that of a flower, I must explain the blanket. You see, it has the power of truth. Anyone wrapped in the golden fleece is compelled to never utter a falsehood." The talk in the tavern died as most turned to listen. It was an easy crowd, well drunk.

~~~~~

"I thank you, teller," Gothrow said as he and a boy were cleaning up the night's mess. It was almost dawn with the last of the patrons cut off and sent home. "It is not the first time that argument has risen."

"Was the first time caused by a red-haired boy, scar down his cheek?" Gossamer asked, all pretense of ignorance missing. He was moving closer to Gothrow while holding his pack as if intending to retire.

"Not something talked about," Gothrow said, waving away the discussion with the cloth he was using to wipe down the tables.

"There be something on your wrist," Gossamer said. "I'll know how you came about it." Gothrow stopped cleaning and straightened.

"Nachian, to the kitchen with you boy. I'll have those pots scrubbed before you leave this day," Gothrow said. The boy dropped his rag and ran to the kitchen as ordered. Gothrow waited for the door to close, then focused on Gossamer. "Say your peace."

"I seek the one who wore that bracelet," Gossamer said, then dropped his pack leaving his hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword. It had slipped easily from Joycelyn's hidden sheath. "I'll know how it came to you."

"You'll lose your arm showing a blade of that length," Gothrow said, pointing at the sword as if it were nothing to worry about.

"And you will lose much more if I am forced to leave ignorant," Gossamer grumbled, his thoughts cluttered with visions of Kelton ended by a tavern owner. "The bracelet, how did you come by it." He raised the point of the sword.

"It was made for me, and I am the only one who has ever worn it," Gothrow said. He raised his hands, palms up to stall Gossamer's angry approach. "It is the truth of it."

"I knew another who wore it," Gossamer insisted.

"Or one like it," Gothrow said. He lowered his arms and exposed himself to the sword. Gossamer stalled and thought on the words. The tip of his sword lowered as his assumptions lost their veracity.

"It is not unique," Gossamer said, more to himself than to Gothrow. Marnice had gifted Kelton something with more meaning than he had first thought. His sword dropped to his side. "I have misjudged. My sorrows, sir." He reached his free hand into his pocket and withdrew the entire take for the night and placed it on the table. "It is best if no one knows of my error."

"And this person you seek?"

"Not something talked about," Gossamer said and picked up his pack, replacing the blade.

"The agreement was half," Gothrow said, pointing at coins on the table. "And I will feel slighted if you ignore my offer of a bed."

"I fear I have broken trust. Now, I fear the breaking of it will be repaid."

"It is a cruel world." Gothrow nodded and sat down, then began separating the coins into two equal piles. "So much we can't talk about, yet I feel we can come to an understanding. That is if your blade remains hidden for the rest of your stay. I can't be responsible for things unseen."

"Trust, then?"

"Aye. Your words calm my tavern and fatten my purse." Gothrow looked up and smiled. "I feel there is much we have in common, especially things not talked about."

"There are a few good stories that I'm sure haven't made it this far north," Gossamer said as he sat down and began participating in splitting the money. "Your patrons seem inclined to reward such tales."

"They reward tales told well. You, sir, are one of the best I have heard." They finished the coin separation, and Gothrow swept his share into his hand. "There was another here three winters ago. Aged as you, yet no beard and much less hair atop. He stayed four days and never repeated a story. Had everyone on the edge of their seats with tales of terror and redemption. Now, he knew how to open purse strings."

"Mayhap, I can top his skill," Gossamer said. He took it as a challenge, and an opportunity to gather more information about Kelton. There were so many false sightings to sift through, and the one here rang true. It was many moons old, yet Shunneer City was one of Kelton's targets. Where he went from here was going to be difficult to decipher. Gossamer was going to need help. Gothrow and his tavern was a better step than many he could take.

"There's a spare room upstairs," Gothrow said, indicating the stairs at the back of the tavern. "Second door on the right. We sleep long here, so it will be mid-day before the ovens are fired. Porridge will be available at high sun."

"Then I must get my rest," Gossamer said. He stood and gave a slight bow of his head. After pocketing his share of the coin, Gossamer headed upstairs. At least it would be a warm bed for what was left of the night. He wondered if enough trust could be built to ask questions about the bracelet. Probably another thing not talked about, but time tended to break some silences. So many secrets cluttering his head.

~~~~~

Gossamer woke slowly. His face could feel the coolness in the air and wanted nothing more than to wallow back into the warmth of the blankets for a few more moments. It was the smell of fresh bread that wiped away the rest of sleep. That, and the clearing of a throat that didn't belong to him.

A lanky man sat in the only chair of the room and watched Gossamer with a calmness built from confidence. Besides him lay Gossamer's pack, and thus his sword, well beyond reach. On top of the table, a steaming bowl. Next to it was a torn loaf of bread and a chunk of white cheese.

"Good morn," the lanky fellow said. He had a good smile, then so did many who thought themselves above others.

"I was not told I'd be sharing a room," Gossamer said. He sat up on his elbows and felt for his missing waist blade. It was in the pack as well. He felt foolish trusting the keeper and not placing it within arms reach. Then again, the pack had been close when he went to bed.

"Tea?" the man asked, sliding a mug toward the edge of the table. He lifted another and took a sip as if there were no worries in the world.

"You have me at a disadvantage, sir," Gossamer said, sitting fully up and stretching his muscles.

"It was my intent," the man said. "The owner is a friend of mine. I have so few of those and cherish each one. It is said you had questions and showed a blade larger than allowed." He shook his head, then took another sip of tea.

"I expressed my sorrow," Gossamer said as pulled aside the blankets and began donning his boots. "A misunderstanding is all. I envisioned harm to a dear friend and took action without thinking. Like you, I have few and cherish this one most."

There was a knock at the door. A young boy entered with a chair and set it aside the table, opposite the man.

"I thank you," Gossamer said. The boy smiled and ran off, closing the door behind him.

"A soldier's son," the man said, using his mug to indicate the boy's wake. "A good lad who helps feed his family. You have friends who are with the King's Own?"

"Nay," Gossamer said, and sat in the chair the boy had brought. He lifted the tea to his lips and took a sip. It was hot and welcoming. Not South Allyander, but made with fresh leaf. "It is a good tea."

"I thought you might like it," the man said. "A blade such as yours is usually found in the hands of the King's Own, or Brethren. You don't strike me as a Brother. Few are bearded, and none would be found sleeping in a tavern." He smirked as if he found the idea funny.

"I am neither," Gossamer said and took another sip of his tea. "I am seeking a friend, that is all."

"I thought you were a storyteller."

"Aye, that as well."

"Storyteller, seeker of friends, and armed like one of the King's Own. You see why I am confused."

"I or we?" Gossamer asked. "It seems it is I who has stumbled into something and should be concerned. Mayhap, the one I seek stumbled upon it as well."

"Mayhap."

"We talk in circles," Gossamer said. He reached out and tore off a chunk of bread and began dipping it in the porridge. "If I be on my way, will that relieve all concerned?" He placed the sopping bread into his mouth. There was a seasoning in the porridge, something shy of pepper which teased the side of his tongue. He tore off another chunk of bread, thinking it would be a long time before he would enjoy another warm tasty meal.

"Mayhap," the man said, again sipping tea.

"Aye or nay?" Gossamer said between bites. "I am beholding to only one, and he is who I seek. If you worry about my tongue, allow me to finish this meal before you cut it out." He smiled at the man. "This seasoning...it is unique. Tasty."

"Gothrow knows his food," the man said, tipping his mug in agreement. "He won't tell me the spices. Thinks I'll open a place of my own." Gossamer laughed which made the man smile.

"What do you need of me?" Gossamer asked.

"Who do you seek?"

"Ahh. You wish me to trust first. A difficult thing these days, especially with one who is the friend of the son of a soldier."

"Then we start small," the man said. He pulled back his shirt sleeve and exposed a weaved bracelet. "What do you know of this?"

Gossamer recognized that the man had just given some. If it were a trick, then it was best to find out now. If he were with the King's Own or Brethren, Gossamer was already in too deep to leave unscathed.

"Thought there was only one of those," Gossamer replied. "May I gather my knife to taste the cheese?" The man pulled a blade from his waist and handed it to Gossamer. It was another show of trust.

"The person I seek was gifted one of those," Gossamer said. "I saw it on Gothrow and thought the worst. I regret the mistake." He cut a chunk of cheese and placed the blade, handle first, on the table next to the man.

"I met someone who wore a gift like this," the man said, displaying the bracelet. "He wasn't anxious to meet anyone following him." Gossamer took a small bite of the cheese. Tangy and soft.

"Aye, the one I seek was not one who could look back safely." Gossamer took a bigger bite of the cheese and smiled. "I'd like to stay a few days if only to eat another meal."

"Then we must risk trust," the man said.

"A story then," Gossamer said. "I knew a man tasked with raising a boy. A boy who should never be, yet is." Gossamer lifted his tea and washed down the cheese. "This man became the boy's father in all but seed. They lived in the woods, straying from towns and those who would see the boy's life shortened."

"A good lad?" the man asked.

"Better than most." Gossamer nodded. "Though the man wondered how that had occurred. To see a man grow better than his father is a surprising thing. It was this son's thoughts of others that caused problems. Thoughts his father had discounted as unworthy for he valued the boy more than the others."

"Men set their own paths."

"Aye. And this son learned of the world late and saw much he disliked. In a way, he both shamed and made his father proud. Alas, this man lost his son and seeks him now. He would rather die at his side, than to hear of him falling alone."

"This father would have many secrets," the man surmised.

"Aye, ones that will be taken to the grave."

"Our circles are getting smaller." The man sighed. "They call me Fingers, and I believe I have met this son."

"I would give all I have to know where he is," Gossamer said.