Jack Frost: King of Thieves

CHAPTER XXV: Good Food, Fine Drink, Women

North liked these men who had just come to Dorfeld. The little one with the red hair— Pan—always had something amusing to say, often at the expense of the enormous Ester Bunmand. The other lad, Sinbad something, was awfully quiet but seemed a good sort.

Pan played the flute well and had a passable singing voice.

Ester, though, was a kindred soul. Of that, North was already certain. The man appreciated all the things North himself knew to be most important in this earthly life: good food, fine drink, large women. That they had already become fast friends came as no surprise to the friar.

All three men had a great thirst, as did North, of course. So after allowing them to sample as much of his precious golden mead as he could bear, North decided that they needed to be introduced to the Bait and Trap.

The tavern was warm inside, and the air smelled strongly of roasting meat and musty ale, of pipe smoke and sweat. A fire burned in the hearth at the centre of the back wall, and candles glowed in sconces all around the inn and in a ponderous old chandelier that hung from the groaning beams of the ceiling. There were tables and chairs around the perimeter of the great room, but much of the floor had been cleared of furniture and was now crowded with dancers and musicians.

Sinbad and Peter looked at each other, their faces like those of little boys on Christmas morning. Then, without a glance at Ester or the friar, they rushed forward and were swallowed by the crowd. Ester drank down the rest of his mead and placed the stone jar by the door.

"Come on!" he said, clapping a hand on the back and leading him over to the bar. "I'm still thirsty."

They bought ales. Or rather, North bought ales for them. Ester tried to explain that some kind of strange small animals had stolen all the gold he and his friends had, but with the noise and the music and the effects of the mead, the friar had a hard time understanding all that the big man said. Not that it mattered in the end. These were his friends, and by the grace of God, he had a coin to share.

In a short time, North and Ester were seated at a table at one end of the Bait and Trap, ales before them, a good conversation between them. At the other end of the tavern, Peter had pulled out his flute and had joined with a pair of local musicians to form a trio that drew the attention of many of the dancers, including several young women. While Peter and the others played, Sinbad stepped a lively jig, capering from one woman to the next, dancing with none of them and all of them, much to the amusement of everyone else in the bar.

A new keg was brought out from the back, and a loud cheer went up from everyone on the floor. North hoped that Peter, Sinbad, and John were the only ones expecting him to pay their way this evening. God hadn't graced him with enough coin for all.

When he grew tired of dancing, Sinbad joined Peter and the other musicians on a makeshift stage and lent his voice to the boisterous singing. Other players joined in until the music was deafening.

Ester and North continued their conversation, periodically waving the serving girls over for more ale. The friar couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much, and in fact, he couldn't quite remember how much they'd had this evening. A lot. He was sure of that.

Sipping the latest selection the girls had brought to him, the friar smacked his lips and nodded toward his cup.

"Homebrew," he said. "If I wasn't the village priest I'd try for village drunkard."

On the other side of the inn, Sinbad and Peter had positioned themselves at the edge of the stage. The rest of the musicians were off drinking, and so Peter and Sinbad were drinking, too. It seemed only fair. Peter continued to play his flute, but Sinbad was surveying the room, eyeing the women, several of whom stood in a cluster nearby, eyeing Peter and Sinbad.

Ester had lost interest in their conversation and was trading looks with a large woman who stood nearby, sipping an ale and regarding the big man coyly over the rim of her cup.
"Right," Ester said. "She looks like my size. I'll put a smile on her face."

North frowned, discomfited by the turn the evening seemed to be taking. He was, after all, a man of the cloth.

"So," he began, hoping to change the subject, "Why are you so big?"

The man swivelled sharply in his chair, his eyebrows furrowing menacingly. "What are you getting at?" he demanded.

North's eyes widened. "What?" he asked innocently.

Ester stood, nearly toppling his chair, walked over to the girl, and danced her away.

Peter and Sinbad were still watching the girls who had been watching them, but they hadn't made much progress in actually speaking to them. It should have been easy—they were practically the only men in the Bait and Trap. But somehow they had yet to get up their nerve.

Sinbad tried to give Peter some pointers, though he was slow to follow his own advice.

"The secret of success," he said,"is never go for the prettiest one. Start with the homely one on the left."

Peter looked up from his flute again, nodding sagely. "Right," he said. "Which one is that?"

Sinbad frowned at him, and they continued to stand there, watching the girls watch them. The group of girls was smaller now, though. Several of them had given up on these two and moved on.

"The main thing is," Sinbad said, now dispensing advice himself, "you mustn't frighten them off. Village maidens are shy ..."