things were different. Her entire staff stayed up half the night serving guests, then slept late in the mornings. Leesil spent his afternoons working on the roof, while Beth-rae cooked, Caleb cleaned, and Magiere handled supplies, stocked shelves, and kept the house accounts. Chap watched over Rose. They always ate an early supper together before opening for customers. Magiere was continuously clean, warm, and slept in a bed every night.
Physical comfort and a unique sense of structure were not the only aspects of this life which brought her peace. For the first time, she was giving back to a community instead of draining it. The sailors, fisherfolk, and shopkeepers who patronized The Sea Lion enjoyed themselves and had a space of relief from their hard work. It did bother her when Leesil would mention the hushed whispers that often reached his ears about Magiere, "Hunter of the Dead." Perhaps she had become a local attraction. She could only guess how such rumors began, although she'd not seen either Welstiel nor the imposing nobleman again. Magiere suspected Leesil might still be drinking himself to sleep some nights, but as long as he stayed sober at the faro table and picked no pockets, she had no complaints.
Beth-rae walked up to the bar, carrying a full tray of empty mugs and looking a bit weary. A few strands of her silver, braided hair hung in loose wisps.
"Four more ales for Constable Ellinwood and his guards," she said.
Magiere glanced at the table of loud men, but didn't comment while drawing the ale. One customer she could often count on was Ellinwood. Her distaste for the self-important man only grew with familiarity.
She set the mugs back on Beth-rae's tray, and the front door opened, letting in a cool breeze. No one entered, but she saw a head of brilliant red hair in the doorway with a close-trimmed beard of the same flaming color that hid his chin, cheeks, and upper lip. A burly man, perhaps in his late twenties, wearing a leather vest, he stood half in and half out, hesitating. He scanned the room and stopped upon seeing Constable Ellinwood. His jaw tightened, and Magiere knew there would be trouble.
The man stepped in, not bothering to close the door, and strode to Ellinwood's table, glaring down while the constable's ale mug halted in midair, almost to his mouth.
"Can I help you, Brenden?" Ellinwood asked, attempting to make his heavy body sit straighter.
"My sister is dead nearly a week, and you sit drinking with your guards? Is this how you catch a murderer?" the man spit out angrily. "If so, I could find us a better constable lying in the gutter with a bottle of swill!"
The townsfolk stopped talking, even those at the faro table, and heads turned. Leesil held up one hand toward Chap before the dog moved, motioning him to wait.
Ellinwood's fleshy jowls grew pink. "The investigation continues, lad. I have found several important facts just today, and now, as any man, I do as I please with my own time."
"Facts?" Brenden's tone rose to a dangerous level.
The solid muscles of the blacksmith's arm tightened as he leaned on the table, and Magiere judged from his build that he could break Ellinwood's neck without trying. Perhaps his accusations were justified, but she wanted no bloodshed in her tavern. She glanced over at Chap and Leesil again, wondering if she should take action or let Leesil handle it. Her partner was more skilled at managing such situations in a quiet fashion.
"What facts have you found?" the blacksmith continued. "You slept till midday, then spent the afternoon eating cakes in Karlin's. Now you're here, in your finest velvets, drinking ale with your lackeys. When exactly did you find your new facts?"
Ellinwood's pink tinge deepened, but he was saved from responding when an unshaven guard in a rumpled shut stood up.
"That'll be enough, blacksmith," he said. "Go home."
He was answered with a resounding crack as Brenden's fist connected with his jaw, sending the man tumbling back into another table of patrons. Another guard started to rise, but Brenden grabbed his greasy black hair and slammed the man's head twice against the table before anyone else could move. The guard slumped off the cracked table to the floor, unconscious. Leesil jumped over the faro table as Magiere unsheathed her falchion from under the bar.
"Chap, hold." Leesil called out. If the dog leaped in, someone would end up bleeding.
Magiere slipped around the bar's front and held her ground