Of Gods and Elves - By Brian D. Anderson Page 0,61
Hazrah come through here. Without Baltria and its port, most of the world would starve.”
“Hazrah is starving,” snapped Jacob.
For once Millet felt as Jacob did. The thought of the people of Hazrah suffering caused anger to swell inside him. “You said you have friends here?”
“Yes,” Jacob replied. “But I'll need to visit them alone. They do not enjoy meeting new people.”
“I assure you that I can fit in,” said Millet. He didn't like the idea of Jacob venturing into Baltria alone. “I know this city very well. I think you'd be better off—”
“I said I'm going alone,” he growled. “Besides, don't you need to find my... father?” The word “father” dripped with hatred.
“Your father will find us,” said Millet. “You can count on that.”
“If you say so.” Jacob shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. “I don't care. You wait for him, and I'll do what I have to do.”
Millet led them through the city, into the tavern district, to the Green Barnacle Inn. Lee had stayed there for a month when they had first come to Baltria many years ago. He would often return to see the jugglers or musicians and relax. Lee had always enjoyed less sophisticated company. Millet had considered the Malt and Mane, another of Lee's old haunts, but Millet had never cared for the place. If Lee were there, he would look for them at the Green Barnacle, too.
Millet still had a considerable amount of money on him. He had plenty left from the trip and more still from the sale of their horses. He decided to spring for some new attire after they checked in. His clothes were dirty and worn from travel. He smiled, thinking of the many trips and hardships he had endured in his travels with Lee, and despite the boy’s ill temper, he was pleased to have had the experience with his son.
Millet and Jacob stowed their belongings in their rooms, and took time to eat a modest meal of roast pork and wine. As they ate, Millet began to regret filling his stomach the moment he remembered the seafood stew at the Plank Walker's Cafe. If Lee were already here, he would have made it one of his first stops.
Once he was finished, Jacob stood from the table and moved toward the door. “When should I expect you to return?” asked Millet.
“When my business is done,” he shot back, without turning around. With that, he left. Millet spent the next few hours wandering the city, buying odds and ends, including a new set of clothes. Once finished, he had a messenger deliver his goods to the inn and headed off to the Malt and Mane.
As he sat listening to a bard spin a tale to the music of a lute, he scanned the common room for signs of Lee but to his disappointment there were none. He knew that there was the possibility he had arrived ahead of him. The river was swift and the vessel had only made two stops before arriving in Baltria, and those were only to offload a small portion of their cargo and take on fresh water.
Just as he was about to give up and head back, the barmaid handed him a folded slip of parchment. He glanced around but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Slowly he opened the paper. Meet me for the best seafood stew you've ever tasted. There was no signature.
Millet left the inn and made his way to The Plank Walker’s Café. Once there, he scanned the place for a familiar face but saw none. He took a table near the edge of the deck so he could see people as they approached, and ordered a bowl of seafood stew.
A few minutes went by when a tall, slender man with dark, shoulder-length curls that fell about his shoulders, walked to the table. His sharp, angular features and soft, white, cotton outfit, spoke of wealth and breeding. A small dagger sheathed in a jeweled scabbard hung from his belt and he carried a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“Millet, I presume,” said the man. His voice was deep and masculine, yet smooth and pleasing. “May I join you?”
Millet tensed but held out his hand, motioning for him to sit. “And you are?”
“You may call me Yanti,” he replied, bowing his head. “It was I that sent you the note at the Malt and Mane.”