Galen didn't really mind the blue clouds of pipe tobacco wafting towards him, as he pushed open the door to the Dripping Orchid, nor the dim lighting or the dying down of the conversation as all heads turned towards him; he'd suffered through enough awkward entrances in Sapan to have developed a certain stone-faced routine.
So he walked to the bar, deliberately slowing his step and brushing his gaze over each of the silent patrons, and nonchalantly sat down. "I'm thirsty," he said to the barkeep. "So whatever you're serving the good people here, I'll have that."
The grizzly ape behind the bar stared him down for a long moment, as if he was pondering which poison would fit best to Galen's outfit, personality, or Moon sign, before he finally turned away to pour something into a tiny glass. He put it down before him with a bit more force than necessary, and Galen eyed the glass warily. Whatever the barkeeper had served him, he had served it as a challenge. It would either taste vile, or be strong enough to knock him out of his boots. Probably both.
With a slight grin to the barkeeper, Galen put the glass to his lips and emptied it with one draw.
Whatever it was, it wasn't cider, although it strongly tasted of apples. Maybe applejack - Ango had once managed to smuggle a whole barrel onto the campus for one of his notorious parties, and they had all suffered the worst hangover of their lives...
Galen swallowed, silently congratulated himself for not coughing, and thumped the empty glass back onto the wood. The barkeeper didn't smile; he just refilled the glass.
Galen took it and turned around to survey the room. No, he didn't mind the smoke-saturated air, the darkness in the corners, or the doubtful reputation of the patrons.
But he very much worried about their shifty glances, and their furtive movements, reaching for hidden knives and handguns.
"Please," he said, still keeping his voice light and unconcerned, "don't let me keep you from drinking, gambling, and whoring. It's no fun if I have to do it all by myself."
"Why you doin' it here, though?" a rough voice sounded from the darkness.
Galen shrugged. "The name of the pub sounded, ah, promising. I've traveled through this shitty weather for weeks now. The only thing I was drenched with was the damn rain."
"Where you come from?"
Galen couldn't say if it was the same voice, but the direction had been roughly the same. It didn't matter anyway. He casually knocked back his second glass of schnapps and prayed to the Mothers that he wouldn't slip under the table before the night was over. "Pendan," he lied. "Although I'm only there once a year. I'm a businessman, dealing in leatherwares, wouldn't make much sense to stay in that swamp. They don't need knife sheaths or ammunition belts there. Not much hunting going on there, see? Except for swamp rats." Cesar, stop blabbing! He thumped his empty glass on the bar to cover his embarrassment.
Silence fell over the pub, while the barkeeper dutifully refilled his glass. Galen took it, but didn't drink this time; he needed to give his body time to adjust. "So, anyone need a nice new belt?" he asked nonchalantly.
Mothers, if they don't warm up soon, I need to stage a hasty retreat before I find myself with some additional knives added to my body, and think of a plan B.
We don't have a plan B!
"As a matter of fact, I do," someone to his left spoke up. Galen turned his head and squinted into the smoke-filled darkness, but could only make out a bulky shadow. Gorilla?
"Uh, tool belt or ammunition belt?" He downed his third drink to mask his stutter.
"Knives belt. For my hunting knives." The shadow moved closer and Galen could see that it was, indeed, a Gorilla. He consciously stopped himself from asking why in the world a Gorilla would own hunting knives - Gorillas were vegetarians. Maybe he just sold the meat and fur. Still, it was... unusual.
Aloud, he just said, "No problem, sir - custom-made belts are my specialty. How many knives? And how long are the blades?"
The Gorilla settled down beside him and signaled to the barkeep to refill his mug. Galen ordered the same, hoping that a bigger mug meant that the content had less potential to knock him out with alcohol poisoning. As they discussed the specifications for the Gorilla's numerous knives, the murmurs of conversation slowly began to spring up around them again, swelling steadily until they had regained the usual background volume. Galen cautiously relaxed. He had been weighed and found harmless. Now he had to find a way to worm himself into the betting game.
"So, you're from Pendan?" the Gorilla suddenly said. "How far are you traveling up North?"
Galen thought quickly. If he named a prefecture north of this one, chances were that the Gorilla would test him on his knowledge. Better stick as close as possible to the truth. "I don't know yet," he said. "This is the first time I'm traveling northward."
"Where'd you travel until now?" The Gorilla held on to his mug, but didn't drink. He was staring at Galen's face; Galen hoped that the dim light and the tobacco smoke would conceal any traitorous twitches of his nose.
"South, down to the City. I was mostly selling tool belts and purses for the ladies," he added, then closed his mouth with a snap. Never volunteer too much information, Alan had drilled into him. It just gives your interviewer another opening to grill you for details.
Sure enough, the Gorilla frowned. "Why'd you stop selling them?"
"The, ah, the competition became too fierce, especially on the purse front," Galen said desperately. "The producers in the south use their humans for sewing and stuff. They produce lower quality, of course, but they sell their stuff so cheap that I didn't have a chance. So I thought, maybe people in the north can still appreciate high-quality craftsmanship." He took a deep draw from his own mug. The liquid tasted bitter, but not as strongly alcoholic as the schnapps. Galen didn't dare to ask what it was.
"Hm." The Gorilla took a slow, thoughtful sip from his own mug. "So how much do you take?"
Dizzy with relief, Galen named a price, and for a few blessed moments, they engaged in animated haggling. The noise around them had reached another level of intensity, and it took Galen a moment to realize why.
"The Butcher! You sure believe in your beast!" someone shouted with glee. "Or do you just want to show us-" whatever he had been meaning to say was hushed by his drinking buddies, though, and their mutterings were drowned out by the noise.
Galen forced himself to ignore that outburst. The betting had begun, but if he jumped on the first chance to participate, he'd only raise suspicions again. "You're a tough negotiator," he complimented the Gorilla instead. "I can respect that. So, eighty-five sembles, and you get a free bottle of leather oil on top of it."
The Gorilla contemplated that offer, clearly torn. Galen used the lull in the conversation to lean his back against the bar and survey the pub - what little of it was visible. Indistinct shadows were playing keppa, judging by their movements; thumps and ratcheting sounds from the far corner suggested that someone was trying their luck at opak, but from their curses, Galen concluded that they lost the ball already at the third turn or so. You couldn't really play that game after the alcohol had already messed with your fine motor skills and reaction time. On the other hand, Galen could understand that in this part of town, pub owners were loathe to allow games that involved using sticks, or throwing knives...
"Alright, I'll take it," his latest customer said, and Galen hastily put his mug down to seal the deal fist over fist.
"So, now that the business part is over," he added, "I heard that Etissa also offers a more... entertaining way to earn money."
"Is that so," the Gorilla growled.
Galen didn't relent. This old hunter was his best chance... maybe his only one. "Well, of course it also offers entertaining ways to spend money," he said suggestively, "but there's entertainment, and then there's entertainment, if you get my drift. And currently, I'm more interested in the vertical version of sports than the horizontal one. And if I lose my bet, I'll have at least seen some blood spilled."
"So that's your idea of entertainment?" It wasn't clear if the Gorilla's voice expressed approval or disdain.
Galen smiled blandly. "What can I say? I'm a Chimp."
"True." The Gorilla set his mug down with a thump that somehow sounded final, and rose. "Fine, I'll introduce you."
Galen hopped off his barstool and followed him into the deeper darkness of the pub's back. "If I win, I may offer you a discount on that belt," he said to the Gorilla's back.
The Gorilla didn't react to that, just muttered to someone in the darkness before he turned to Galen. "There's your bookie," he said. "I'll meet you at the market tomorrow, where they sell the humans."
With that, he pushed through the crowd, and Galen found himself surrounded by tough-looking Chimpanzees who were staring him down with hard glares and inscrutable faces. He clenched his fists to keep them from shaking, and forced himself to smile. "Evening, gents. Where can I place my bet?"
"Who sez we're taking bets?" one of the thugs wanted to know.
"He says." Galen pointed vaguely in the direction where the Gorilla had vanished.
The speaker scoffed. "'n since when do we listen to what a damn fly-brain says?"
"Since we sold him a belt for twice its worth," Galen said pleasantly and suppressed a bout of guilty conscience. He hadn't really sold the belt that much above its worth, but that wasn't something these idiots needed to know.
Predictably, snickers rose all around him. "He was really grateful, so he had no reason to lie," Galen added, "and now I have a bit of surplus money to burn. I'll only be in this lovely town for a few days, and I don't intend to sleep away the nights."
"Well, there's some nice ladies upstairs, if you wanna burn some money instead of sleeping alone," someone suggested from the back rows.
Galen smiled dismissively. "Indeed. And what's better to get into the right mood than a bit of bloodsport beforehand?"
Cries of "Oh-ho!" and "That's how he rolls!" and "My kinda guy!" branded up around Galen, and the scar-faced Chimp, who the Gorilla had introduced as the bookmaker, grinned broadly at him.
"It's Asar's new human against Latis' human," he said. "Asar's named his new beast 'Killer', so it'll be Killer against The Butcher. Should be interesting. Bets are twenty to one for The Butcher, though. Could rise some more over the evening."
Galen hoped his face didn't betray anything. It felt frozen, at least. If there wasn't more than one Latis in this town, chances were uncomfortably high that the Butcher's owner would recognize him, if not here, then in the arena. Galen didn't dare to turn his head to see if the bag-skinned Chimp was lounging somewhere in the shadows. Suddenly, he was grateful for the dim lighting.
"Well, if that Killer is a new fighter, that's completely understandable..." he remembered to say, before the conversation could die down.
"Yeah, but the Butcher doesn't have his name for nothing," another Chimp chimed in. "Fifty kills, only two draws, and those only because the owners of the losers barged in. That human is a monstrosity! They say his mother got fucked by a Gorilla to make him..."
"I'm sure that's biologically impossible..." Galen said weakly.
"Anyway, that Killer is done for. Dunno what Asar's thinkin'."
"He probably thinks he has a winner," Galen said, and reached for his money that he had prudently tucked away deep within his robe. "Alright, I'm betting my hard-earned money on that Killer."
The bookie laughed. "You were serious when you said you had some money to burn, huh? Alright, make some other Chimp happy an' rich, what do I care? So, how much you wanna bet on poor Killer?"
Galen's hand stilled inside his robe. Peet wouldn't die at the hands of that beast - he and Alan would make sure of that. But if the fight was broken off, he'd still lose that money.
On the other hand, if he didn't play dumb and reckless now, this crowd might still decide not to let him in. Peet was a fearsome fighter - he'd even killed apes. None of these idiots could even begin to know just how violent Zana's dark-haired human could get. Galen was pretty sure that Peet had more than just a fighting chance against The Butcher.
How much do I want to bet that he'll prevail? How much do I trust his fearsome talent?
He pulled out his money pouch, heavy with sembles. "I want to go all in."
A tense silence had settled between them after Galen had departed. Zana watched silently as Alan paced between table and window, stopping to stare out into the darkness every time he passed by it.
She fought the urge to jump up herself and make some more tea to give herself something to do. But no - whatever was haunting Alan had to come to the surface sooner or later, and she wouldn't take off the pressure with senseless activity.
"Why are you watching me?" Alan finally murmured when his wandering brought him back to the table yet again.
"You're the only thing that moves in here," Zana said offhandedly. "It's hard not to watch you."
With a huff, Alan sat down across from her and folded his hands on the table. He settled into a silent, watchful stillness, one that Zana suspected he'd be able to keep up indefinitely - or much longer than she could keep hers, in any case. She wondered when he had learned to lay in wait like that.
"What kind of soldier were you, back in your own time?" she asked.
Alan blinked - he clearly hadn't expected that question. "I was a pilot," he said after a moment. "I... steered a flying machine."
"Like the one you flew here?"
He shook his head. "No, one that wasn't able to fly into space."
Zana frowned. "I thought you traveled through time..."
"We did." Alan sounded tired, and Zana suddenly regretted having brought the conversation to that subject. Alan longed to go home, much more than Peet did.
"We hadn't planned to travel through time, though," Alan was saying. "We really intended to fly to the nearest star. This... detour... should never have happened." He stared morosely at the table. "Though I sometimes wonder..." he murmured.
"You sometimes wonder what?" Zana prodded when he didn't continue.
Alan looked up with a sharp gasp and shook his head. "Nothing. There's something I need to talk to you about, I just... I didn't have the opportunity before..."
"I'm right here," Zana said encouragingly.
"Pero hadn't wanted to give me the name of the pub at first," Alan said, and Zana struggled not to show her disappointment. She should've known better, though - Alan wasn't quick to share his inner life. In the beginning, he had been nothing but extraordinarily polite. And completely inscrutable.
She had cracked that pleasant surface with patience and kindness. By the looks of it, she'd have to do it all over again.
"He only gave in after I had promised to take him and his gang out of town," Alan continued, and Zana could've sworn that he looked a bit worried now. "They were deadly afraid of Asar and his ilk - they were sure he'd find out who told on him, and would come to kill them all. I couldn't convince them otherwise, so..." he turned up his palms, fingers splayed, "I basically guaranteed them that you'd find a shelter for them in one of the neighbouring towns. Or not so neighbourly - I think the farther away from here, the better, as far as Pero is concerned."
"Oh," Zana said, nonplussed. That was a complication she hadn't even dreamed of. Traveling with a horde of human cubs, in their already cramped wagon... "How many of them are there?"
"About a dozen? It's difficult to say, most of them had been hiding in the shadows during our negotiations."
Zana drew a deep breath. "Well, of course we'll help them," she said resolutely, and saw Alan's shoulders relax. So he had been worried she'd disapprove - or outright refuse to honor his promise. He should've known her better by now...
"I do know that there is a big shelter in Chubla," Zana continued. "Felga mentioned it to me - it's the main seat of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Humans. I had planned to contact them anyway, when I was going to open my own chapter in... wherever we're going to settle down..."
"But Chubla is quite a distance away, isn't it?" Alan interjected. "I don't think it's feasible to take them on a weeks-long journey. We'd need a second wagon, and lots more supplies."
"You're right," Zana admitted. "We need to ask for a shelter in every town we travel through, and hope for the best."
"I'm sorry," Alan murmured. "But he wouldn't have given me the name of the pub otherwise."
"You have no reason to apologize," Zana assured him. "It's right on principle to give the poor things a new home. The shelters train them, so they'll have useful skills, too, and that heightens their chances to be taken in by an ape..."
Alan smiled his lopsided smile at this, and Zana remembered a moment too late that he regarded this arrangement as nothing more than slavery... which it technically was.
Well, we won't change the world in one day. We have to use what's already working.
"And how are you, Alan?" she said suddenly.
Alan's gaze turned wary. "I'm fine, thanks. Sleeping helped."
Zana stared at him for a long moment, her nose twitching with annoyance. So much for taking him by surprise. "No, you're not 'fine', Alan," she said gently. "And you haven't been 'fine' since you came through that door with Galen. I understand that you don't want to talk about it. And I can't force you to. But I can assure you that whatever is tormenting you won't get better by burying it inside yourself. You saw what it did - what it's still doing to Peet."
The human averted his gaze at that. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, apparently at a loss for words.
Zana watched him struggle for a moment. "I've known you for a pretty long time now," she said. "And you were always so... so... calm. Self-assured." She gestured at him. "Now it's like your soul is writhing in pain."
Alan huffed a laugh and rubbed his hand over his eyes. "I thought humans don't have souls, according to your Sacred Scrolls."
"Well, you should know by now that I'm a bit of a heretic," Zana said dryly.
Alan stared at the table, drumming his fingers, and Zana sucked her lips in and forced herself to keep silent.
"I'm not fine," Alan finally said quietly, after what seemed to be an infinitely long time. "But I don't want to talk about it. It won't change what happened, and it won't... won't... make a difference."
Zana decided to let him off the hook for now. "You don't know that it won't make a difference until you tried it, Alan. But it's alright - you do it in your own time. Whenever that is, I'll listen. Maybe I'll even be able to help you. In any case, know that I'll never judge you. You do know that, don't you?"
Alan smiled his half-smile at her, and Zana wanted to cry at the look in his eyes. It was the look of a man who had fought - and lost - a long and desperate war.
Before she could say something - or reach across the table to clasp Alan's hand - the door opened, and Galen stumbled in, the smell of tobacco clinging to his fur and his eyes slightly glazed. He sat down at the table with a heavy sigh. "Someone please make me a tea," he mumbled, "and make it strong. Cesar, the swill they're selling there..."
Alan rose, probably glad he could flee from Zana's fussing over him. "What did you learn?" he asked over his shoulder.
"Peet will fight against a human called 'The Butcher' later tonight," Galen mumbled, his head still buried in his hands, "which is why it's so important I get my head cleared quickly from their poison. They didn't tell me where the fight will take place," he added before either Alan or Zana could ask. "I guess they're still wary of me. I'm to return to the pub at midnight, and they'll take me from there."
"I need to get there first, then," Alan said while he spooned tea leaves into the pot.
Galen looked up with a frown. "You said that part of town is off-limits to humans..."
"It is," Alan affirmed. "And that's why I need to be there before you. I'm dead certain they'll transport you in a covered cart, so you won't be able to tell anyone where they took you. If I stay away, you won't be able to meet with me later - you'll have no idea where you are, or where I am in relation to you -, and that'll make our whole planning moot. So I have to follow you when they take you to the place."
"But why do you have to be there before me?" Galen asked, confused.
Alan just smiled enigmatically. "I have my reasons."
"Well, have it your way, I suppose," Galen muttered, and buried his head in his arms again. He only surfaced when Alan put a mug of tar-colored tea before him.
"Should I get the wagon ready in the meantime?" Zana asked. "I imagine we'll have to depart rather quickly..."
"No!"
Zana blinked. Alan and Galen had shouted simultaneously at her. Galen grabbed her wrist. "It's much too dangerous in this town," he said urgently. "From this day on, and no matter which town we're in, none of us will go anywhere alone. We'll always go in pairs, at least, and we'll always go armed. These parts are lawless, Zana, no matter if they have a town guard or not. I hadn't really appreciated that before."
"Well, do you expect me to sit on my hands here and wait for you to come back with Peet?" Zana said indignantly. If the men thought she'd sit by idly while Peet was fighting for his life...
"Yes, that's exactly what we expect you to do," Galen said grimly. "I don't want to find you dead in a gutter somewhere. Or never find you, and wonder what terrible fate befell you. I want us to get out of here alive and, and… all accounted for."
Zana stared at him for a moment. "Alright," she said.
Galen released her hand with a sigh and sipped at his tea. Alan's eyes bored into hers, and Zana smiled blandly. Alan didn't buy her compliance for a heartbeat, but what could he do? He'd be out with Galen, heroically saving the day.
She'd be alone and unsupervised. And free to ensure that the men's heroics didn't cost them their lives.
Or Peet's.