Chapter 233 — Amber's Old Friends
Blade of Dawn · Page 2 of 3
"I've heard," Anton said with a shrug, even as he gestured for his men to restore order in the tavern. "Word's been spreading for a while now—some of the rumors, we helped spread ourselves. A few months back some mercenaries passed through and hired a whole bunch of people to carry the news."
"Damn it, so you lot went and secretly made money off my..." Amber shot Anton a glare, but before she could finish she switched tack. "Everyone here?"
"If you mean the ones in this town, they're all here," Anton said, sweeping an arm to encompass the whole tavern. "It's winter now—these little bastards hole up in the tavern day after day, like they're hoping to drink themselves to death in here."
Amber fished out a small dagger and scratched at the pitted wooden bar, searching for marks she had carved there years ago. Unfortunately, most were long gone—brawls and cheap liquor always wore away the marks on a bar counter fast. "Ask everyone if they'd like to do some proper work."
By now quite a few "old acquaintances" had gathered near the bar. A woman with slightly dark skin, dressed like a witch, froze at Amber's words. "Proper work? Boss, you? Proper work?"
Amber raised a hand, and the little dagger in it spun in a neat circle just beneath the "witch's" neck, precisely snipping a few loose threads at her collar. "'Witch' Gipuli, why didn't I cut out your tongue back then?"
"This tongue of mine can make quite a bit of money when it wags," the witch-dressed woman said, retreating half a step with a fawning smile. "Why don't you just tell us about this 'proper work' of yours? We're all listening..."
"Simple. I'm working for that founding hero who came back to life right now. Don't give me that look of disbelief—I'm his personal bodyguard. Personal bodyguard, understand? I don't even have to knock before entering his room, I'll have you know. Anyway, I'm rich now, but I haven't forgotten you lot of no-hopers. You've got a chance now—if you're willing to mend your stinking ways, you can live like me, like decent folk. Still don't get it? The duke wants to hire you!"
A sudden silence fell over the room—a reaction that caught Amber entirely off guard.
"Why so quiet?" Amber looked at them curiously. "Not willing?"
"It's not that we don't believe it—we can't believe it," Scarface Anton said, wearing an expression that heaven only knew was a grin or a grimace. "We know about the founding duke's business down south, but how would a man like that ever deal with the likes of us? Boss, you been drinking shadow potion like water again lately?"
"Figures you lot would have that much ambition," Amber said with a curl of her lip, casually tossing a cloth sack onto the bar. A clinking cascade rang out from within, and as the mouth of the sack fell open, several gleaming gold and silver coins rolled out. They were newly minted, with beautifully perfect symmetrical profiles and smooth curves, and stamped on the obverse was the crest of the Cecil territory. "You don't have to believe my words—but the money's real enough."
The eyes of the several people at the bar went instantly wide.
They rarely had the chance to handle gold coins, but silver they could come by now and then—and Cecil silver was a new currency growing ever more popular in the Southern Frontier of late. The coins were of excellent purity and full weight, and by some casting method or other, every single coin was struck to exacting uniformity, exquisite and flawless. Naturally, such currency found favor with traveling merchants, and with them it circulated throughout the southern regions.
Anton had once been fortunate enough to get his hands on three Ansul silver coins—but those were plainly not as brand-new as the coins Amber had brought. The gold and silver pieces rolling out of the sack bore not a single scratch or smudge; they were so new they might have just come out of the mint.