298 Footman

Tycondrius and Zenon warily eyed the human that approached them, a young boy wearing vibrantly-colored clothing. A greeter of sorts?

The boy revealed a sleazy grin of crooked teeth, "How about I give you a tour of the place! See the sights! Live the history that is Port City Silva! Just 8 silver slugs, gentle sirs!"

Tycon looked around the busy main road, merchant wagons and various peoples walking by. No one was paying their group any special attention. He did notice a few street performers... along with more than a few people carefully watching the crowd-- pickpockets, likely.

He surmised that the young person who approached them preyed on travelers. But would he be useful or was he merely another street thief?

Zenon crossed his arms, "Well, 8 silver doesn't sound so bad..."

Tycon glared at his companion. 8 silver? That was a brazen robbery. And the sun was bright in the sky, the child's con clear to see.

He narrowed his eyes at the little thief, "I'll give you 2 if you can direct us to a decent inn."

"Whaaaat? I got a family to feed, adventurer!" The boy feigned a hurt expression, "8 coin goin' towards feedin' my mum! She needs the money fer medicine!"

That was, in no way, Tycon's problem.

"Sod off, whelp. We'll find one ourselves."

"Whoa, hold on, Optio," Zenon stopped Tycon from walking away.

"What is it, Zenon? I'm not 'made of silver', as it were, and neither are you." Tycon scolded, "Don't tell me you believe this young man."

Zenon wore a sorry expression, but a credit to his honor, he did not relent, "No, it's not that bad. I still have some coin."

Tycon furrowed his brows, his mouth agape, "What?! No."

Zenon could barely afford a meal at *Olea Garden*. Tycon wouldn't easily allow him to spend so much his hard-earned coin on a relatively useless service.

"Fine!" Tycon growled. "I'll pay for it."

He stared down the boy with angry golden eyes, "What was it again? 2 silver? 3?"

"S-six silver, sir," The boy pouted.

"SOD OFF, you whelpling SHITE!!" Tycon raised his voice and his arms. The boy stumbled back, shrinking in fear.

He retreated a few fulms away to safety, turning back and pointing with a rude gesture, "Yer as cheap as a Greer!"

Tycon furrowed his brows at the insult.

What the hells was a Greer?

Zenon crossed his arms and looked down at him with disappointment, "Optio, that wasn't very nice of you."

Tycon glared back... well, he glared up in order to meet Zenon's gaze, "And you think that wasn't deserved?"

"I don't think it was," the Centurion frowned. "We don't know what that kid's been through."

"Earning coin by earning sympathy from travelers is an effective way to survive," Tycon shrugged. "But it won't be my coin. And it shouldn't be yours, either."

Zenon remained unconvinced.

"Anyroad..." Tycon rolled his eyes, "How about you listen to the conversation that the young man is having with his next mark?"

The crooked-teeth boy had approached another group of travelers, led by a merchant who appeared to have some wealth, "Welcome to the City of Silva, sir! I'm a servant of princes and senators, alike! I'll show you the sights of the city for 15 silver!"

"15... It sounds a bit much," The merchant grimaced, deep in thought.

"I've got to, sir! My dad's in a wheelchair! Got both 'is legs chopped off in the war 'gainst the Snakes!"

Zenon crossed his arms, "Well... it might... be true?"

Though the Centurion spoke the words, they lacked the support of his earlier confidence.

"Or is it more likely that the boy is utilizing deception?" Tycon waved the thought away without waiting for Zenon's response, turning to walk off, "Regardless of what is true, let's be off. I wish to find a place that serves braised fish and hopefully has a decent clam and cream soup."

"Y-yeah..."

The Librarian took a last look at the boy in the distance before hurrying to catch up.

...

The two friends found a lovely restaurant in a commercial area, near the Silva Adventurer's Guild. It was cheap and their specialty was a slow-cooked cauldron of the clam soup that effectively sated Tycon's palate. They'd prepared gallons of the stuff each day, and the longer it stewed in the cauldron, the more tender the clams, the pork, and the root vegetables became.

Zenon enjoyed himself, though he waxed more upon the fact that their prices were reasonable, rather than on the food's quality.

Tycon was waiting for him to admit that that fare was a great step up from Olea Garden... The admission never came.

They inquired of the eatery staff about a trustworthy inn. With their shop's location, they catered to adventurers daily. Tycon trusted their recommendation over that of a snot-nosed child-thief.

Upon leaving the restaurant, Zenon lowered his head, whispering quietly to Tycon, "Looks like the Flame's on our side today, Optio."

Tycon pursed his lips... "You are a Centurion of the Church of the Eternal Flame. Isn't your deity... always on your side?"

"It was a figure of speech." Zenon's mouth twitched. He pointed stealthily with his palm, "Take a look. That's our guy."

Tycon looked over, his face scrunching up in confusion. He observed a young human male speaking with a group of adventurers.

"Yes. That is a... 'guy'... but concerning the young gentleman being 'ours', I had thought... we were searching for a young lady?"

"Check out the tabard he's wearing. That's a footman of House Vanzano."

He's a footman of House... No. Tycon must have misheard Zenon. He turned, his brows furrowed hard, and his eyes squinted in disbelief, "I'm sorry. You said..."

"I'm pretty sure I know who he is, too," Zenon continued. "You see... Orcus, the God of War, has a twin brother. And I think that's the guy."

"No, the other thing," Tycon glared.

"Right. It's a stage name. It's really cool, right?" Zenon explained, the slightest tinge of irritation in his voice. "He's not really a god. And we don't really worship him--"

"No..." Tycon huffed a deep sigh, "The house name, Centurion. What did you say it was?"