Bad Tea

The blue awning sagged under collected damp. Beneath it, cups hung by their handles from a row of hooks, and an iron pot breathed sharp, promising steam.

Maeril stopped beside the counter. The seller finished pouring for a customer, took payment, and wiped a ring from the wood with the corner of her apron.

“Pell sent us,” Maeril said.

“Pell sends many people.”

“About a mimir.”

The cloth stopped moving.

“Tea first.”

Grim made a small sound of vindication. “I said not to buy—”

“We are buying her time,” Maeril said. She looked at the seller. “Three.”

“Two,” Grim said.

Maeril leaned a little nearer Rishi. “Besides, Rish loves tea.”

His eyes stayed on the seller’s hands.

“I do.”

“A private failing,” Grim muttered.

The seller named her price. Maeril paid it without bargaining.

The first cup smelled of dark roots and something almost like mint. She tasted it.

The smell had made a promise the liquid had no intention of keeping.

Across the steam, Rishi took one careful sip. His face remained courteous with an effort she recognized from temple meals.

“The pink mimir,” the seller said. “Pearly. Talks as though somebody is tapping a spoon against a wineglass.”

Maeril lowered her cup.

“Called my blackroot steep wet bell rope and regret.”

Rishi’s mouth tightened around an entirely different problem.

“They may have meant—”

“Then explained it,” the woman said. “At length. Said regret was not an ingredient I had selected, but had entered during preparation.”

Maeril looked into her cup so the seller would not see her expression.

Chime had hovered here. Chime had spoken with the fearless sincerity that could make Firemind close his eyes in exhaustion and affection at once. For a moment the distance between Waterdeep and this narrow stall became bearable.

“Were they well?” Rishi asked.

The seller considered him. “I sell tea. I don’t mend skulls.”

“Frightened? Damaged?”

“They had enough light in them to turn my spoons pink. Seemed willing to talk. The girl wanted them quieter.”

Maeril’s thumb stopped against the cup’s warmth. “The young elf.”

“Dark hair, partly braided. Brown skin. A sensible dark coat with too many places to hide things.”

“And the shaved woman?”

“I saw no shaved woman.”

The seller reached for another cup as a customer approached. Maeril moved aside without surrendering her place at the counter. The woman poured, accepted a coin, and resumed where she had stopped.

“The girl had a staff. Cut all over with little marks.”

Maeril looked up. “Letters?”

“Spell-marks. I know an expensive stick when I see one.”

Rishi shifted his own staff away from a passerby.

“How did she carry it?”

“Like she expected to need it. Kept the bottom clear when people crowded her. Kept the mimir on the other side.” The seller glanced at Rishi’s hands. “You know the sort.”

“I know the sort,” Rishi said. “Did she threaten anyone?”

“Not at my stall. Bought tea. Asked a question. Waited while the mimir informed me of my deficiencies.”

“What question?” Maeril asked.

“Rooms.”

Grim stopped watching the crowd.

The seller hung an empty cup on its hook. “Somewhere quiet. Private. No tavern singing through the walls. She said her friend needed sleep, not company.”

“The mimir?”

“Mimirs require beds where you come from?”

Maeril said nothing.

“Someone else,” the woman continued. “The girl looked tired enough herself. But she was particular about the room being for a friend. The mimir said fleshy metronomes break when overplayed. I told it my tea was quite sufficient to keep one running.”

Rishi set his cup down carefully.

Elisa might be that friend. Maeril held herself still.

She hasn’t said Elisa, she reminded herself.

“Where did you send them?”

“The Ledger Rooms. Two turns beyond the green lantern. Narrow door, brass plate.”

“Clean?”

“Clean enough. Quiet if you pay for quiet. The clerk prefers order to conversation.”

Grim looked at Maeril. “That sounds expensive in very small amounts.”

“Pay before asking,” the seller advised. “And ask exactly what you mean.”

Maeril put her cup beside Rishi’s. More than half the tea remained. She hoped the woman would attribute that to urgency.

“Thank you.”

“Tell the mimir I have repeat customers.”

Rishi nodded with complete seriousness. “I will.”

They stepped away from the counter. Grim moved ahead to find the green lantern. Maeril waited until the steam and hanging cups were behind them before speaking quietly.

“Wet bell rope.”

Rishi glanced at her.

“Accurate,” he said.

She let herself laugh once, then lengthened her stride toward the lodging house.