‘That’s the inn,’ Sandon said, pointing at the most substantial building in the village. It still stood, taking pride of place in the village. Its spacious front yard led on to the river jetty, but there were no boats moored up.
‘Let’s take a look,’ Assata suggested.
The Crushed Grapes was an attractive, stone-built affair, large enough to cater to big groups, presumably river traders. The outside of the building was unharmed—even the wooden sign, depicting a bunch of purple grapes, still swung gently in the breeze. For whatever reason, the raiders who had come here appeared to have left the inn intact. They entered the lounge area. The furniture was laid out ready for guests, though the room was empty.
A clanging noise came from the direction of the kitchen. Looking at one another, the group headed that way. An archway led into the kitchen, where they found a lone human woman preparing food. She had her back to them and didn’t hear them come in at first. When she turned around, she gave a shriek of fear and grabbed a kitchen knife, waving it at them.
‘Whoah, steady now,’ said Assata. ‘We’re not here to harm you.’
‘What are they doing here?’ the woman said hysterically. Not unsurprisingly, her knife jabbed in Og-Grim-Dog’s direction.
‘Why don’t you all wait back there, while I speak to her?’ Assata suggested.
It sounded sensible, and so the five of them retreated to the lounge. Raya investigated the bar. ‘They have wine,’ she said. Grim wondered if she was making an effort to keep her voice casual. ‘I’m sure they won’t mind us helping ourselves and leaving a payment,’ she decided.
The elf fixed everyone a drink and they all took a seat, waiting for Assata to calm the human down. After a while, the barbarian brought the woman into the lounge with her. They were talking quietly together, though Assata managed to cast over a frown at her fellow adventurers, presumably because they were all supping The Crushed Grapes’ wine. Which wasn’t half bad.
‘I saw them from behind the bar, here,’ the woman was saying. She led Assata round to the serving side of the bar. ‘They were down by the river. No-one else had seen them. But this side of the bar is raised, see? And I caught a glimpse of their heads.’
‘Whose heads?’ Sandon asked, sounding intrigued.
The woman looked across at Sandon, nervous looking.
‘This is Betty, the landlady,’ said Assata.
‘I know. Hullo Betty. I’m Sandon. I’ve been a guest here before. You might remember me?’
Betty shrugged. ‘Maybes.’
‘Whose heads did you see?’ Sandon asked, keeping his voice light.
‘The orcs.’
‘Orcs did this?’ Grim asked.
‘Yes,’ said the woman.
‘And what did everyone in the inn do?’
‘We got the cellar door open and hid inside. Got all the children and old ones in first, then we decided we’d all hide down there.’
‘And the orcs didn’t visit the inn?’ Grim asked. ‘They just went for the houses?’
‘Orcs are cowards,’ Gurin said dismissively. ‘They’ll have bypassed the inn, thinking they might meet too much resistance here.’
‘Where’s everyone now?’ Sandon asked the woman.
‘My husband and most of the menfolk set off downriver for Dorwich City. There’s a reeve there who might raise a force and come here to help. That was over a week ago now. Left me here to look after the kids and the poorly. They’re still down in the cellar, too scared to come up. I have some help, but it’s been hard. And I’m fearing in case them orcs come back!’
Assata gave the landlady a reassuring pat on the shoulder. The conversation drifted on to other things, but the exchange stuck with Grim. He wandered out of The Crushed Grapes for some fresh air.
‘I know that face, Grim,’ said Og, looking at him. ‘It’s your thinking face.’
‘Queen Krim asked us to find out why the orcs of Darkspike Dungeon were being targeted,’ Grim began. ‘And this kind of thing might explain it.’
‘Of course,’ agreed Dog, knocking back the last of his wine. ‘What else might a king’s reeve, with a posse of thirty-odd men do, but go and take it out on the orcs from the nearest dungeon?’
‘Yes. But something doesn’t feel right. Queen Krim told us her orcs were too weakened to go out raiding. And think of what we found at the Deepwood and Wight’s Hollow. Not enough orcs there, either, to risk something like this.’
‘True, Grim,’ Og said. ‘I knew you were thinking.’
‘And not only that,’ said Grim. ‘The orcs who raided this village ignored the inn, where they were sure to find all the drink and food and travellers with their possessions? Instead, they target the houses of the ordinary village folk—you wouldn’t expect to find much of value there, would you? Doesn’t seem like normal orc behaviour to me.’
‘Now you mention it, Grim,’ Dog said, ‘it is all starting to sound kind of suspicious. What are you thinking then? Some kind of conspiracy going on, eh? The government, probably. Possibly aliens, too.’
‘Well,’ said Grim, ignoring the last comment, ‘something doesn’t feel right, that’s all. I haven’t managed to work out what it is yet, though.’
Dog sighed. ‘For a second there, Grim, I thought you were gonna solve the case, and it would be all dramatic and exciting. But all you’ve got is ‘something don’t feel right’. Come on, let’s get back inside, can we? There’s still some of that wine left and if we don’t keep an eye on it, that elf will guzzle the lot.’
But Grim wasn’t yet ready to return to the inn. He walked over to the riverbank. This was where the landlady had seen the orc raiders and there might still be clues here.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, a metallic glint caught his eye. There was something buried in the mud of the riverbank.
‘Fetch that out for me, will you Og?’ he asked once he had walked over to take a closer look.
‘Ouch!’ said Og as he grabbed at it. ‘It’s sharp!’
Og now dug around the buried item until he was able to pull it up without cutting himself.
‘A knife?’ Dog asked.
‘I would say more like a sword, if we are talking orc-size,’ said Og, wafting the weapon about. It had the distinctive broad-headed blade favoured by orcs. But the hilt was intricately made, with a curved cross-guard and a striking red grip.
‘An interesting item,’ Grim commented.
Dog rolled his eyes. ‘Come on, Grim. Investigating conspiracies is fun as far as it goes. But I have already mentioned that my wine cup is empty.’
Reluctantly, Grim returned to the inn. Dog was right, he hadn’t solved a mystery. Hadn’t even got close. But still. He knew he was on to something.
INTERMISSION
The Landlord knew how to tell a story and he knew how to judge an audience. This was an audience that needed a toilet break halfway through, and so he paused the story for a little while. And why not take a few orders while he did so? The drinkers at the Flayed Testicles agreed with one another that listening to this story was thirsty work.