Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

had been overdosing on steroids. Owen took one look at the bar and decided immediately that he wasn't going to lean against it, even for a moment. Hazel gestured imperiously at the bartender, a grossly fat man with a long, stained apron that might have started out white several decades ago, and grilled him on Ruby Journey's whereabouts. Owen took the opportunity to study the various bottles on display and decided very firmly that he wasn't at all thirsty.
    And he didn't think he'd ask about bar snacks, either.
    He put his back to the bar and looked about him. The Rabid Wolf struck him as the kind of place his tutors had warned him he'd end up in if he didn't pay attention to his studies. He hadn't seen such an assortment of thugs, villains and general lowlifes in one place since his last visit to the Imperial Court on Golgotha. None of them looked particularly hygenic, and Owen was seized with a sudden certainty that they all had fleas. An itch started immediately over his ribs, but he refrained from scratching himself for fear someone would think he was going for his sword. Not that he was actually afraid of any of these scum, of course. He was a Deathstalker, after all. He just didn't like the odds, or how far it was to the nearest exit.
    A handful of ladies of the evening, or ladies of the mid-afternoon, to be exact,
    were gathered together at the other end of the bar, garish and striking in their working paints and finery. They were arguing fiercely over a large purse of money, presumably obtained from the man sleeping beside them with his head on the bar. Owen had to admit that they were rather attractive, in a grubby vicious way, and the beginnings of a fantasy stirred in his mind and certain parts of his anatomy. Perhaps the Rabid Wolf wasn't such a bad place after all. At which point, one of the women produced a knife from nowhere and stabbed one of the other women right in her overdeveloped chest. She fell limply to the floor and lay still, and her murderer snatched up the purse from the bar. The other women thought this was the funniest thing they'd ever seen and shrieked with laughter.
    Owen looked longingly at the door and decided he was going to shoot anyone who even looked at him oddly. Especially if it was a woman. Hazel appeared suddenly beside him, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
    "What's the matter with you?" said Hazel.
    "What's the matter with me? This is the most appalling, disreputable and downright awful establishment I've ever had the misfortune to visit! If you were to look up the word sleazy in the dictionary, it would say 'See Rabid Wolf'! Get me out of here before I catch something."
    "It's not that bad," said Hazel. "For Mistport. I used to do a lot of my drinking here when I was younger. Of course, I had no taste then. It gets a bit noisy sometimes, and the clientele isn't exactly elite, but on the other hand, it's never boring."
    "There's a lot to be said for boring," said Owen. "What did you find out about Ruby Journey?"
    Hazel scowled. "Ruby worked here briefly, but they ended up firing her for excessive violence, which probably took some doing in a place like this. They've
    no idea where she might be now."
    "Does that mean we can get out of here now?" said Owen hopefully.
    "You really don't like this place, do you?" said Hazel, grinning. "Isn't the ambience growing on you?"
    "If it does, I'll scrape it off," Owen said firmly. "I just know I'm going to come down with something disgusting simply from breathing what passes for air in here. I've had boils on my buttocks that were more fun than this."
    Hazel pointed out one of the ladies at the end of the bar. "I think she fancies you."
    "I'd rather die."
    And that was when the fight broke out. Owen didn't see who started it, or why, but suddenly everyone in the inn was fighting everyone else with swords, knives, broken bottles and anything else that came to hand. The din was appalling, with battle cries, screams and foul language filling the air. Blood flew in all directions, and bodies fell to be trampled underfoot. Owen drew his sword and backed up against the bar. One of the few things he had learned from his tutors was that discretion usually was the better part of valor. Or to put it another way, only an idiot gets involved in other people's fights. He shot a glance at Hazel and winced. She was grinning at the mayhem with undisguised glee and looked as though she might dive in at any moment just for the hell of it. Owen