March 28, 2026 — 1:36 am

The Fig and Gristle was the smaller of the two taverns in Pucklechurch, a squat place braced by thick beams, but it had the best music by far. Alfric hadn’t come for the poached figs, though he was sure they were delicious. He hadn’t come for the music either, though it was a caliber of melody that he had only heard before in Dondrian, and not the kind of thing that he would have ordinarily expected from a small town like this. No, he had come for the bard, who was hunched over a small stool, strumming her six-stringed lute with her eyes closed, her words barely audible over the sound of her instrument.

The effect of the music was subtle but complex, with more points of enhancement than were obvious at first glance. Alfric ordered the herbed chicken and garlic potatoes, with a cup of honeyed tea, and the flavors of each were heightened by the melody, the tea sweeter but not cloying, the chicken richer and more flavorful. All that was par for the course from a tavern bard, but this girl was weaving in other aspects, subtle enough that you could miss them, emotional components. Alfric wasn’t a naturally anxious person, but his worries had their edge taken from them, reduced down a fraction, and when he tried to focus on old sources of sadness, he found that those, too, were blunted. The inverse seemed true as well, with a few jokes overheard much funnier than they should have been, and the cozy warmth of the tavern much cosier.

Altogether, it made Alfric more confident in his choice to come to Pucklechurch. He had heard about her back in Dondrian, where she had trained in a conservatory and achieved a considerable level of fame, and hoped that he could pluck her from this tavern. There were other candidates in Pucklechurch, six others all told, but Verity was the one he felt was a necessity, and if she said no, he would do his best to persist. If she said yes, then he would get things going as quickly as possible.

She finished with her set just as he was finishing his poached fig, which he’d ordered after he was finished with the meal. It was as good as advertised, aided as it was by the music. He hurried to finish, scooping up the last bites of mushy pear, then got up from his seat and walked over to her as she was packing up her lute.

“Beautiful music,” he said. “Are you done for the night?”

“Yes,” replied Verity, glancing up only briefly from her work of packing up. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

She was tall, for a girl, but had a hunched posture when performing that made her seem smaller. Now, with the playing done, she’d straightened to her considerable height, just a touch shorter than Alfric, if that. Her clothes were conservative, a long blue dress that went down to mid-calf, and sleeves that she’d hitched up for playing but were down now, slightly wrinkled. Her hair was long and black, with a sheen to it, and it was tied back, leaving her face clearly visible. She had green eyes with long lashes and a slenderness to her features that made her look more delicate than she probably was. She had high cheekbones, a narrow nose, and thin lips, but when she smiled, as she sometimes did when she was singing, it made her face come alive. She was pale, and fit in with most of the people in the tavern in that regard, in a way that Alfric did not.

“Have you ever been in a dungeon?” asked Alfric.

Verity stopped what she was doing and looked up at him again, this time paying more attention to him. “No,” she said, frowning. “Sorry, who are you?”

“My name is Alfric Overguard, adventurer,” he said, holding out his hand. That wasn’t the half of it, but it would do as an introduction.

She took his hand, raising an eyebrow, skeptical at first and then faintly amused. Alfric wasn’t wearing his full adventuring gear, just his boots, bandolier, and sword in its sheath, with his shirt and pants being nothing particularly special. The sword was unique, an heirloom, but it would be hard for her to tell without him drawing it.

“Verity Parson,” said Verity. She finished with her lute and stood up. “Can I help you?”

“Well, would you like to go into a dungeon?” asked Alfric, giving her his most optimistic, hopeful look.

“Hrm,” said Verity. She slung her lute case over her shoulder. “I’ll think about it.”

“Can I walk you home?” asked Alfric. “And then maybe we can speak while we walk.”

Verity looked him over again. “You’re not from in town.”

“No,” he replied, wondering which part, exactly, had given him away. She wasn’t from in town either, though perhaps eight months had been long enough for her to consider herself a local.

“Then yes,” she said. “You can walk me home.” She began walking across the tavern, and Alfric followed after her, feeling a bit like a puppy dog.

“I’m putting together a party,” said Alfric. “You’re a quite skilled bard, and in terms of party composition —”

“We’re here,” said Verity. She was standing next to a set of stairs that led to the second floor of the tavern.

“You live here?” asked Alfric, looking up the stairs.

“I do,” replied Verity. “Thank you for speaking with me.” This was a very perfunctory thanks, of the kind that Alfric was still getting used to. People in the region seemed to feel the need to thank people for even the smallest of charities, though Verity, like him, came from Dondrian. “I’ll give it some consideration.”

“Can I tell the others that you’re in?” asked Alfric.

“If you’d like, I suppose,” replied Verity. She started up the stairs, then stopped and turned around. “You have other people lined up?”

“Three others,” Alfric replied. And two alternates. He had grown accustomed to people saying no. “We could probably do it with only four of us, but five is better. A sorcerer, a cleric, and a ranger. The pay is —”

“I’m done with people for the day, sorry,” said Verity. “We can talk tomorrow, if you’re still in town. I usually start playing at noon, so anytime before then.”

“Okay,” said Alfric, taking what he could get. “It was nice to meet you,” he added, as it seemed to be custom in this part of the world.

Verity nodded, then went on up the stairs without another word.

Alfric frowned to himself. As opening moves went, it could have been worse, but it could also have been a lot better. The choice was whether to go back to his room and wait until morning, or whether to strike now, given that he had enough time. As always, Alfric took action.

Alfric found Mizuki where he expected her to be, chasing will-o-wisps in the forest. It was something she often did just after dark, once the will-o-wisps were out, but while there was still some residual light. All this was according to some people around town. They had spoken highly of her, if they knew her, which most of them seemed to. It wasn’t particularly hard to find her: all he had to do was to wait until he saw a flash of light, then move toward it.

Mizuki wore culottes that stopped just above her knees, looking like a skirt when she was still, but short pants when she was in motion. Her upper body had a garment that wrapped around her, leaving her arms bare. As the will-o-wisps favored the boggy areas of the forest, she was wearing clogs of her own design, with a heel high enough that her feet wouldn’t get wet where the grass and moss sank down. From what Alfric had been able to find out, she was local to the town, but her mother had been from far-off Kiromo, which showed on Mizuki’s face. She had a round face, darker skin, small eyes, a small nose, and a slight downward slant to her eyes. Her hair was cropped short, to just below her chin, and she had long bangs that threatened to block her vision.

“Gah!” she shouted after a particularly bright flash of light illuminated Alfric, who was approaching her.

“Sorry!” he called out to her. “Didn’t mean to sneak up.”

“What are you doing out in the woods at this time of night?” she asked, the will-o-wisps forgotten and floating off as a small herd, motes of blue and white lights drifting in the dark.

“Have you ever been in a dungeon?” he asked her.

“That’s not an answer!” she replied, stomping with her clogs toward him through the squelching mud. “You answer, then you can ask questions.”

“I was looking for you,” said Alfric, once she was close enough that they didn’t have to raise their voices. “So, have you ever been in a dungeon?”

“No,” said Mizuki. “Did you bring a lantern? It’s hard to see.”

“I did,” said Alfric, pulling a disc from his pocket. He unlatched it, and light spilled out from one half of it. Mizuki looked him over, paying some special attention to the sword on his hip.

“Why do you want to know if I’ve been in a dungeon?” asked Mizuki, hands on her hips.

“If you had been to one, I wanted to ask you about it,” said Alfric. “To know which ones you’ve been in and what your general impression was. But if you hadn’t been in a dungeon, then I thought we could talk about dungeons, and I could see if you wanted to join a party to go to one.”

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“With you?” asked Mizuki. Alfric nodded. “And who else?”

“We have a bard so far,” said Alfric. “Verity, she plays sets down at the Fig and Gristle. I have others in mind, but even if it’s just four, we should be able to do it.”

“Which two others?” asked Mizuki. “What kinds of casters?”

“Only one other caster,” said Alfric. “A cleric. The other I’m planning to ask is a ranger, of sorts, at least according to the censusmaster.” One of the alternates was a caster, if he understood the term from a sorcerer’s perspective, but he didn’t want to get her hopes up.

“A sorcerer needs magic to make magic,” said Mizuki. “With a priest and a bard I’m not going to be getting much in the way of interference patterns to work with.”

“You’ll have the dungeon too,” said Alfric. “That’s three. It should be more than enough.”

“And you know no magic?” asked Mizuki.

“Nothing of note for invading a dungeon,” replied Alfric, which he tried to comfort himself as being not quite a lie. “I tried a few of them, but was always better with a sword and shield.”

“No shield though,” replied Mizuki, looking down at the sword on his hip.