Seven Districts: Old Market

[DUEL Rory Laurent]

“Hey, beautiful,” a cheerful voice interrupted Rory’s work.

Thankful for any excuse to stall tackling the mound of complaints regarding the orc collection team’s tactics, Rory glanced up from the letters to shoot Sartan a bright smile. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Sartan chuckled warmly as his muscular frame took up a lean against the doorway. “What can I say? It’s the magnetic personality.”

Then, as if drawn by that magnetic pull, Rory rose to her feet and swooped in for a tight hug and glancing kiss. “No, I mean I’m really glad to see you.”

He rose a brow as his hands came to rest on her hips. “Well, I was going to whisk you away for a filling meal but if you have something else on your mind–“

“Dinner?” Rory interrupted as the reference to food caused her stomach to growl impatiently.

Sartan chuckled again, pressing a quick kiss against her forehead before taking a step back. One of his tough calloused hands dropped to his side as the other reached out to enclose one of Rory’s much smaller ones. “Sure. Dinner. There’s this place I’ve been meaning to take you. I haven’t been there in ages but the chili is amazing.”

While the idea of red meat would typically create a look of disgust, Rory’s stomach was up for anything filling. She stuck close to Sartan’s side as they headed up the creaky stairs of the Arena and out into the Red Dragon Inn above. There they carefully dodged the Inn’s infamously rowdy patrons on their way out of the fabled building.

A light-hearted conversation ensued over the time machine that Nova claimed to have built in the past week while they strolled through the Dragon’s Gate district. Not far inside the wall the separated the Old Market district from the newer parts of the city, they came to their destination.

The stone building with a wooden sign above the door declaring the structure to be “The Cardinal Inn” was well-maintained. A multitude of curtained windows overlooked the road which, in this part of the city, was typically heavy with foot traffic. Considering the building’s age and girth, it was more than likely registered with the RhyDin Historical Society. However, it was the “For Sale” sign hanging on the front door that caught Rory’s attention more than anything else. She snuck a glance at Sartan, curiously wondering if he knew this property was for sale all along. If he did, he certainly didn’t show it nor did he even seem to notice the sign. Rory was not even positive that she had, in fact, told him of her project. She had been quite busy as of late.

A bell attached to the door jingled as Sartan swung it open for his wife. She stepped inward and paused a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim light of the room lit mainly by hurricane lanterns. Additional light came from a crackling fire in the hearth which also helped to throw off the evening chill.

The large communal room of the Inn was strewn with tables and chair in no foreseeable pattern. A rail thin older man with a full head of greying hair appeared behind the counter; the door to the kitchen still swinging in his wake. “What can I do for you?” he asked gruffily.

“We were hoping for a couple bowls of that chili,” Sartan said, ushering Rory towards a table.

“Sure, sure,” he grumbled in return as he shoved his way back into the kitchen.

Once they were seated, Rory leaned forward to whisper to Sartan across the table. “He’s a bit scary.”

Sartan waved her concern off in his typical confident manner. “Who? Franklin? He’s harmless and he makes the best chili in the city.”

Franklin reemerged as if on cue with two bowls of steaming hot chili, each with a piece of cornbread set on top. He set the aged bowls down with a soft thump on the table and fished out two sets of silverware wrapped in a cloth napkin from his apron pocket which he set down on the table as well.

“Thanks, Franklin,” Sartan spoke up quickly before the man had a chance to escape. “So how long has this place been on the market?” he asked, feigning ignorance and innocence as he unrolled the silverware. Rory rolled her eyes, trying desperately to keep an amused smile off of her lips. Among Sartan’s talents wasn’t acting. It was becoming quite clear that her husband had been scheming. Whether his motive be aiding her in finishing the project so that she would spend more time at home or a desire to challenge the baron who secured this property so that he could have Franklin’s cooking all to himself or something else completely was beyond Rory. However, she definitely knew that Sartan was up to something.

Franklin snorted. “Owner’s had it up for sale for about a year now. He’s asking a fair price but, according to the realtor, I scare away the potential buyers. Owner won’t fire me, though. I’m a fixture here,” Franklin said with no small amount of pride in his tone.

If Sartan had went to all the trouble of dragging her out to the Old Market district, Rory figured that she might as well play along. “How many rooms are there here?”

“Twelve. There’s three floors and a small storage basement. Just the great room and kitchen on this floor and then on the second are six of the rooms and on the third is another six rooms. There’s some staff quarters attached to the stable out back. They’re nice enough. My wife and I live back there,” Franklin replied in his brisk manner, appearing anxious to return to the kitchen.

Despite his somewhat deserved bullish reputation, Sartan was sensitive enough to see that small talk caused a great deal of discomfort to Franklin. Sartan took a spoonful from his bowl, chewed, swallowed, and then offered Franklin a grateful smile. “Thanks again, Franklin. It’s amazing as always.”

Franklin grunted in reply before taking the opportunity given to retreat back to his beloved kitchen.

“This place is nice,” Rory mentioned. She was too busy taking in her surroundings to taste the food. Confident that his plan (whatever that was) was working, Sartan simply nodded between bites. Rory’s blue eyes swept around the warm interior, taking in the stone hearth and worn staircase.

“Three down,” she murmured softly.