[Set before the attack on Emmon and William, and not connected to it.]



[Marisa/ et al.]

        When testimony had been completed for the first day of the trial,
Marisa hurried back to the Dragon's Inn to tie on her apron.  She waved
away Hugh's and Sera's insistence that she not work her usual evening
shift -- frankly, she found the idea of following her routine comforting
after the confusing business of the murder trial.  When she stepped back
out into the common room, she saw that a few other jurors had made their
way there for an evening meal, perhaps looking at one another uneasily as
they took their seats, some at the same table, some alone or with their
own friends. Allenel after all had instructed them not to discuss the
testimony with one another, or with any other person -- an instruction
that undoubtedly had caused Archibald Chisholm a considerable amount of
distress.

        Marisa took orders with a smile, making certain to set an
oversized mug of ale before Brawl without his having even asked for it.
Across the way, John had taken a seat with Barnabas, the two old men
complacently chatting about the weather and puffing at their pipes.
Before long, she had fallen back into the pattern, dodging errant hands,
exchanging winks with the friendlier male customers (young Will was not
there, she noticed with a bit of disappointment), and refilling drinks and
plates as quickly as she could.  In the bustle of the evening, she did not
even notice the sharp-faced man at first -- he was just the one who had
ordered another serving of apple cobbler -- until he set two gold coins on
the tabletop and edged them closer as she cleared away his table.  "I'll
get your change," Marisa said hurriedly, sweeping up the coins and
wondering whether he had been running a tab with Hugh earlier that day.
Two gold? That was far too much for his dinner.

        "Nay, that's for yersel'," the man said, smile revealing one
broken tooth. Before she could pull away, he had taken her wrist in his
hands, folding her fingers over the gold and patting them reassuringly.
"Think of it as a gesture of appreciation for your considering a proposal
o' mine."

        Marisa twisted her wrist free, letting the coin drop back to the
table-top, and fixing a noncommittal smile on her face.  "I think you
misunderstand the services that I provide, good sir," she said firmly,
pushing the gold back across to him.  "You can find goods to your liking at
the Loose Waitress, I think, but not here."

        "Nay, nay," he interrupted, sitting back and lifting his hands to
stop her.  "Not that type of proposal," he dropped his voice as he leaned
forward again, the conspiratorial tone drawing her closer to listen.  She
couldn't help but be curious -- if he didn't want to bed her, then what
did he want.  "I understand that ye been chosen to hear that murder
charge.  I figger ye don't get much compensation fer yer time -- 'tis
naught but a citizen's self-appointed payment for the important job ye
been performin.'" One hand settled over hers gently, in an almost fatherly
manner.  "A gift also to forward yer weddin' plans.  And one that some o'
yer other jurors hae already accepted, so ye need not worry about the
wrongness of it," he added hastily when he saw her hesitation.

        Marisa straightened, sliding her hand from under his, eyes
sweeping over the other jurors in the common room -- not all twelve of
them, but a sizeable number.  What did the man mean?  Allenel hadn't said
anything about anything like this, but somehow she didn't think it was
quite ... right ... for them to be taking donations like this.  "I'll get
your change," she said faintly, leaving the coin on the table-top as she
made her way through the crowd, chewing her lip all the while.

[Brawl]

Hunched down over his tankard of ale, Brawl cut an imposing figure
nonetheless, alone at his table and busy with the evening meal: a
quartered sheep that had been turning on the spit for the better part of
the day. Not that the minotaur was unsociable, by any means (or no more
than usual), but that great trencher of mutton, along with his ale and an
amplitude of side-dishes had sieged the table; what space had been there
once was now overrun.  Nothing like an endless day of speeches,
questionings and a miscellany of other niceties to inspire the appetite.
Though famished as he was, that hunger was something even a vast portion,
such as that now set before him, would be hard-pressed to sate.  (For one
reason or another, this called to mind a similar meal, although breakfast,
in a far elven kingdom; he had likewise devoured a whole sheep in that
sitting -- and what a messy sight it had been -- though subsequent events
made that one quite a mixed memory.)

Alas, but ale had been disallowed in the court by Allenel's strict
proscription, a fact which the minotaur would give vent to much cursing
over.  The making up for lost time would inevitably follow.  Now, cursing
the fates which ever left him with an empty tankard and an unsatisfied
thirst, Brawl glanced about the common room, seeking the nearest waitress
so as to have the sizeable mug refilled.  Fawn was nowhere to be seen;
Ashaile was busy with a sot of dwarves in the far corner, and Marisa ...
now, what was this?

What was going on over there with that shifty fellow, Brawl could not quite
make out from this distance, though given the look on Marisa's face, and
the swift glance she cast at her fellow jurors, something was out of the
ordinary.  Frowning, he tore another chunk of mutton from the heaped mass
on the trencher, and watched.

[Crofton Lyons]

The red-haired stationaire's apprentice dodged his way through the crowd.
He had just gotten back from running errands for Master Khoda; the old man
was crippled in one leg, and even with the trial on needed Crofton to run
to market when the lad was free. Not that Crofton minded. Khoda was a good
soul; demanding but fair. Matter-of-fact, he had slipped the boy an extra
coin so Crofton could have a meal at the Dragon's Inn; telling the boy, "Ye
be doin' me proud servin' on Montfort's first jury...ye earned a bit extra."

Crofton had barely reached the age of maturity, and so had rarely seen the
inside of the Dragon's Inn. Now he felt more than a little lost amidst the
adventurers and locals that frequented the place. At least the sight of the
other jurors was a comfort. Marisa looked busy, and unhappy, with a
customer. And while Brawl's table was free the apprentice wasn't sure his
courage was up to asking for a seat there - nor did there seem to be a lot
of table space. Finally he noted a stray chair near the hearth, and decided
he could balance his plate upon his knees.

[Elkanah]

Going back to his homestead was out of the question since he would be need
to be back in the court on the next day.  His homestead was a good half a
day's ride from Montfort proper, so it would do Elkanah no good to return
there until this whole trial was over and done.  Fortunately, it did
provide a good reason to revisit the Dragon's Inn.  He had quite forgotten
how nice this establishment was, drawing all sorts of goodly folk and
adventurers from afar.

Elkanah had claimed a table by the wall vacated by two half-drunk
adventurers.  A mug of ale and a piece of meat pie were set before him.
Seeing the lad sitting by himself, he motioned to him.  "Come join me, lad.
 You can sit here."  With that, he moved over to make room for the young
man on the bench.  "I am Elkanah Bar-Jonah, but I don't remember your
name."  He chuckled.

[Crofton]

"Crofton Lyons, Sir," the apprentice said. He stood up and came over to the
table. "Thank you for the invite, Mr. Bar-Jonah," he said, holding out his
hand.

Crofton was just growing out of the gangly stage of adolescence, though his
fair skin gave his broad face an air of innocence retained. He was growing
into a solid man, but his long, nimble hands were those of an artist's.
After he had settled himself on the bench he gazed around for a waitress.
Again he noticed Marisa, and said, "Miss Marisa doesn't look too happy."

[Elkanah]

He followed the lad's gaze and likewise noticed the uncertainty in the
composure of Marisa.  That was very strange indeed.  There were very few
things that could shake the composure of an experienced waitress,
especially in a locale such as the Dragon's Inn where the extraordinary was
routine.

"Crofton, don't stare," Elkanah said quietly.  "Tell me about the man that
Marisa was just with, but don't stare like that, lad."

[Crofton]

The papermaker's apprentice dropped his gaze. He had an artist's memory,
and so was able to describe what little he had seen of the sharp-faced man.
Which woefully, was only a profile, and often blocked by the crowd.

[Elkanah]

"I don't know what to make of this.  It's not our place to interfere.  In
fact, we're supposed to keep a low profile while the trial continues. Pay
no more heed to it.  Marisa is capable enough to take care of herself."
Elkanah wasn't sure he even believed any of his own words.  He felt the
trial was complicated enough as it was without involving every conceivable
suspicion out there.  It seemed like the mood of the whole town had changed
as soon as this trial had gotten under way.

[Brawl]

A large tankard was set down on the table near the two, and the minotaur
somehow found the space there to seat himself, having eaten his fill of
mutton and left an empty platter where once the sheep had been.  Sated for
the time being, it seemed a reasonable thought to converse with those he
knew, however vaguely; it helped to pass the time and the ale.  Hunched
over his mug, he might well have fitted the description of a conspirator in
that pose, had he not been quite so massive.  Size tended to negate all
thoughts of furtiveness.

"So, what do we do about him?" he demanded in a low rumble -- one of his
bulk could never quite perfect a whisper -- of the two.  "The lad was
staring," he supplied in answer to several unspoken questions.  "So, shall
we take him now, or ... hmm," (he belatedly recalled the first occasion he
had chanced upon the Dragons Inn, and his misadventure with the wards) "or
seize him when he steps outside?"

[Crofton]

"Hello, Mr. Brawl," Crofton managed; proud of himself for not stammering in
awe of the minotaur. Papermaker's apprentices didn't see, nor stationaire's
shops receive, the more colorful of Montfort's denizens - the most exotic
might be an Elf or a Gnome.

The lad gave Marisa a quick glance, and noted she had managed to move on to
other tables.

"Probably just an annoying customer," Crofton managed, "And like Mr.
Bar-Jonah said, Miss Marisa is able to handle those." The lad glanced up at
Brawl and added, in the most courteous of tones, "I don't think Judge
Gilford would be too happy with us if we started a fight outside the Inn...."

[Brawl]

"We can't very well start it inside, can we?" the minotaur muttered, his
preference being to avoid the wards this tavern boasted, wherever possible.
"Once was quite enough.  "Which says nothing of how it would look were we
to --"  He paused there as Marisa approached.

[Marisa]

        She might have been a bit absent-minded as she took orders from
the other tables; a quick trip to the bar and back again would have given
the man his change -- but would have given him another opportunity to
press that gold upon her.  Other jurors, he had said.  Not John, she was
sure, he neither needed nor would welcome such an offer.  So when Marisa
stopped by the table where the wainwright said with Barnabas Portnoy, a
cloud of sweet cigar smoke over their heads, she said nothing of it.
Besides, any mention of it and it would be sure to be in Allenel Gilford's
ears within the hour, and she did not want to cause trouble without cause.

        The other table, though ...  When Sera began to work her way
towards them, a look and a small shake of Marisa's head was enough to let
the other waitress know to cover the far side of the room instead.  "We
have the usual tonight, sirs," Marisa told the three in her usual
business-like tone.  "And you'll be wantin' refills on your drinks," she
nodded towards the mugs, and the minotaur's tankard.  A turn, to put her
loaded tray on the table-top, and a lean forward to catch their orders
over the din of the crowd -- enough to draw herself closer to them, so her
soft words could be heard.  "That man says that ... well, somebody on the
jury has taken money. I don't know -- is that even -- just as recognition
for what we're doing. Do you think it might be true?"

[Brawl]

"Well, if it is ..." Brawl intoned ominously and produced a hefty mace,
setting the weapon down on the table.  Predictable to the last; never would
minotaur the likely alter from the view that this was a solution to every
problem.  He glanced about with a baleful eye, wondering if the miscreant
had dared to offer like incentives elsewhere.  "If we make it known that
any such fools will be dealt with accordingly," he suggested, with a
pointed glance toward the mace, "then that will surely persuade any such
fools to reconsider.  Strongly."  That thought had the single flaw of
disregarding what he himself might do in such circumstances; he couldn't
very well batter himself with his own mace.  Not that Brawl would accept
gold for such things, in any event.  A barrel of ale, perhaps, he conceded
to himself, but no coin.

"Perhaps Gilford wouldn't take it so badly, after all, if we were to bundle
yon villain out the door now," he added in a low tone.  "Surely there's
nothing wrong with that."

[Crofton]

"It doesn't sound right at all," the red-haired apprentice said, "Maybe we
ought to alert the Guard or someone...and in the meantime, keep an eye on
the man..."

[Brawl]

"The Guard?" the minotaur asked incredulously, as though even minotaurean
ears could hardly credit what they were hearing.  Then, with one more quick
glance over toward yonder patron, he gave the lad a look that plainly said:
"Lad, you may be bright, but you've a great deal to learn about the world.
We'll just smash him flat."  Deeming mere glowering and the like as
insufficient, Brawl then proceeded to speak just that.

[Marisa]

        Eyes ever widening at the quickly escalating suggestions, Marisa
had cause to wonder whether perhaps she _should_ have just gone to John
the Wainwright with the matter.  "Smash him?" she whispered,
half-expecting to see the minotaur leap to his feet and, within seconds,
bind himself up in a bubble when the Inn's wards took effect.

        By then, the patrons at another table had begun making loud noises
about the night's poor service, and even though it was said jokingly,
Marisa thought she'd better do more than leave the rest of the room to
Sera.  With a quickly muttered statement about how she would be back, she
headed for the table of laborers, before taking the list of orders back to
the bar. Worried, she was, at the way Brawl and the other jurors were bent
over the table, discussing the various responses that might be made to the
strange man.

[Crofton]

The boy swallowed and gazed _up_ at Brawl, but Crofton managed to say,
"Sir, they might wish to question him or something.....to see what mischief
he might really be up to.....And why."

[Brawl]

"Then again," Brawl answered the lad, "the Tower Guard is kept busy enough
keeping this lawless town in check.  Simpler that we dispense some summary
justice ourselves.  As to what he's done, he's already offended Marisa over
there," (which was a dire enough act in itself, antagonising one who served
the minotaur ale), "well ... we'll guess his sins and deal with him
accordingly."  Saying this with a tone of finality, the minotaur curled a
hand around his sizeable mug and looked at the boy with a thoughtful eye.

[Marisa]

        "Eh?" It took Marisa a moment to realize that Hugh had asked her
why she was frowning so.  "Oh, nothing," the girl answered, turning back
to help lift glasses and bowls and plates onto her wide tray.  "Long day."
With a groan, she lifted the tray from the bar top, and balanced it on her
hip, and then almost turned into Sera as the other waitress approached.

        "Here," the older woman said with a smile, holding out a twist of
handkerchief.  Marisa had taken it and almost slipped it into her pocket
before recognizing the weight of the gold tied in the slip of cloth.
"Don't tell Will, he might think the fella expects more for that tip than
a smile and friendly service."  Seeing how Marisa's eyes drifted over her
shoulder towards the table -- now filled with another set of visitors and
random adventurers -- Sera just laughed.  "Don't worry, he's gone to the
privy out back, and said he wouldn't be back tonight."

        And whether the stranger's words to Sera had been true or not,
sure enough he wasn't to be seen in the common room, look though she might
as she wove her way through the tables.  Distracted, she managed to give
some customers the wrong drinks, and by the time she reached the other
jurors' table again, she was so flustered she set Brawl's huge tankard
down in front of Crofton Lyons -- and a delicate china teacup and saucer
before the minotaur.

[Crofton]

The boy's eyes widened at the flagon, and then he wisely switched the
vessels. One thing Crofton was quick to grasp was that it was unwise to
stand between the Minotaur and his ale.

[Brawl]

Narrowed eyes regarded the boy for a moment, and a deep rumble sounded in
the minotaur's chest as though in warning.  Had young Crofton presumed so
boldly as to drink from the larger tankard, Brawl might well have been
tempted to drown him in it.  "That's the wiser course, lad," he advised the
other, lifting that great mug from the table.  "As a rule, unless we've
another big patron about, perhaps, the larger mug is always mine."

This wisdom imparted, he downed a fair portion of that ale in one gulp,
then looked about, and frowned, looking around again to make sure.  "Now
where's that villain gone?" he demanded.

[To Be Continued]