The tavern was in full bustle that afternoon, Marzipan was pleased to see, and barring any potential disasters like a bar fight destroying all the chairs or a stray ember setting the place ablaze it looked like it would be a potentially profitable one as well. For as the drinks flowed so did the coins, and the Hazelmead Tavern had the best drinks around within three days walk in any direction. 

Her maternal aunt owned the place of course, but the portly woman couldn't keep up with the crowds without her gout acting up and usually towards the end of the day she left running the tavern in the care of Marzipan and her pretty young cousins while she went upstairs to soak her feet before bed. Marzipan, being the eldest, was usually in charge of the bunch and had the arduous task of wrangling the flighty girls, who were more interested in flirting then serving most days, and maintaining the relative peace amongst the rabble. However she took to the task with little restraint, no small pleasure, and all the tyranny of a mother hen.  

Marzipan is very good at her job.

Making her way through the crowded hall, Marzipan spotted a shadowy form creeping through the furthermost window. It was Old Man Grover's boy, Fren, the only surviving family of the man's son who'd passed last winter after catching his death of cold. The orphaned boy had met the man only shortly after his father's death, and even at the best of times Old Man Grover was a crotchety cuss. Needless to say, they didn't hit it off- and Grover quickly alienated Fren much like he had his estranged son with his surly behavior and unreasonable demands. 

"Shirkin' off work again, eh Boyo?" Marzipan said, having come up behind the boy just as he'd begun to relax after sneaking in. The boy yelped and whirled around only to see her standing with her arms crossed and glowering at him.

"See that you use the door next time," She said before he could think up an excuse, "I am tired of having to scrub your muddy boot prints off the wall."

"Yeah, sure Marzi," Fren said with lot a shred of remorse or sign of guilt about leaving Old Man Grover to do the work he was sure to have left half-done if done at all. She narrowed her eyes at him, one final attempt at intimidating the lad into good conscience before rolling her eyes. 

"Oh but you are a wretched child," she fought a smile before turning him around and sending him off with a sharp swat to the bum, "Off with you. Grab a bun, as I'm sure you'll snitch one if I didn't offer, and I'll bring you a drink. But you're staying to help clean up afters to pay your way understand."

Fren ducked away from her with a grin before taking a seat at a table not far from the fire, not far from where Doug Hogarth, the pig farmer, was snoring into his cups. The man had slunk into the place near mid-afternoon, sneaking away from his missus who was sure to give him an earful tomorrow. The stench of pig had been near overwhelming when he'd first arrived, but by now the stink had faded some under the prevailing scent of wood burning ash, spilled ale, and sweaty bodies in close quarters. 

The evening was disturbed by the sudden arrival of Wystan the Ferryman, hooting and hollering and generally raising a ruckus about the cave that had been the talk of the town for several weeks- the clamor waking Doug from his alcohol induced slumber with a snort and bleary headshake. The tenor of the tavern took on new life as the excitement made its rounds through the room, and the night had gone from pleasantly unusual to potentially exciting. Knowing her clientell, Marzipan quickly ducked down to the cellar to haul up a new keg of mead, the men would want fresh drinks as they planned for this adventure. 

Marzi couldn't help but be a bit excited herself. It was rare, but they occasionally got adventurers and warriors who'd come through town- battlescard and wise with fascinating tales of bloodshed and golden treasures. The idea that they could have such a trove so close to home was mind boggling- and she would damned if she missed out on such a prime opportunity. 

Returning to the room she directed her cousins to make their rounds, and carrying four tankards herself she wiggled her way to Fren's table. 

"Here ya are," She said, thudding the heavy drinks in front of them, "A honeyed mead just like I promised. And you'll be keeping your promise, won't you lad."

The boy gave her a distracted nod and continued speaking, "Real gold! Do you think there would be like- ruby rings and sapphires and stuff like that too? Just over there where you can grab it up- the ferryman's been talking all about it since ages ago. If I were him, I wouldn't have told nobody- just take it all for me and never have to work another day for the old man ever again."

Doug blinked at the boy, still in a bit of a fog- although one could see the idea of riches was slowly beginning to sink in. Marzipan pushed his drink over into his hand, "Drink up Hoggy- I got a fresh spiced ale for ya. You fell asleep in your last so I took it before you ended up wearing it. Wouldn't do for Gertrude to have more to fuss at ya for after all."

"Thank ye kindly," he said muzzily and took a swig, "Tho- though maybe. With this treasure. There's treasure right? Gertrude would like some nicer things yah. Mebby ifn in we had some o'that gold she'd not fuss so much ya think?"

"Oh yeah no doubt!" Fren agreed rapidly nodding his head for emphasis, "Girls like pretty things. She'll be right sweet on you again if you brought her back some shiny necklace or I donno, a dress or something."

The shoe had well and truly dropped for Doug now. The idea of his shrewish wife becoming his sweet Gertrude towards him again was something he'd long given up on- now hope had taken root, and Marzipan knew that if this idea had struck him any sooner the pig farmer might have drowned himself trying to get into that cave.