If Pie Week in the Colleges of Magic was a riot, the Street of a Thousand Taverns declared it a war. Enthusiastic crowds caroused up and down the street, swilling ale from tankards that were refilled at tapped kegs Infront of taverns. Tavern boys sat by the kegs with buckets into which the revelers tossed a few copper coins before filling their mugs, long sticks lay across their laps to knock the drinks from the hands of those who tried to fill without paying. The smell of hot pies and roasting meat wafted from the doors of every tavern, making the mouth water and drawing the hungry in for a slice or two. The happy buzz of conversation was punctuated with whoops and cheers as men tossed dice or played cards at tables or simply on clear patches of cobble stones. Street musicians strummed lutes and banged drums, somewhere a dwarven bag pipe was wailing away. It should have been discordant but somehow it melded with the noise of the crowd to create a vaguely pleasant whole. The only thing missing were the firebrand preachers, though they were never as popular in the Street as they were in the rest of the city. Normally people went to the Sigmarplatz for that kind of entertainment before their evening beer. That wasn’t to say religion was entirely absent, a few optimistic doom sayers stood on improvised platforms made from wine crates to rhapsodize about the coming end of the world. Pickpockets were also at work, having an easy time with the crowded streets and the general level of intoxication. Twice someone tried to cut Emmaline’s purse, only to find her enchantments turned the blades with a noisy clink.

 

“How are we going to find our man in all this?” Malcador asked as he swatted an innocent looking urchin who had made a grab for his own coin purse. The kid darted off into the crowd in search of easier pray. Malcador was dressed in a coat of dark blue silk over a white cotton shirt and dark grey pants of fine Sutherland wool. He looked like a minor aristocrat out for an evenings entertainment, and several other such people gave him cautious nods or speculative looks. More than a few women cast him approving glances, which made Emmaline feel a little jealous.

 

“Well, I hadn’t really thought of that,” Emmaline confessed.

“Lemon!” a voice called and Emmaline spun to find a gaggle of duelists dressed in silk and wearing polished breastplates. A lithe looking brunette steered the pack of them toward them, cutting a path through the crowd on swagger alone. The newcomer wore a pair of pistols at her right hip and had a simple but well made fencing foil at her left. A bright red dueling rosette was affixed to her left breast.

 

“Hannah,” Emmaline called out, clasping the other woman’s hand. Hannah yanked her into an embrace and planted a loud kiss on her cheek.

“S’good to see you out of your Tower,” Bianca enthused before turning to Malcador, “s’friend kinda cute.” Hannah Fischer had clearly been drinking, which was a bit like saying ‘winter is cold’ or ‘dwarves hold grudges’, but though liquor made her questionable judgement much worse, it never threw her aim off. Emmaline had known Hannah since childhood, when they had both grown up semi-wild in the sprawling tenements down on Dockside and they were firm friends.

 

“This is Malcador of the Celestial College,” Emmaline introduced. It sounded a bit pompous but last names weren’t frequently used in the Colleges.

 

“Malcador, this is Hannah Fischer an old friend of mine.

“S’charmed,” Hannah managed, taking Malcador’s outstretched hand and kissing it like a Brettonian might.

“Hannah, any chance you know where we might find a Halfling Bigwig named Clodfot?” Emmaline asked, Hannah was a fixture of the Altdorf tavern scene and knew everyone who was anyone.

“Clodfot? he and his boys is down at the Stumpy Cock,” Hannah supplied.

“Why you need some halflingus?” Hannah snickered, then tried to elbow her companions to share the joke, only to find that they had wandered off into the crowd. She peered owlishly at the empty air for a moment then turned back and frowned.

“S’friends of yours?” she asked, gesturing with her chin towards two apprentices trying to force their way through the crowd. It was Heinrich and Gunter, annoyed no doubt, at once again having been stood up by Malcador. Emmaline sighed, they didn’t have time to deal with the two melodramatic wizards right now.

“Sort of, think you can distract them for a few minutes?” Emmaline asked. Hannah snickered.

“What are their names?” she asked conspiratorially.

“Henrich and Gunter,” Malcador supplied. Hannah was already striding towards them, bulling her way through the crowd like a war galley.

“Henrich! You haven’t even come to see the baby! How could you promise to marry me and then abandon me so” she screamed at the top of her considerable theatrical range. Emmaline snickered, caught Malcador’s hand, and hurried down the street towards the Stumpy Cock.