His Lordship Sir Curston will, on the third day of Yurthgreen, 344, hear and judge the grievances, pleas, and boon requests of his loyal subjects. All those wishing an audience with His Lordship must appear in the hours between sunup and the beginning of the evening watch.
"Quit blockin' the door, you great hog. Are you comin' or goin'?"
Delbridge blinked and stepped back. His sight fell on an angry, hawk-nosed fellow wearing a sparkling white apron: the barkeep, apparently.
"Huh? That is… Pardon me, I was just reading the door," Delbridge stammered.
The owner frowned. "Well, shut it. I'll not be heatin' the outdoors."
Delbridge remembered himself. "My apologies, good sir." He straightened his back and smoothed the bulging front of his velvet jacket, but the man had already returned to his work inside.
Delbridge waddled his way inside before the door closed fully. The room was cozy and warm with a haze of smoke in the air. Eight other patrons sat around several tables. Most appeared to be laborers or craftsmen, but two were obviously soldiers. A small fire burned in the hearth, just right for the warming season. All eight stopped their conversation to see who had rushed in.
The barkeep had barely stepped behind the bar when he looked up and saw the man he had just spoken to in the doorway already standing at the rail. He glanced back toward the door, then squinted at Delbridge. "What do you want, stranger?"
"Nothing, I'm sure," replied Delbridge, trying to look surprised. "I only wanted to discuss a simple business arrangement with you."
"I don't give out no free rooms." Having settled the matter, the barkeep turned back to his work behind the bar.
A hand flew to Delbridge's breast. "Heavens, I never expect anything for free! Did I say free? I don't believe so.
"No, what I propose is a legitimate business transaction. I get something, you get something. As you so insightfully guessed, all I want is supper and a room for the night. But you… you get my services for the evening."
The barkeep snorted. "And what is it you do? Wait, let me guess. Sing? Dance? Tell stories? And for that, I get to feed and house someone who eats like a pig and snores like a siege engine."
He blew his hawk nose into the hem of his white apron. "Sorry, stranger, we don't need any entertaining. Why don't you try the Stumbling Goose Inn, down the street."
Several of the other guests laughed out loud at the bar-keep's insults, but Delbridge was unperturbed. Instead of bristling, he drew himself up as tall as possible.
"I am no common entertainer. I am an oracle. The future is mine to see and predict."
A chorus of snickers and guffaws rattled the room. The barkeep leaned in close and said, "I can predict your future, stranger. I predict that if you don't haul your shifty, fat carcass out of here yourself, it's going to get tossed out." The volume of laughter rose, and Delbridge noticed for the first time that it had a distinctly unpleasant edge.
Bracelet or no bracelet, Delbridge knew it was time to plunge in and either sink or swim. In the past this sort of life-and-death pressure had always sharpened his wits wonderfully. He closed his eyes and placed one hand against his forehead while gripping the counter with the other. His mind raced ahead, searching for some sort of vague prediction that he could make and then verify moments later.
He was lucky that he had one hand on the counter, otherwise he would have fallen when the stream of images burst into his mind. As it was, he reeled sideways and prevented a fall only by clutching the bar reflexively.
In his mind Delbridge saw one of the other patrons, a balding, middle-aged gent with arthritic hands, gulping an enormous mouthful of baked trout. Instantly he began choking and gasping for breath. His eyes bulged out, his hands circled his own throat, and his tongue swelled obscenely until, within moments, he fell from his bench to the floor. There he kicked and squirmed several moments more before lying still.
A stumble was not what Delbridge's hecklers expected. They watched with genuine curiosity now, wondering what this apparent con artist would try next. When he stood and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, he saw them staring, half amused, half bewildered.
If this was the work of the bracelet, thought Delbridge, the tinker from whom he had stolen it was prone to gross understatement. But, as he liked to remind himself with pride, years of experience had taught him to seize opportunity immediately whenever it presented itself. Hesitation was a luxury he could ill afford.
With all the dignity at his command, Delbridge took two bold steps away from the bar, then he swept his arm up and pointed toward the group. "I have seen what is to be. Death is watching over this room and stalking one of you right now. I could tell you who-or I could hold my tongue and let the man die, since no one believes me anyway." He dropped his arm to his side again and looked at them sadly. "I pity you."
Several members of his audience blanched, which filled Delbridge with enormous satisfaction. The man who had appeared in the vision waved his arm as if to brush Delbridge away, then turned back to his meal. Delbridge saw with mixed elation and horror that it was indeed a plate of baked trout!
One of the soldiers spoke up. "All right, oracle, at least tell us who it is. I'd like to know which of us is about to keel over so I can buy him a drink before he goes."
Even without this facetious invitation, Delbridge would have acted. As the man from the vision raised a forkful of fish to his mouth, Delbridge lunged forward and seized the man's wrist. The customer recoiled in anger, trying to twist his arm away, but he didn't have the strength or the leverage to get free. Delbridge pushed the man's plate away and then dumped the contents of the fork onto the table. Turning to the next fellow on the bench and inwardly praying for all he was worth that this was the fatal bite, he asked, "Examine this closely, and tell us what you find."
The man looked to his companions for support of some sort, then shrugged and picked up the dropped fork. He used it to poke through the crumbling meat on the table and within seconds found something. With his fingers he picked out a sliver of bone about as long as his fingernail, shaped and sharpened to a point. It was a broken bit of a handmade fish hook. With a look of amazement, the customer held it out in his palm for all to see.
The man whose dinner had contained the bone hook swallowed a large lump in his throat and massaged his neck. "I guess we don't need any oracle to tell us what would have happened if I'd swallowed that." The rest of the onlookers were silent. Delbridge struggled to look appropriately smug.
The man whose life had been spared addressed the barkeep. "Shanus, I don't know whether you intend to offer this man a room, but I'd like to buy him supper. What'll you have, friend?"
Delbridge didn't hesitate. "Anything but fish," he replied, filling the room with good-hearted laughter.
Reclining in his free room after the meal, Delbridge finally had time to think. He was hardly a wise man, but he was far from stupid. That this was magic he was certain, just as he knew it had to be the work of the bracelet. It was also the biggest thing he had ever gotten his hands on.
He had no idea what the bracelet's limits or capabilities might be, but its potential for turning a profit was huge. Assembling a stage show would be simple, once he knew how to control the item.
Control was a problem, however. Delbridge knew next to nothing about magic. He did know that a reputable wizard would charge an exorbitant fee to analyze the bracelet, and taking it to a disreputable wizard was out of the question. That left experimenting with it himself, learning its uses through trial and error. That path seemed crowded with peril, but Delbridge could think of no other alternative.
In the meantime, word of what had happened that evening would spread through the town like a fire. Better yet, it was likely that the two soldiers who'd been in the taproom during his display would carry the tale to the garrison in the castle, where eventually even the knight-what was his name, Curston?-would hear it.
Delbridge sat upright. This could be much bigger than any traveling mystic show, he realized. The service of a legitimate seer would be invaluable to a ruler. That could mean appointment to a royal court, which would bring to Delbridge everything he'd always wanted: leisure, respect, dignity, and wealth.
Delbridge's mind flashed back to the note on the taproom door: tomorrow was court day! Delbridge resolved to seek an audience with the knight and offer his service. But that left very little time to master the bracelet.
I have a long night ahead, Delbridge realized.