The Magister’s Britches was a cheerful pub decorated with baskets of flowers and a sign on which was painted a pair of flying pants. Caius examined the sign, stroking his goatee. “So how are we going to approach this?” he asked Elowyn.
“Let me do the talking. Elves are skilled at confidence games.”
The Magister contemplated her with a gleam in his eye. “So that’s why I let you get away with so much! It’s an elf trick.”
Elowyn decided to play along. “All part of my plan to get you out for a drink.”
“An elaborate ruse!”
“Only the best for you, Master.” She led him inside. A few patrons turned to look, but Caius and Elowyn’s disguises proved effective. A serving woman approached them.
“What kin I getcha?” she asked.
“We’re looking for a man named Fulgentius Critonius. This is his brother, Priscus.” Caius raised an eyebrow at her, and she stepped on his boot and pressed down. “We received news that he was in poor health,” she added.
“Lemme get the inkeep,” said the woman. She returned with a portly man who wiped his hands on his apron before addressing them.
“So you received my letter finally?” he asked. Elowyn nodded. The innkeep went on, “He’s been like this for awhile now. Went up to his room with a friend one night and didn’t come down in the morning. Room’s paid up through the end of the month, but I was losing hope that his family would come for him. We had the herbalist in, but she hasn’t been able to wake him. Strangest thing! Here, right this way.”
The innkeep led them upstairs to a room at the end of the corridor. It was simply-furnished, but clean and spacious enough. Fulgentius lay in the bed, unmoving, much the same as Fabia.
“You said he was keeping company with a friend before this happened?” Elowyn asked.
“Sure, they come in a few times. Was up here singing together. Fulgentius was fond of his ale. He had me import it special from Ferelden.”
“Is this all of his property?” asked Elowyn, glancing around.
“Aye, his clothes are in that trunk there. Nothing’s been touched, I can promise you that. He was a good customer – always paid his rent on time. We was right sorry about what happened to ‘im.” There wasn’t much in the room – just the trunk, a pair of shoes and a satchel containing a wallet with a few coins and a miniature of a dog.
Caius had walked over to the fireplace and was examining a stein sitting on the mantel. “Is this his?” he asked.
“Aye, he’d drink from no other. Brought it wi’ ‘im, he did, sure enough,” said the innkeep. “Funny thing though – the cap is stuck tight on that vessel. Never had a problem with it before.”
Caius picked up the stein and shook it – there didn’t seem to be anything inside, but the cap wouldn’t budge. The stein felt unusually heavy though.
“Well, I’ll leave you to pack things up in here – I expect ye’ll be moving him?” asked the innkeep.
“Yes, we will,” promised Elowyn. “Thank you for taking such good care of him.”
The innkeep went back downstairs. Caius placed the stein in Elowyn’s hands. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked.
“I am! But how do we get it open?”
Caius set the stein on the table. He tried a few spells on it, but the cap stuck tight.
“Careful!” warned Elowyn. “Breaking it might be the end of him.”
“The innkeep said they’d been singing. I have an idea!” said Caius. “Do you know any drinking songs?”
“Err, I’m afraid that’s not my area of expertise,” Elowyn confessed. “We had only a little wine with dinner in the Circle.” She tried to imagine the Orlesian mages singing a rowdy song and laughed at the absurd image.
“I know a few. Shall I try some? You can join in on the chorus. But I may break your lovely ears with my voice.”
“I’m sure you sing beautifully!” said Elowyn encouragingly. Caius had a deep, resonant voice. Elowyn was curious to hear him sing – this was a side of her Master she’d never seen before.
“You’d best reserve judgment until you hear me,” said Caius. “Alright, let’s try this popular tune,” he replied, launching into song:
There was a man of Tevinter
And a very fine Vintner was he
Of grapes he had plenty
Of slaves two and twenty
And pretty maids one, two, three!
Elowyn joined in on the last verse with relish. But the stein was still stuck.
“There’s something missing,” said Caius. He stuck his head out the door and called for the innkeeper.
“Yes, what can I do fer ya?” asked the innkeep.
“Bring us a jug of my brother’s ale and two glasses,” said Caius. “Need to loosen the vocal cords a bit,” he said to Elowyn. The innkeep returned and poured a glass for each of them, then went out again. Caius handed a glass to Elowyn. “Manaveris Dracona!” he said, raising his glass and taking a swig.
“Manaveris Dracona!” said Elowyn, taking a sip and trying not to make a face at the unfamiliar beverage.
“Ready?” asked Caius. Elowyn nodded, and they launched into song again, drinking each time they finished a verse.
There was a man of Tevinter
And a very fine Vintner was he
Of grapes he had plenty
Of slaves two and twenty
And pretty maids one, two, three!
Oh, the jolly Tevinter Vintner
Drove into town one dee
His cart loaded high
With casks to the sky
And pretty maids, one, two, three!
The jolly Tevinter Vintner
Went down the road by the sea
But a whale jumped out
And ate up the cart
And the pretty maids one, two, three!
The jolly Tevinter Vintner
A whale of a dinner was he
“The end is near
So I’ll be of good cheer
And drink with maids one, two, three!”
The jolly Tevinter Vintner
The luckiest man was he
The whale choked on his dinner
And belched up the vintner
And pretty maids one, two, three!
By the end of the song, Elowyn was feeling decidedly giddy. But the stein’s cap remained stuck. “How many drinking songs are there?” she asked Caius.
“Oh, tons!” he exclaimed, belching. Elowyn giggled. Caius sang a few more ditties, to no avail. By this time, the room was starting to spin slowly for Elowyn.
“Where did you learn these songs?” asked Elowyn, appalled at some of the bawdy lyrics.
“Army days,” said Caius. He frowned at some memory. “Here’s one I used to sing with the fellows,” he said, beginning a mournful air.
When I was a young lad I fancied a lass
As bonny and bright as could be
Our troth we swore
Then she went off to the war
All along the Shores of Seheron
All through the summer
I prayed for my lass
To return to my waiting arms
But my love lost her life
Amidst torment and strife
On the blood-stained Shores of Seheron
Now my love’s grave lies shallow
The grass it grows green
And waves in the winds off the sea
The war goes on
And I am alone
On the desolate Shores of Seheron
It’s been many a year since my love went to war
And many are those who have fallen
But the love in my heart
Will never depart
As I walk the Shores of Seheron
Elowyn wiped her eyes as the last note faded. “Aye, that’s a sad one,” said Caius, blinking back what looked suspiciously like moisture.
“Damn thish cap!” said Elowyn, tugging uselessly on the lid of the stein. Caius threw an arm over her shoulder and leaned his head against hers as they both contemplated the stubborn object.
“Did that man say my bother was F’reldan?” asked Caius.
“Fugnetiush?” slurred Elowyn, “Thash not F’reldan… name.”
“Who elsh would drink thish shlop?” asked Caius, waving his glass around. A little bit of ale flew out and landed on the sick man in the bed. Elowyn was sure she saw him twitch, but the whole room had started to jump a little at the edges.
Caius rubbed his head, causing his hair to stick up all over. “F’reldan song,” he said. He began to sing again, and Elowyn’s soprano joined in on the chorus:
All ye lusty lads gather round, gather round
Gather round the wheel of cheese
And I’ll tell you a story
Full of hope and of glory
Shining like the Golden Brew
Oh the Brew, the Brew, the Golden Brew
The only brew for me!
Away with your spirits
Your wine and your claret
And give me the Golden Brew!
Now in the Blessed years
Lived a man without peers
A man of mighty thew
He brought in the Dragon
By raising a flagon
Of the magnificent Golden Brew
Oh the Brew, the Brew…
Our proud land was flayed
By the Knights of Orlais
To our freedom we bid adieu
Then brave Maric Theirin
Challenged evil Meghren
And killed him in a duel
Oh the Brew, the Brew…
Ferelden lives without fear
Of a rogue Chevalier
To King Theirin we pay our due
Meghren’s out on his ass
So we’ll raise a glass
Of the beautiful Golden Brew!
They both gazed, bleary-eyed with astonishment, as the cap popped open.