Upon Thorn's request, Jobb sent word to all the eyewitnesses to come and answer her questions. But sending word meant sending people to spread it, and they did a good job of spreading it.
Too good.
One messenger was too excited and ended up sharing Jobb's message too loudly for everyone in the room to hear. Another was too busy watching the clouds to be bothered by the task, and sent someone else with a loose mouth to do it. And the rest were vultures that lived on a diet of gossips. The moment Jobb gave them the message, they took it and ran through the entirety of Shepeste sharing it with any ears that were willing to listen.
Evening came. The sun dipped on the horizon and a red sky replaced the deep blue. A chill air replaced the calm daylight breeze, and a light drizzle of rain made the cold worse. But the day was far from over. Instead of going to the peace of their homes, people from all around Shepeste marched into Jobb's tavern.
The tavern was packed from end to end, more than its best days, and it wasn't just for Jobb's ale or smoked lamb. It was packed with the people of Shepeste who were starving for news. After all, to the simple and silent Shepestians, this was the biggest action this place has seen in years.
Thorn coughed and pressed her robe against her nose. The air was thick with the smoke of pipeweed and the smell of ale. It was too loud, too. Everyone was talking all at once, murmuring excitedly, whispering conspiringly, and chatting endlessly.
Thorn looked at her dad, then at the endless mass of people, then back at her dad. "Dad, how did this happen?"
Even Jobb was surprised. Shepestians weren't the most talkative folk, but it seemed that the arrival of the mysterious killer had awakened something within them.
The Drifter, they've dubbed him. A foreboding name to a foreboding man.
"I'm as lost as you, Thorn."
"I wanted a comprehensive investigation, not a forum."
"I think they just really miss you."
Thorn's pale cheeks flushed bright red all the way to the ears. She squawked, "What?! But I've been away so long I don't remember half of these people's names. Hell, I didn't even know their names to begin with!"
"Thorn, my dear, I was joking."
The crowd around the door shuffled into movement, pushed from the back. They finally gave in and parted, and a group of armoured men made their way into the tavern with an air of self-importance that the rest of Shepeste didn't possess. Leading the band was a lanky middle-aged man who marched with a perfect posture. Among the others, he was the most well-armoured, with a plate of armour over a green and red gambeson embroidered with the herald of the local lord. He wore a spangenhelm that covered down to his neck and cheeks. It revealed enough of his face to show his stern, commanding eyes and the well-trimmed bushy brown moustache he so proudly maintained.
Jobb rushed to meet him. "Guard captain Horndall, pleasure having you."
"Jobb," he said, nodding sharply as if his neck was made of clockwork. He scanned the crowded bar and whistled. "This is quite the gathering."
"Aye, it is. My daughter wanted to ask a few questions about the strange Drifter, so I sent word to the eyewitnesses. One thing led to another, and this happened."
"Indeed?" The captain stroked his moustache with one gloved hand. "I fear I'm growing forgetful, Jobb."
"Why is that, captain?"
"Because I can't seem to recall anyone delivering me the message."
Jobb blinked at him. His mouth worked but no words came out.
Horndall said, "You see, by my reckoning, this matter with the Drifter concerns me the most. The safety of this town is my profession, after all. So isn't it safe to assume I'd be the first person you reach out to if matters about the Drifter resurfaces, hm?"
Horndall poked his chin out. His moustache was inches from Jobb's face.
There was an awkward tension in the air, and the other patrons steered clear, as if a bubble of passive hostility rose around the speakers. The captain was by no means a bad man, but he was quite ill-tempered. It was never easy talking to him. It was like trudging through a dark room with nails littered across the floor.
Jobb's mouth worked. There was a mighty delay to his answer. "Uh, well, captain. How do I put this? We didn't actually invite y—"
Thorn stepped between the two, cutting Jobb off. She had to crane her head up to meet the captain's eyes, but that didn't stop her from looking resolute.
"We're very sorry, captain," she said in a smooth, practised voice. "We never meant for this to blow out of proportions. We originally planned this to be a simple questioning of the eyewitnesses, to put myself on the same page as everyone in Shepeste. I argued that it would be unkind to bother you with my plethora of questions. After all, I'd hate to waste your time with petty questions when you're so busy patrolling the streets for this Drifter fellow."
Horndall cocked a brow amusedly. "Indeed? Well then, if you put it that way, I suppose we can chalk this off as a harmless misunderstanding. Call it water under the bridge or over the dam or wherever you'd like to place it. But if you don't mind, I think it's vital that we join this forum of yours. We've walked this far, it would be a shame to just leave."
Thorn didn't like the idea of him skulking about listening in, but she swallowed her indignation. They had lost enough time with this unexpected crowd, the worst they could do is to stir trouble.
"That's agreeable."
"Very well! Now, Jobb, find me a nice table. We'll have lots of warm food and drinks. My men had been most tired, Jobb. After all, it's not easy on the stomach trudging through the streets in armour looking for what feels like a ghost rather than a man."
All the tension disappeared from Jobb's face, melting into a hospitable grin. "Of course, captain! Of course!"
The grin was stuck on his face as he ushered the guards through the crowd.
Before he left, he leaned to Thorn and said, "At least with these many people, there's lots of orders going around. Be a good girl and be happy for your father, will you?"
Thorn sighed but nodded.
Soon, night had descended. The sky seen through the tavern's window was a black sea dotted by a thousand stars. Thorn rubbed her arms and felt a shiver crawling up the back of her spine. It had become noticeably colder. She forgot just how cold Shepeste could be.
Thorn was about to complain, but stopped when she realised she wasn't alone in the struggle. She noticed that many of the patrons gravitated to the firepit. But now with so much crammed inside the building, plenty of patrons didn't have a spot near the firepit, pushed to the far edges of the tavern. There seemed to be more who didn't feel its warmth than those who did.
The less lucky patrons' hands rarely touched their meal, too busy rubbing their arms together. Even those close to the firepit weren't enjoying themselves too much, too busy holding their palms open on the flame. The flame was meagre, close to embers more than a proper flame.
Thorn caught Rose by the shoulder as she passed with a platter full of cheese and fruits. "We're going to need more firewood."
Rose shook her head. "Nu uh. We're all out of it."
"How could you run out of firewood? That's bad hospitality!"
Rose shrugged. "Well, we sort of had our time wasted fixing and cleaning the tavern for the past few days after that mayhem. Father and I barely had time to go out, cut some trees, and chop up firewood."
Thorn groaned. She hated that Rose completely made sense. "Now what?"
Rose peered across the room. "You know, I think the captain's in the house."
"I'm aware. Why are you bringing this up now?"
"I think his moustache is flammable."
"Rose."
Rose grinned at her and resumed her duty, disappearing between the mass of patrons.
Thorn sighed, but then her eyes widened as an idea struck her.
She patted her body up and down. "Hold on. Where did I put it?"
She paused. A smile spread on her lips when she found it.
She threaded through the mess of chairs and to the fire pit. It was a difficult task. The patrons started and edged away on their seats as Thorn made her way clumsily, giving her an annoyed look all the way.
Thorn wondered how Rose managed to do this everyday. Then again, she didn't have Thorn's more grown up body.
After a plethora of apologies, Thorn arrived at the fire pit. She reached inside her pocket and produced a clay jar just the size of her palm, sealed tight with a series of leather, cloth, and rope.
Thorn undid the seal, and a stinging smell wafted from within. She held the vial over the flame and carefully poured a large amount of what seemed to be powder or sand.
The effect was immediate. The concoction proved to be highly flammable as the fire grew to a great size. The heat was so fierce and sudden that the patrons closest to the fire pit were stunned and edged their seats away. Some even jumped so hard they fell off their seats and on their backs.
But their fear disappeared as soon the fire calmed. It burned with a strong, steady flame and with an aromatic hint to its smell. Its warmth embraced the entire room, comforting everyone near and far.
The shock passed from the patrons, and now gratitude and awe filled their faces. They turned to Thorn like she was one of the Heroes reborn and walking on earth."
"W-was that magic? That's incredible!" One cried.
"What is that powder?"
She held her hands, stopping the endless sea of praises and questions.
"Not a powder, actually. It's liquid. But it's dangerous to carry a flammable liquid around, so the alchemists had a brilliant idea to soak it in sawdust. It has been infinitely more portable ever since. It's quite standard among Consortium mages who are tasked outside the safety of civilizations. We mages aren't best known for our ability to survive out in the wilderness, so a few tools to help start a fire were needed. But I think tonight warrants its use."
She watched as the patrons looked at the roaring fire with fascination, even though it looked just like any fire. She found their joy at the small things infectious, and felt herself smiling.
Her life in the Consortium has made her accustomed to magic. She found herself reaching the depths of her memory, back to the times when she was younger and first saw magic. She smiled as the emotions she felt that day resurfaced. She remembered how miraculous it felt. Ever since then, she was sure as the rising sun and the falling rain that her calling was in the Consortium.
Suddenly, she felt warmer, and she suspected it wasn't because of the fire.