Chapter Three

After stashing the things in his already crowded hideout, he found the wine and made sure it was still chilled. Fortunately, it was. Surmas was already at their usual meeting place, so when Sqweky got there, they left immediately, Surmas leading; He knew the way Sqweky didn't. The building they came to was an unusual base of operations for a criminal organization such as Randolph's. It wasn't an extravagant castle such as Ramirez had built. Nor was it the complex tunnels under the guise of a casino that the Downwinders ran. Instead, it was a warehouse. It had a barracks underneath and a floor of offices at the top. Other than that, though, it was merely a warehouse. Sqweky and Surmas walked up to a side entrance and asked permission on behalf of a "work order". They were let inside and asked upstairs. Sqweky was a bit nervous. The stairs went quite a ways up, perhaps 70 feet. Should one fall, or be thrown off, they would most certainly be killed when they hit the hard, stone floor. Surmas kept calm the whole time though, so Sqweky followed his lead. They were let into what seemed a main office, and the door was closed behind them. There was little light coming in the window, even for this late at night, but three candles above the burning fireplace more than made up for the lost light.

"Good evening gentlepersons." Said the figure in the chair. Sqweky was surprised he hadn't noticed it before. It was a nice leather chair suitable for most lords. But this one did a strange thing, it started turning around! It was facing toward the dark windows, and now it had rotated to face Sqweky and Surmas. "Ahhhh..." the man continued, "I see that it is merely gentlemen. Very well. I assume that you have the object of my desire? I know that I have the object of yours." He then took out several large purses, each made a heavy clink as they hit the table.

"Two thousand gold pieces, as agreed; assuming the wine is genuine." Sqweky took the bottle from his cloak and set it on the table. "Please, do not move for the money until I have inspected the bottle." which he set about immediately to do. Sqweky stood patiently by, knowing that it was genuine. He had found three counterfeits before discovered that one. That particular lord, (Sqweky had never managed to get his name) had been determined to keep his wine safe. He was almost successful too, as Sqweky had not thought he would use the oldest trick in the book: The lord had kept it with the rest of the wine! Sqweky had thought for sure he would have hidden it away.

Surmas ventured to ask:

"Well? Is it, or isn't it?"

The still-unnamed man said nothing for a moment, and then scratched the metal with a nail he had taken from his pocket. "Congratulations gentlemen; you are now 2000 gold pieces richer. My name is Randolph, I am your employer, as you may know. I am quite pleased with your work, wont you join me?"

"For what?" Surmas asked

"Why, with the wine, of course."

"You're going to drink the wine?"

"Yes. What else would someone do with wine? Please, I have glasses over there." Sqweky got two, one for Surmas and one for Randolph, but declined with a simple "Thank you, but no."

Surmas, thinking Sqweky may have insulted the host, interjected:

"He does not consume alcohol, uhh... Lord? Randolph."

"Please, just 'Randolph.' If you insist on honorifics, 'Mr. Randolph' would do fine. And I understand his abstinence from intoxicants. From where I come from, an entire religion believed that they were evil. I respect his wishes. You have no such compunctions, do you, Mr. Surmas? I assume that you are Surmas, are you not?"

"Yes, this is my apprentice, Sqweky."

"An unusual name, may I enquire...?"

"A result of his childhood. He is one of few words, but his skill is unmatched." Such praise was strange and rare, coming from Surmas. In fact, Sqweky had never thought he would ever hear such praise from Surmas. Not while he knew Sqweky was there at least. Randolph nodded as if nearly understanding, but... not quite.

"I would enjoy to hear the story leading to this, I believe."

"Perhaps, you may Mr. Randolph." Sqweky just watched as Randolph and Surmas drank the wine. Randolph appeared, at least, to be happy. Surmas was enjoying his wine. But Surmas enjoyed ANY wine. Never ale, never beer, never mead. Only wine.

"Yes..." Randolph said as he finished his glass. "Most defiantly worth the price paid. I want to confess to you, I wish to continue hiring your services. You are obviously of high skill, yet little renown, as evidenced by your lack of using a contact. I can provide you with jobs without... Oh how shall we say? Guild benefits?" By his tone, 'benefits' also included the word 'demands.' Surmas nodded.

"I understand. But, why do you want this. Most people in your position would simply force us to join their guild, or kill us. Why not you?"

"Mr. Surmas, I am a businessman. It does not bode well if a contractor's laborers are working under fear. And a working laborer is better than a dead one. Should you choose of your own accord to join my... operation... Then I would gladly accept you, but, if not, I can fully understand. You see, I pay well, and I can promise that many jobs I may have need of you for will not be overly-dangerous."

Surmas nodded again. "We will need time to think. A week perhaps?"

"Certainly. One must never make a decision rushed. All I ask is that in a week, you come to my offices and give me your decision. You may come earlier if you so choose. I await your choice. Please, have a pleasant trip home." And with that, they knew they were dismissed.