Quinn led the three of them through the entrance to Jezebel’s Dungeon. He hugged Radah.
"Where you been?" asked Radah.
Quinn said, "I went to Eastwood and met a bunch of fairies who made love to me, then I drank a magic potion which sent me to a dreamland where a dragon told me to ask the next dragon I saw to teach me sorcery, and then the fairies and a black panther and this guy killed a dragon. Just been wandering around since then."
Radah snorted and grinned at Quinn. "Alright, man. Go on in. The lady’s missed you."
"She better have!" said Quinn.
Quinn led them through the door and said, "A prophet, a philosopher, and a performer walk into a bar. The prophet orders whiskey and thanks his god for drunkenness. The philosopher orders wine and contemplates the meaning of drunkenness. The performer gets drunk, entertains everyone, and goes home with all the girls."
Davion smirked. "All the girls?"
"A man can dream," said Quinn.
They sat. A waitress brought them drinks: a cup of whiskey and mug of tea for Zebulun, a goblet of wine for Davion, and a huge tankard of beer for Quinn.
Jezebel wandered over to their table, her red hair pulled back, her bright green eyes twinkling. She placed a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. "Where have you been hiding, rogue?"
Quinn looked up at her, smiled, and placed a hand on hers. "I’ve been off having adventures with these two."
"I remember this one," she said, indicating Zebulun. "You going to introduce me?"
"Sorry!" said Quinn. "These are Zebulun and Davion. Zebulun is a warrior-prophet. Davion is a philosopher."
"Nice to meet you," said Jezebel. "Welcome to my domain."
"Thank you," said Zebulun.
"You should watch out," said Jezebel to Quinn. "Ezekiel’s been complaining about you."
"I’ll be fine," said Quinn. "Zeb here already gave Zeke and his goons a beatdown once, and now we have a philosopher on our side!"
Jezebel smirked and squeezed his shoulder. "Y’all have fun. Oh, Mak was looking for you too."
"If you see him, send him my way!" said Quinn. "If you see Zeke, send him the other way."
"Will do," said Jezebel. She left them alone.
Quinn gulped his beer. "I wonder what Mak wants?"
They ordered another round of drinks, plus more food because Quinn was still hungry.
"So, Zeb," said Quinn, in between mouthfuls, "We know everything about you. We know where you were born, how long you’ve been in the army, and all that."
"That’s because you ask a lot of questions," said Zebulun.
"You never do!" said Quinn. "Don’t you want to know anything about us?"
"I know what I need to," said Zebulun. "I know I can trust you. I figured you’d tell me more if you felt like it. You’ve never been quiet."
Quinn grinned and said, "I do feel like it!"
"Go ahead," said Zebulun.
"I was born way up north," said Quinn, "way north of the Rose River. Across the mountains, even."
"That’s a long way off," said Davion. "It gets cold up there, doesn’t it?"
"Oh, man," said Quinn, "You have no idea. The summer heat is as brutal there as it is here, but the winters are twice as cold, and the wind never stops blowing. It’s like a knife right through your clothes." He took a large bite of bread.
"So, anyway," said Quinn, "I came from a tiny village called Noble. A farm town. I never quite fit in. My own family didn’t understand me. They were simple, humble farmers, and couldn’t grasp why I wasn’t happy at the thought of spending my whole life digging in the dirt for my food. Or why I liked to sing and dance, and dreamed of the big cities I’d heard about. I guess I had too much of my mother in me."
"I got bullied a lot. I could never understand it…being mean to someone just because they’re different. I decided I never wanted to be that way. I try to be nice to everybody."
"Not that the bullies cared. I got really good at dodging and running away. By the time I was thirteen, I’d had enough. I took off. I had a series of adventures and random encounters, but managed to make my way here to the capital when I was seventeen. Been performing here ever since!"
"You’ve never been back?" asked Zebulun.
"No," said Quinn. "I miss some people, sometimes. I did have some good friends, back home. Misfits like me." Quinn placed his chin on his fist and looked off to the right, uncharacteristically thoughtful.
Zebulun turned to Davion. "What about yourself?"
"Heh," said Davion with a shy smile, "Not much to tell. I’m the, ahem, unofficial son of a minor-ranking member of the fair folk."
"Bastard!" said Quinn with a devious smile.
Davion smiled and shook his head. "It doesn’t bother me. Despite being unofficial, I think he was fond of my mother and I. Before he died, he bought us that house and gave us a modest amount of farmland outside the city. I rent it to tenant farmers. That’s how I’m able to spend my life studying rather than working."
"Lucky!" said Quinn.
"I suppose," said Davion. "Though I wonder what it’s like to grow up with a father in the house, rather than one you see once every week or two."
They ordered more drinks.
After a time, Mak showed up at their table. "Mind if I join you?"
"Sit!" said Quinn. "Great to see you!"
Mak smiled and clapped him on the back. "I’m afraid this isn’t a social call. I have information you need to know. People are looking for you."
"I know all about Zeke," said Quinn. "I ain’t worried. I am totally gonna pay him back, I swear. With interest! Someday."
"I’m not talking about you and Zeke," said Mak. "Normally, I would charge for information like this… but I like you guys, so I’ll tell you for free." He looked at Zebulun. "They’re looking for you. And they’re not some petty thug moneylender. They’re official."
"The dragons know of me," said Zebulun.
"That they do," said Mak, "and they are none too happy about your talk of a new kingdom."
"I didn’t do it to make them happy," said Zebulun.
"Nonetheless," said Mak, "I think you should get out of town."
"We leave tomorrow," said Zebulun.
"I’d leave tonight," said Mak.