The Dragon and Rose Read online

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Copyright © 2020 Gerhard Gehrke

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or recording, or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  Published by Lucas Ross Publishing.

  Author website: gerhardgehrke.com

  Edited by Brittany Dory at Blue Minerva Copyediting

  Cover Design by Abbyanna.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  The Dragon and Rose

  by

  Gerhard Gehrke

  Fallen Rogues Book Two

  Chapter One

  “THIS PLACE IS GRAND. Just grand!”

  Digger looked up from his plate of huevos rancheros as a half dozen youths entered the Dragon and Rose through the back entrance. The group of young men and women spread throughout the bar’s common room and were gawking at the new art Lady Sofia had put up on the walls, a variety of rough and gaudy paintings from an artist who was obviously trying to clear out some old canvases. There was a castle with a sun setting behind it, a vase with flowers, a bowl of oranges, and a dragon spreading massive wings as it took flight.

  Sofia had boasted they had cost her only a few pennies each, and Digger kept to himself the thought that she had been overcharged. But for some reason these intruders didn’t seem to mind.

  The youths continued gawking, not just at the artwork but at the dark interior of what could only be described as a bar under renovation.

  “It certainly is grand,” a sapphire-eyed girl agreed. She wore a rapier on her hip, as did all her companions. She perused the artwork, looked up at the rafters and ceiling, and finally walked over to Digger as he stood at the bar over his plate of eggs, tomatoes, and chilis.

  But Digger didn’t appear to interest her. She kept going towards the last table closest to the door where Sprat Hellard sat with his head down on one arm, fast asleep.

  She crouched to look at the ogre. “Now this is authenticity. Damien, how did you ever discover this place?”

  Damien, who’d been the first of the group to enter, pulled out a chair at the large center table. “I know, right? I saw them remodeling. Saw the fel. Knew we had to be the first to discover it. Come on, Kat, let’s get this party started!”

  Kat’s hand went to the hilt of her sword.

  Digger’s shovel was behind the bar. He’d have to duck down to grab it but was confident he could pick it up before Kat or any of her companions could close in on him. How Hellard was sleeping through the commotion was a mystery. Assassins pretending to be tourists and drunks wasn’t a new ruse. And once again the bar was going to become a bloodbath.

  As he reached for the shovel, Kat kept her hand on the pommel, planted a foot on her chair, and struck a pose. “Drinks! Your best, barkeep.” She snapped her fingers a few times when he didn’t move.

  Digger dropped his fork. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Drinks! Wine! Beer! Whiskey shots!”

  He heard the slur in her raised voice. The Dragon and Rose wasn’t this band’s first stop.

  He did his best to approximate a smile one might expect from a bartender who catered to pureblood nobles. The expression made his cheeks hurt.

  “Of course, my lords and ladies.”

  He found a tray and loaded it with glasses. Then he grabbed the closest bottle of wine and a corkscrew. The group was now sitting down and talking loudly. He set a glass before each one and then fumbled as he tried to plant the corkscrew in the cork. Damien snickered. Kat wore a fading smile that soured with each passing moment as Digger finally got the corkscrew in only to tear the cork in half, leaving the bottle sealed.

  “What did I tell you about serving our guests?”

  His brother Monty emerged through the swinging doors from the kitchen. He wore a stained apron and his hands were dripping wet. He wiped them dry before relieving Digger of the bottle and corkscrew.

  “Back in the kitchen with you,” Monty said. “Break time’s over. My apologies, good masters, he’s the pot washer.”

  Digger watched, stunned, as Monty examined the bottle. “Tsk-tsk-tsk. Did I hear the lady ask for our best? This most certainly won’t do.”

  He went back behind the bar and found another bottle. After stripping a foil wrap from the top, he expertly pulled the cork. He filled each glass in turn with golden wine.

  “This viognier has a prominent honeysuckle bouquet. This vintage from two years ago was renowned for its perfume, and before you taste, please note the underlying hint of lime. Truly a unique year. The deep yellows are radiant. And as you sip, the wine will certainly draw your palate along to the dry, sweet, almost candy-like flavors of almond along with late floral notes.”

  They all drank. A few of them nodded appreciatively.

  “Got anything red?” Kat asked as she drained the glass.

  “Certainly. I’ll also have food brought out. A tasting menu is being featured. Please enjoy the wine and I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Monty tried to take Digger by the elbow. Digger paused for a moment, not allowing himself to be budged, but he relented as they moved through the doors and into the kitchen.

  Stacked crates lined one wall. A sink at the far corner was barely accessible past columns of barstools and a recent food delivery waiting in sacks. A monster-sized green zucchini sat on top of one bag.

  Three pans with lids simmered on the stove. The smells of roasting peppers, garlic, onions, and bacon permeated. A prep table was arranged with a large cutting board and a few knives. A tomato appeared to have just been chopped. Next to the cutting board were tiny dishes of cumin, pepper, bay, and other seasonings. Monty had been cooking all after
noon, not letting anyone inside the kitchen as he worked.

  Monty turned the stove tops off. “My calabacitas is getting hammered. Couldn’t you send them away?”

  Digger lifted one of the lids from a pan and sniffed. “I was dealing with it.”

  “Not with that bottle of wine you weren’t. You would have started a fight serving them that.”

  “I don’t think they’re particularly picky.”

  “How’d they get in here?” Monty asked.

  “Front door is nailed shut. But you didn’t latch the back after taking the garbage out.”

  Monty relieved him of the pan’s lid. Clenched his jaw. Digger could see his brother struggling to not say anything. But he rarely would. He’d bottle it up again, and for that Digger was glad.

  “Look,” Digger said. “You’ve got enough food for twenty people going in here. I don’t know these recipes but at least I remember how to plate. Let me get this together. Go out there and pour them more wine. You know how to do the front of the house. If any of them get rowdy, call me. I’ll throw them out. If Hellard wakes up, send him back here.”

  They heard a roar followed by the ogre’s signature chortle.

  “Too late,” Monty said. “He’s awake.”

  They peered out of the kitchen.

  The chorus of laughter from the group of tourists kept going and going. Hellard was sitting backward on a chair, squeezed in between Kat and Damien and in the middle of telling a story that required big hand gestures. His meaty appendages kept almost knocking the wine glasses over. The ogre’s chair creaked but held, at least for the moment.

  “What do we do?” Monty asked, his earlier confidence evaporated.

  Digger shrugged. “Get them their wine. I’ll get them food. Then we overcharge them and hope they leave.”

  DIGGER COULD ONLY HOPE the tourists would forget the Dragon and Rose after they sobered up. He considered dumping salt or an excess of pepper or performing some other sabotage on the plates of food, but he knew his brother wouldn’t forgive him that affront.

  Dishing up the slow-roasted goat and calabacitas, he wiped each plate’s edge down and added a few sprinkles of tiny greens. His mother and father had taught him how to present a dish, but Digger had never enjoyed any of the restaurant work his parents had done. Monty had taken to it with relish and had exceeded all his parents’ expectations. But his skills were still there, and he was forced to admit the plates looked good.

  He tasted the entrée and the side and they were both bright and well salted, no tinkering required.

  Outside, Hellard was only growing louder. The tourist Kat was matching him in volume and the common room erupted in another gout of laughter.

  He brought out the plates and arranged them in front of each tourist. They barely waited for him to move before digging in, some using fingers to pluck wads of goat meat and pop them into their mouths. They were on a fourth bottle of wine and Monty must have served them their whiskey shots, as each had a small glass of amber liquid.

  Digger took up position behind the bar, an uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu churning in his guts. Monty was too nervous. And Hellard? Who knew what he might do to a pureblood? The ogre had come to the city with the express purpose of finding like-minded fel for an ill-conceived uprising. But Digger had no choice but to ride the evening out. The group was eating and drinking and appeared content enough.

  Monty stood demurely behind Hellard and was quick with a napkin when the tourist Damien slid off his chair and sent a forkful of food across the front of his shirt.

  Hellard reached over and slapped Damien on the back. “Good lad. Good stuff, eh? We’re still getting the kinks out of the place, but you’ll be sure to tell your friends about the Dragon and Rose, won’t you?”

  Digger stifled a sigh. So much for wanting to send them away.

  “This is delicious,” Damien said through a mouth of zucchini. He washed it down with wine.

  Hellard nodded. “This here is the best chef this side of Bahia. You lords and ladies are the first to taste what this place has to offer. Now will you be settling your bill with coin or scrip?”

  Digger didn’t know what to expect and found himself tensing up. Judging from prior experience, he knew an armed group of nobles wouldn’t think twice before cheating a fel.

  Kat made a gesture to the table. Each of the nobles dug into purses and pockets. A clang of coins and a few pieces of scrip followed as they deposited payment onto the table.

  “And how about a gratuity for our chef and his kitchen staff?”

  More coins followed.

  Hellard poured the last half of the bottle among the partygoers. “We’ll call this the last round. It’s been a pleasure.”

  They either nodded or raised a glass. Then from the trapdoor behind the bar came a thump. The group at the table went quiet.

  “What was that?” Kat asked.

  Hellard shrugged and maintained his disarming smile. “Rats. Big ones. Nothing to concern you and something we’ll fix before our grand opening.”

  With a second thump, the floorboard beneath Digger’s feet bucked.

  “Hey, pot boy?” Hellard called. “Go down and give those rats a whack, why don’t you?”

  Digger gave a forced smile and looked at the trapdoor. The cellar didn’t have rats but trolls. The two monsters Hellard had rescued from the catacombs were number one on a list of things that made the Dragon and Rose a dangerous place for all involved.

  Digger picked up his shovel. “We’d best close up, if you want me to go down there. Hate to have any of them swarm up here while we have guests.”

  “Eww,” Damien said, throwing down his napkin and rising. He almost collapsed again.

  Digger arrived at his side to steady him. A pair of his companions took over as Digger guided the group towards the storeroom and back door.

  “So when’s the grand opening?” Kat asked.

  Digger waited for the last of them before following them out. “Soon. Good night. Walk safe. Mind the alley, because it’s dark.”

  Hellard gave a final wave. The tourists’ laughter echoed about the alley as they departed. Digger was about to shut the door when a hand stopped him. It was another pureblood, a man with spiked frosted hair who staggered and caught himself in the space between the door and jamb.

  “Are you still open?” the man spurted. He reeked of beer and was barely able to stand straight.

  “Not here. We’re closed.”

  Digger grabbed the man as he lurched forward and found himself holding the man upright. But Digger had no problem pushing and half carrying him out into the alley to lean against the wall. Digger’s grave cart stood nearby.

  “Just a pint, is all I ask.”

  “Like I said, we’re closed. This was a private party.”

  “A pity,” the man said sleepily. “Love a good party.” He sagged to the ground. “Everyone loves a party.”

  Digger didn’t comment. He returned to the back entrance and pulled the door shut. After latching it he confirmed it was firmly locked. For a moment he considered nailing a piece of wood in to seal the back door like he had the front. If his brother wouldn’t go into hiding to stay safe, Digger would have to do a better job of keeping the bar secure, even if it meant blocking every door and window so no one got in or out.

  Because anything would be easier than dealing with another night like this one.

  Chapter Two

  DIGGER WHEELED HIS cart to the cemetery.

  Dawn was less than an hour away. Usually it was in these small hours that notice would come via the city watch of any work to be had. More often than not, someone in the city wouldn’t be waking up. But until the notice came, he would have to be patient.

  Three gravediggers were shoveling up a fresh hole by the common grave. One cart had a wrapped body in it. Digger parked his cart and sat on a tombstone to watch. The clouds were thick overhead and it had been sprinkling. The top of East Hill was shrouded in mist. He could
barely see the crypts and the castle to the west was completely lost in the murky air.

  The gravediggers who had taken the night shift were silent in their labor, which suited Digger just fine after the events of the evening at the Dragon and Rose. But he didn’t have to wait long before an approaching lantern came his way.

  One of the graveyard keeper’s daughters approached. She was escorting a lone city guard who was bundled in his cloak against the wind. She only wore a thin, short dress over her spindly frame and appeared unaffected by the cold.

  She grinned when she spotted him, revealing rows of tiny white teeth. She also wore an eyepatch. Her single froglike eye shone as she considered Digger. “Is this the fel you’re looking for, Private?”

  The guard looked at Digger and shrugged. “He’s fel?”

  Digger tried to not let his irritation show in his voice. “What do you want?”

  “Mind your tone. I was sent to find a fel gravedigger your size.”

  “You could have just sent a notice. Is there a pickup?”

  The guard let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. But the sheriff requested you specifically.”

  Digger knew the sheriff. The man was still on Loom Island, intent on investigating the disappearance of a court magister on behalf of Duke Tito. The sheriff now knew who Digger was, after the events surrounding the theft of the queen’s prize watch. They had fought. Digger had been taken in and sent to the games. And after his release from the catacombs the sheriff had confronted him and implied he knew Digger’s involvement with the disappearance of the magistrate. For whatever reason the sheriff hadn’t arrested him a second time. Perhaps he was looking for actual proof, which had never stopped a city guard from apprehending a fel culprit before.

  Things had been quiet over the past couple of weeks but now Digger’s mind turned with the possibilities. Why would the sheriff request him for a body pickup? The man didn’t seem like someone who enjoyed games.

  Digger looked back at the other graveyard workers. “Any one of them will do.”

  “Well that’s not who the sheriff wants. He said to look for you. So are you coming?”

  The implied “or else” hung in the air. The guard had a truncheon on his belt. Digger kept his shovel in his cart, and he knew he could grab it and take the man down before the guard could free his hands from under his cloak.