The laughter continued for a long time.
It didn't stop until Little Fish had polished off two pieces of bread and three large chicken legs, his big eyes darting around at other food.
Matthew grabbed him another piece of chicken before finally starting to eat with a dark expression.
Seeing this, Ser Harwin beat his chest, coughed a few times, and reached into the platter.
"Almost forgot. Taverns like this usually have noble backing..."
Withdrawing his hand, he gnawed on a honey-roasted chicken, reminding them with his mouth full:
"We'd best eat and leave."
He was afraid the young ones couldn't handle the slight and would suddenly cause trouble.
Wasn't Dale a prime example?
Morty picked up some salt pork and nodded in agreement.
Matthew held a chicken leg in one hand and hot bread in the other, listening silently.
But inside, he was filled with dissatisfaction.
He hadn't enjoyed the usefulness of his newfound prestige for even a minute.
Originally, Matthew planned to use his momentum at the table to pressure Ser Harwin and Morty, probing their thoughts and truly seizing command.
This was important.
But now the atmosphere was gone, and the plan had to change.
Taking risks wasn't his style.
Viciously biting off the last piece of meat from the chicken leg, Matthew tossed the bone onto the floor, glancing at the men crowding into the kitchen.
With these people around, it was hard not to suspect this shop was a black inn.
Looking at the fat owner behind the counter, a flash of wariness crossed Matthew's eyes.
Suddenly, the fat owner turned his head and smiled at him.
Matthew didn't panic. He nodded and prepared to continue eating and drinking.
But just as he turned his head, he felt an unsettling sense of being watched.
Frowning, his gaze swept quickly.
Unfortunately, he found nothing unusual.
Matthew's brows furrowed deeply, but he slowly turned back, lowered his head, and reached for the remaining salt pork.
Just then, the vague feeling of unease struck again.
He whipped his head around, his gaze shooting like arrows in every direction.
The tavern owner leaned on the counter, smiling dryly and bored; the mercenaries were still boasting; the tavern staff were busy.
No one was caught by him.
Just as Matthew was about to withdraw his gaze in disappointment, his lowered eyes swept past the kitchen door again.
Suddenly, he noticed the slanted shadow on the wall twitch.
Matthew's gaze sharpened instantly. He kicked Little Fish under the table.
Little Fish looked up, mouth greasy, his big eyes blank.
Matthew sat up straight, pretending not to have noticed anything.
But his ears were pricked up, listening to the movement in the kitchen.
At the same time, while picking up the salt pork, he instructed:
"Run quickly to the kitchen and see who is standing by the door."
Hearing he had a mission, Little Fish didn't even wipe his hands, rushing over stickily.
Immediately, light footsteps came from the kitchen.
Hearing the new sound, Matthew, relying on his experience as a Little Bird, understood the person was definitely short or not wearing shoes.
This was definitely not one of the thugs from earlier.
Little Fish stood at the kitchen door, catching them off guard.
He watched a small, thin figure run into the crowd and then dash out the back door.
Although he didn't see the face clearly, he was certain the person was a child only slightly older than him, not a dwarf.
It was an indescribable sense of coordination.
Just one look, and you could feel it wasn't how a dwarf moved.
At this moment, the tavern owner saw Little Fish peeking around the kitchen and was startled.
Children meant mischief.
He strode over and started shooing him away:
"Kid, stay away from the kitchen! That's not a place for you to play."
Little Fish glanced at him sideways, stuck out his tongue, and ran back quickly.
Reaching Matthew, he said:
"Just as I got there, a kid a bit bigger than me ran out the back door."
Matthew stopped chewing, raising an eyebrow.
"Go take some food to Dale and that Night's Watch boy. Plenty of meat and bread, and water too."
A moment later, he gave the order.
With friend or foe unclear, staying long in an unsafe tavern wasn't a good idea.
Little Fish didn't hesitate. He grabbed the food decisively and ran outside.
Morty looked longingly at the empty platter where the salt pork used to be, his hand diverting to the capon instead.
Picking it up, he looked at Matthew and asked in a low voice:
"What's wrong?"
Matthew swallowed the chicken and said gravely:
"Someone was peeping at us just now. Don't know if it's a Little Bird or someone from this black shop."
Morty's hand paused, and his brow furrowed.
After a long while, he started eating again.
Chewing, Morty lowered his head first, then looked up and said:
"Shouldn't be tavern people. Places like this are usually intel hubs; they rarely make moves on customers."
Matthew smiled and countered:
"What if they see us as fat sheep?"
Morty blinked, then suddenly laughed.
"We aren't fat sheep. Even if we look like it, we're wolves in sheep's clothing."
Ser Harwin chimed in, snorting with dissatisfaction.
Matthew looked at him and tapped his finger three times.
He didn't know where Ser Harwin got his confidence. Imry died under their protection.
Although Matthew played a part, the man did die.
Matthew looked at the mercenaries behind him again. Their faces were flushed red from drinking; they were close to passing out.
Immediately, he felt they couldn't stay any longer.
If these people got truly drunk, the road ahead would be trouble.
Matthew stood up, gulped down a mouthful of water, clapped his hands, and said loudly:
"Everyone full?"
Bernarr stood up immediately, adjusting his clothes and sword.
The mercenaries followed suit, turning their eyes to Matthew.
Ser Harwin and Morty wiped their mouths and stood up quickly too. Tucking the small keg of ale gifted by the owner under their arms, they said:
"Full."
Matthew kicked his stool aside and walked to the counter.
Fishing a Silver Stag from the bundle he never let leave his body, he tossed it over.
The tavern owner gave him a few coppers in change, pushed them over, and asked:
"My Lord doesn't plan to rest for the night?"
Matthew shook his head and said decisively:
"We have wounded. We need to go to Sow's Horn to find a Maester."
Lies came easily. Whether he believed it or not was none of Matthew's business.
The tavern owner chuckled and didn't press him to stay.
Matthew swept the coins into his palm, put them in his bundle, and walked out.
The mercenaries made way, Bernarr following closely behind.
The sound of chairs scraping was grating on the ears.
Ser Harwin and Morty grabbed the remaining pieces of capon from the table and chased after them.
Outside, the sun was fierce and blinding.
The shadow of the cart was cast exceptionally large, with four human-shaped shadows beside it.
Squatting or standing, big and small.
Perce, carrying a large bundle and a medium-sized black pot on his back, with a hammer and a hatchet at his waist, stood next to Little Fish.
They were both watching Dale and the Night's Watch boy eating, swallowing saliva occasionally.
Squinting, Matthew shielded his eyes from the glare and jogged to his cart.
He kicked Little Fish lightly before they looked over.
Perce was a bit flustered. Wiping his mouth quickly, he placed a hand on his chest and bowed:
"My Lord, I have returned."
Matthew smiled and nodded at Perce, then reached out and lifted Little Fish onto the cart.
After that, he looked at Dale and the Night's Watch boy and said:
"Everyone on the carts. Eat while we move."
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