The fire in the old dwarven hearth had settled into a gentle crackle, and the distant drip of water echoed through the adjoining passages. It was then that a man in a dark, slightly worn coat appeared in the doorway.
He did not stop to survey the room; he already knew it far too well. He strode into the tavern with easy confidence, passed between the tables and, without a word of greeting, took his usual seat at the far end of the bar. A large leather pouch hung from his belt, jingling loudly with every step.
The goblin set a beer in front of him. The man drew the tankard closer, took a hearty drink and settled contentedly into his chair. Without being asked, the goblin slid a bowl of hot stew across the bar as well.
The bowl roused the man from his brief, beer-dazed reverie. Drawing out every s ever so slightly, he snapped at the goblin.
"I didn't assk for thiss."
"I know, but you haven't eaten all day."
"And how could you possibly know that?"
"Because whenever you're hungry, you start looking at the other guests as though you're working out how many of them would fit in an oven."
The man glanced at the group seated at the next table, then at the stew, and finally picked up the spoon. As he attacked the meal with gusto, the goblin began reciting the evening's list of repairs and chores.
"The tavern doors are off their hinges again. A dwarf's ram panicked when it saw the nest of snakes on a medusa's head as she was leaving for home. The beast reared onto its back legs, flailed its hooves in the air, then shot forward like a bolt of lightning. Unfortunately, our doors were in its way. Next, the sacks of grain need unloading from the merchant's cart. The chimney is blocked again, and it has covered the tavern ceiling in soot..." The goblin drew breath to continue, but the man interrupted him through a mouthful of stew.
"Issn't there rather a lot to do tonight?"
The goblin merely smiled. "Oh, is that so? A lot? It seems to have slipped your leaky memory that you have done almost nothing for the past two days, yet somehow managed to drink half a barrel of mushroom beer."
Under the weight of this undeniable truth, the man's head sank between his shoulders and his gaze dropped back to the bowl.
"Well, if you don't feel like working, you can always pay in gold," the goblin replied.
The regular's hand instinctively clutched the bulging pouch at his belt. Eyes wide with horror at this unthinkable suggestion, he stared at the little green fellow. Had the goblin not been standing on a small wooden platform behind the bar, he would have barely reached the man's waist.
"I have nothing to pay with"
The goblin looked pointedly towards the place where the man's pouch would have been visible had the bar not blocked his view.
At this blatant attack, the man pulled the pouch closer and shielded it with his body as fiercely as a mother protecting her newborn. Once the moment of tension had passed and he was satisfied that his coins were safe, he picked up the wooden spoon with a sigh of resignation and muttered:
"At leasst let me finissh, you extortionisst."
The goblin moved away contentedly to pour another beer.
For a while, the only sound was the scrape of the spoon against the bottom of the bowl. The man tried to look bored and unimpressed as he ate, but he knew perfectly well that nowhere in the Dungeon served better food. Perhaps nowhere in the entire kingdom did. Ariam was an exceptional cook, she was capable of conjuring a meal fit for the gods out of almost anything.
Once he had eaten, the man set to work. Grumbling, he walked over to one of the enormous doors, now hanging from a single hinge. Few creatures in the world could have done that to a door of this size. Dwarven rams, however, were certainly among them. With the practised eye of a repairman, he examined the massive hinge lying on the floor. Or rather, in the floor. Its own weight had driven it a handspan deep into the stone. He lifted it easily with one hand and returned it to its place, then bent the metal back into shape with his bare hands until the hinge sat exactly where it belonged. Finally, he tapped it lightly with his fist to test its position, sending a tremor through the tavern ceiling. He stepped over to the huge door, lifted it effortlessly and lowered it into the hinges with a crash like thunder. Satisfied with his work, he gave a small nod and returned to the bar.
"The sacks or the chimney?"
"Whichever you like," replied the goblin, who had not once looked up from the tankard he was polishing with an old, filthy rag.
The man turned decisively towards the hearth and, muttering curses under his breath, disappeared up the chimney.
Throughout this little performance, an old dwarf had sat at a nearby table, calmly puffing on his pipe and drinking mushroom beer. Beside him sat his young apprentice, mouth open and spoon frozen halfway to his lips, staring at the whole affair in disbelief. The moment the apprentice recovered enough to ask a question, his master spoke. "That was Bernard."
The apprentice stared at him. "But he... How did... What?"
"That's just Bernard."
"Master, those doors are made of iron!"
"A keen observation."
"They must be at least four feet wide!"
"I would say five."
"And the chimney!"
"Yes, yes. The smoke has been exceedingly bothersome. It is good that they are finally doing something about it."
"But the fire is still burning!"
"Well, without it, it would be unpleasantly cold in here."
At that, the apprentice slumped helplessly into his chair and stared blankly at the food on his plate.
The old dwarf took a deep pull on his pipe, blew a perfect smoke ring into the air and patted his dumbstruck companion on the shoulder.
A muffled curse came from the chimney. A shower of soot dropped into the hearth, and the flames leapt as high as the mantel for a moment.
"You are in Dungeon. You will see many interesting things yet. Things even stranger and more remarkable than Bernard over there."
A moment later, a single loud cry echoed from the chimney: "Extortionisst!"
The goblin merely smiled and placed a tankard of mushroom beer in front of his regular's empty chair. From beneath the bar, he pulled out an old ledger with a visibly well-worn cover bearing the name BERNARD. A bookmark opened it somewhere around the middle. The goblin added another tally mark among the many already there, closed the book and returned it to its place.
