Secret Agent Chapter 091 - Apology (Patreon)

Zack Adder paused momentarily inside Finney’s.

Behind him was the foyer, a small passageway from the door to the outside to the large, open interior space that made up most of the dining area of Finney’s. The foyer had hooks on the walls for guests to hang their cloaks, and a small lectern at which stood a hostess who would guide guests to open tables. It was a similar setup to restaurants back on Earth. Beyond the open dining area was a large private room where Zack and the rest of the Troupe had done their private after-party with the Theater’s biggest supporters, though the one time Zack had gone, nobody had been overly interested in an [Understudy] filling in a minor role, beyond the novelty of his addition to the Troupe.

To the left was a bar, with tall stool seating and a bartender and a wall of bottles of presumably liquor and wine crammed onto shelves affixed to the wall, below which there was a row of tapped wooden kegs, literally branded with the symbol of the brewery from which they came. The bartender himself was an average sort of man, busy pouring drinks into glasses for other customers who also sat at the bar. The bar would have been completely full if not for Cori, who had clearly saved a seat for him.

The dining area was a large, open space, broken up only by load-bearing wooden beams and a large number of tables, with only barely enough room for waitresses and waiters to squeeze past guests carrying platters and plates of food to the customers. Tonight it was particularly busy, and almost all the tables were occupied by pairs of men and women, or pairs of pairs, or in some cases, six or eight people sharing a large table.

But almost every table had an even number of men and women.

There were three exceptions to this. Two tables were occupied entirely by men. One table had four men wearing light armor like Zack himself was wearing, and they were loudly celebrating an exceptional hunt of thurgenrats out in the forest.

It was easy to pick out their conversation from among the rest of the restaurant, both because of Zack’s [Eavesdropping] and because of their louder than average volume.

Another table, near where Zack stood, had three older men wearing fine clothes. Zack couldn’t hear what they were discussing, even with his [Eavesdropping], which indicated that one or all of them had the [Private Conversation] skill and were discussing something they didn’t want overheard.

He felt no need to pry. But he did note that they had a large sheet of parchment in the center of the table, and they were pointing at various portions of the document as they spoke, and the document occupied all of their attention.

It was the last of the exceptions that had set of Zack Adder’s [Paranoia].

It was a table with three women, wearing somewhat fancier clothing than most of the working women of the city. All three had unremarkable brown hair with only the bare minimum of styling, and their table had place settings for only three, despite an empty fourth seat at the table.

And that empty seat was the only one that would have its back to the bar.

And the three women were sitting unusually close. Not by much, but enough that all three of them could see the bar and the foyer.

But Zack didn’t stare and scrutinize them further.

All this, the former secret agent noted in one sweeping glance, and after only a moment’s hesitation, as if he had only just spotted Cori, he continued into the restaurant towards his appointment, where he would be meeting with someone, ostensibly, to apologize for an insulting remark.

He recognized the women who were there to spy on him.

True, their costumes and makeup and wigs were all well done. Perhaps Millie had even sewn them new dresses, or they already owned those dresses and had chosen them because Zack hadn’t seen them before. But they had failed to blend into their surroundings well enough. They should have brought men with them, as pretend dates. Perhaps even real dates. Not men from the theater, obviously. But surely they could have found someone, even on short notice.

Zack didn’t look twice, but he was certain.

Roxy, Sandra, and Millie had come to observe his meeting with Cori.

His skin prickled as he felt their gazes on his back with [Paranoia].

Cori herself only noticed his approach when he got close enough to try to claim the seat. At first, she reacted as if to shoo him away, but then she recognized him and her face lit up with an obviously practiced smile.

“Jack, you made it! I saved you a seat, come on, sit, sit!” She patted the stool next to hers, and then turned to the bartender. “Vince! This is my date for the evening! Put all my drinks on his tab, okay?” She called to him loudly, and Zack was certain that the three girls from the Troupe had heard it.

He let himself sigh audibly, and slumped his shoulders.

It was a little [Acting], but he had an audience, no?

“Was that necessary?” he asked softly, using [Private Conversation] as best he could to avoid at least the one table from overhearing him. Though, he wasn’t sure how effective it was. He didn’t know how good any of the Troupe girls’ [Eavesdropping] was.

He would simply be careful with what he said, and assume it was all being overheard.

Cori smiled even wider, and winked at him such that the observers couldn’t see.

“Of course! After that rude comment about my age? Really, you should be paying for my dinner, too, Jack!”

Zack decided to assume that she also knew about the three watching women.

He sighed once more, and the bartender caught his eye and cocked an eyebrow. Zack nodded, assenting to the tab, and the other man poured a glass of wine for the young blue-haired and blue-eyed woman.

“And for you, Jack?” Vince asked. Cori watched, curious to see what he would order.

“What do you recommend, Vince?”

Despite what the Church and Kingdom thought about him, Zack Adder wasn’t particularly interested in alcohol. He saw it as a social lubricant, and potentially dangerous. Maintaining a cover identity was hard enough. Doing so while drunk was needlessly difficult.

Still, it would be out-of-place to come to a bar and order a soft drink, and he was a little curious about the wide variety of drinks available, though more from a market research perspective. The knights’ lounge in the Castle had had only the one kind of ale, and the Adventurer’s Guild had the one kind of watered down pilsner.

“I would recommend the Froonung Porter. We just tapped a new keg earlier this evening, and it’s particularly good, and pairs well with our special of the day, the sausage and potato skillet.”

“Sounds great,” Zack replied laconically. “I’ll take the special, as well.”

“Excellent,” Vince dipped his head in acknowledgment. Then he turned back to Cori. “And you, madame?”

“I’ll have the veal,” she said. She looked at Zack with pleading eyes for a moment, and he regarded her coolly and without response, until she sighed. “And only the drinks will be on Jack’s tab.”

“I see.”

“Can you believe how stingy Jack is, Vince?”

Vince, however, remained professional.

“I’ll bring out your food shortly,” he said, and then moved down the bar where other patrons had empty glasses.

A little too professional.

Zack was suspicious that Cori would arrive here alone, but her easy-going demeanor would make sense if she was close to the staff of the restaurant, or possibly even the owners.

Zack was able to relax slightly. Other than the three [Actresses], he didn’t have to worry about anyone accosting him during his discussion.

At least, so far as he had seen.

But his [Paranoia] didn’t indicate any other watchers, and he was fairly close to the restaurant’s exit anyway.

He shifted in his seat, turning slightly to angle himself towards Cori, who was pouting at him.

“How much is the veal here, anyway?” he asked.

“Only thirty lindra.”

Zack rolled his eyes.

“Oh come on, mister E rank adventurer! That’s only ten thurgenrats these days. You can easily afford to treat me.”

“Capability and desire are two different things,” he retorted.

Cori’s eyes narrowed. “Those are some big words for an adventurer,” she said.

“I consider myself primarily an [Actor],” he said, somewhat pretentiously.

Zack was careful with his words, to not [Lie] outright. He had noticed that most people instantly detected his lies, and Vlad had even started to try to train him to [Lie] better the previous night.

“Hmm…” Cori hummed as she assessed him, perhaps trying to detect any lies herself. Surely an information broker would have such a skill, and at a decently high level. She sipped her wine.

“How’s the wine?” Zack asked. At the same time, Vince passed by and left a pint glass with a bulge near the top, below the lip. It was filled to the brim with a dark-colored beer and a half-inch of head, and a strong, sweet aroma like roasted nuts, or toasted bread, and possibly a hint of chocolate.

Cori swirled the wine in her glass and observed the liquid cling momentarily to the glass before gravity pulled it down towards the bottom. A rich aroma of grapes and alcohol wafted up from the glass, strong enough for Zack to detect from nearly a yard’s distance away. “It’s fine, I suppose. Not House Donovan’s finest vintage. The summer that year was cooler than average. Still, since I know you’re so worried about money, that means that this is one of their cheaper reds.”

Zack resisted the urge to roll his eyes again, and settled for merely lowering his eyelids a millimeter or two.

“Well, since I do care about money so much, how much am I paying for your drink?”

“Five lindra.” She took another sip of her wine, then inclined her head towards his beer, yet untouched. “And your Froonung was three, though you are wasting it by letting the head dissolve like that.”

Zack picked up the glass, the head now just below the lip, and raised it aloft just a little in Cori’s direction. “To your youth, then. Apologies for my rude remark yesterday.”

“Apology accepted.” Cori raised her own glass as well, and though they didn’t touch their glasses together—which would have been inappropriate given their different types of drinks, to say nothing of the cultural differences that Zack was still figuring out—they both took a drink, burying the hatchet that they had both endeavored to create between themselves.

The porter was pretty good, actually, though it was on the strong side as beers went. Zack committed to sipping it slowly over the course of his meal, and to drink no more than that this evening.

Now they could get down to business.

Out of the corner of his eye, Zack caught a glance of a disguised young woman biting her handkerchief in frustration as two other disguised women patted her on the shoulder and back, consoling her.