16. The Rusty Tankard.

The streets were starting to come alive with the usual evening crowd as Billy and I made our way to The Rusty Tankard. It wasn't far from the main square—just a couple of narrow streets down, nestled between a blacksmith's shop and a rundown tailor's. The tavern's wooden sign creaked in the breeze, swaying above the entrance, depicting a rusted old tankard spilling ale. The building itself was weathered but sturdy, with moss creeping up the stone foundation and wooden beams that seemed to sag under years of hard use.

Billy eyed the sign with a mix of dread and exhaustion. "I swear, if this place makes me wear another ridiculous costume…"

I laughed, clapping him on the back. "Relax. I'm pretty sure Jorin's not the type for gimmicks."

Jorin, the tavern's owner, was standing just inside the door as we entered. A broad-shouldered man in his mid-forties, with a thick beard and an even thicker scowl, he looked like someone who had lived through countless tavern brawls and came out on top every time. He wiped down the bar with a rag that had probably seen better days and glanced up at us, his brow furrowing.

"You're late," he grunted, though we were technically right on time.

Billy, always quick with a retort, opened his mouth to fire back, but I stepped forward quickly. "Apologies, sir. We're ready to get started. What do you need from us?"

Jorin eyed us for a moment before tossing the rag over his shoulder and stepping around the bar. "Alright, here's how it works. You"—he pointed at me—"will be taking care of the tables. Orders, drinks, making sure no one's spilling anything or causing a mess. You keep the customers happy, and you'll stay out of trouble."

I nodded. "Got it. What about Billy?"

Jorin turned to Billy with a glint of amusement in his eye, which immediately made me nervous for my friend. "You'll be on dish duty, lad. And when that's handled, you'll help restock the ale barrels. I hear you've got a talent for breaking things, so let's try not to smash any mugs, alright?"

Billy's face fell. "Dish duty? Again? I swear, I'm cursed."

"No one cursed you, kid. That's just life in a tavern," Jorin said, clapping him on the shoulder with enough force to almost send Billy stumbling. "The quicker you get it done, the quicker you can do something less…wet."

Billy shot me a glare, but I only shrugged, trying to suppress a grin. "Come on, it could be worse."

"I'm already soaked from the bakery. Now I'll be elbow-deep in tankards."

Jorin chuckled and motioned for us to follow him further into the tavern. The place was starting to fill up. Rough-looking men sat at heavy wooden tables scattered throughout the room, and the smell of roasting meat and ale permeated the air. The hearth in the corner crackled with fire, casting a warm, orange glow across the stone walls. It wasn't a large place, but it had that lived-in, cozy feel, despite the occasional rowdy outburst from the patrons.

"That corner," Jorin pointed to a cluster of tables near the hearth, "is where you'll focus first. The regulars like to sit there, and they're usually the ones ordering the most. Keep 'em happy and keep 'em drinking, and you'll do fine."

I nodded again, taking it all in. The place was loud, chaotic, but I had a feeling I'd be able to handle it. "Got it. Anything else we should know?"

Jorin scratched his beard, eyeing the growing crowd. "Yeah. Watch out for that group by the window. Mercenaries. They're harmless most of the time, but they've got tempers when they've had too much to drink. If they start anything, you come to me. Got it?"

"Understood."

Billy groaned from behind me, already eyeing the growing pile of dirty mugs on the bar. "Why is it always me and dishes? I could've been a hero. A legend."

"You can still be a legend," I said, trying to suppress my laughter. "A legendary dishwasher."

"Ha-ha," he muttered, rolling his eyes as he headed toward the back where the kitchen was.

With Billy disappearing to his fate, I set to work. My first task was to greet the regulars in the corner near the hearth. There were three of them—an older man with a grizzled beard, a younger lad with too many daggers strapped to his belt, and a woman with a scar down one side of her face. They looked up as I approached, their expressions neutral but watchful.

"Evening," I said, putting on my best polite smile. "What can I get you?"

The older man raised an eyebrow. "New here, are ya?"

"First day," I admitted. "But I'm a quick learner."

He grunted and leaned back in his chair. "We'll see. Bring us a round of ale to start. And do NOT spill a drop." He said stabbing his dagger onto the table.

I gulped and nodded and hurried to the bar, where Jorin was already filling tankards. He handed them to me without a word, and I carefully balanced them as I made my way back to the table. The regulars took their drinks, the older man giving me an approving nod as I set the mugs down without spilling a drop.

"Not bad, kid," he said, lifting his mug in a mock toast. "Maybe you'll last longer than the last one. Now keep 'em coming."

I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a warning, but I smiled anyway. "Yes!"

The night wore on like that—running orders, dodging spills, and trying to keep track of who'd ordered what. Billy occasionally poked his head out from the kitchen, his hair damp and his face flushed from the heat of the dishwashing station.

"How're you holding up?" I asked him when he passed me by with a tray of freshly cleaned mugs.

"Oh, just living the dream," he muttered, giving me a sarcastic salute before disappearing back into the kitchen.

As the night progressed, the tavern became louder and more chaotic. The mercenaries by the window had downed a few rounds and were getting rowdier, their conversation drifting into a competitive argument about whose sword skills were superior. I kept an eye on them, ready to call Jorin if things escalated.

By the time my feet were aching and my shirt was stained with spilled ale, I spotted Billy leaning on the bar, clearly done with his tasks. He looked as worn out as I felt, but when he saw me approaching, he flashed a grin.

"So, how's your first shift treating you?" I asked, leaning against the bar next to him.

"Honestly?" Billy sighed. "I'm ready to pass out. But hey, at least no one threw anything at me this time."

"It's an improvement," I said, chuckling.

Jorin came over, handing me a rag to wipe down a nearby table. "You two did good for a first night. We'll see how long you last."

Billy raised an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?"

"No, it's a warning," Jorin said with a smirk. "This place will chew you up if you're not careful."

I exchanged a look with Billy.

As we left The Rusty Tankard that night, I couldn't help but feel like we'd survived our first real test in Caldora. But something about Jorin's words stuck with me.