Butt man's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Butt Man was a large butt and nothing else, and he wanted the greatest chair in the world to sit in. The trouble was, no one had ever told him where that chair sat. So he rolled through the tavern door shaped like a toppled flagon and dropped himself onto the nearest bench, waiting for someone to know. Drinkers stared. A man dropped his mug. Butt Man had grown used to this. He cleared what would have been his throat, if he had one, and spoke. "I seek the greatest chair in existence. Does anyone here know where it sits?" Laughter rolled through the room. But a broad man in a red headband did not laugh. Gareth Gold-Tooth leaned across his table, his grin flashing metal. "A chair, is it? I know men who'd trade a chair for a barrel of mead. What's it worth to you?" Butt Man had no gold. He said so. Gareth spat and turned back to his drink, done with him. The room lost interest fast. A butt with empty pockets was just a joke, not a customer. Then a hand set a fresh mug in front of Gareth. The tavern woman with red hair tied back did not look at the pirate. She looked at Butt Man. Marta Whisperwell had been carrying trays across this floor for years, and she remembered every drunk word spoken near her. "The chair is real," she said. Flat. Certain. The nearby tables went quiet. "A merchant owns it now. Two men who touched it are dead. A dockworker. A courier." Butt Man leaned forward on his bench. "Where is it?" Marta wiped a ring of ale from the wood. "That costs coin. I don't give it away." "I have no coin," Butt Man said again. She studied him. A butt with no purse, no sword, no fear. She had refused richer men. But none of them had walked in asking so plainly, and none of them had made the whole room go still the way this shape did. "Then here is a name, no more," she said. "Kael Goldmane. The merchant with the bronze coat. He owns the chair. He smiles when men ask where he got it. He does not answer." She straightened. "That name is free. The rest costs. Bring me gold, and I'll tell you where he keeps it." Gareth lifted his head at the merchant's name. His grin was gone now. "Goldmane," he muttered, and reached for his mead. Butt Man rocked back on the bench. He had come in blind. He was leaving with a name. The chair belonged to Kael Goldmane, and two men had died near it. He pushed himself off the bench and thumped toward the door. He knew who held the chair. He did not know why it killed. And to learn where it sat, he needed gold he did not have.