No bellow of laughter met my ears.

Gone was the comforting sound of hoodlums at rest, desecrating a corner of a bar instead of a corner of my fields. I heard no tuneless bard monopolising the disappointment of drunkards and no splintering of chairs as peasants directed their fists upon themselves and not against my kingdom. 

Instead … all I heard was the din of duplicity.

A muffled sound creeping from the tavern, no different than the movement of burglars in the night. 

And then–

Bwam.

It was joined by the crash of a door bursting open.

Hinges groaned as a result of the lightest touch Apple’s head could offer. And then he promptly entered, his measured trots echoing against the wooden floorboards like the butt of a reaper’s scythe.

Behind me, the last gasp of evening poured past my silhouette. 

A window of scarlet stretched over shocked faces which shuttered windows had sought to conceal, and yet any warmth was made cold again by the reaching shadow I cast atop from atop Apple’s back. Dimly lit candles leaning from walls hushed to my coming, retreating where hoodlums didn’t. 

As the door creaked to a close, only the embers of a dying hearth lit the room, revealing open mouths and eyes almost just as wide. 

Left, right and centre, I saw the finest louts any freshly requisitioned tavern could boast. A common room filled with knaves adorned in rags, their ill-intent matching the foulness of their odour.

Hands came to a stop as they were caught with everything the tavern had to offer. 

Crates of wine bottles, clinking to Apple’s steps. Kegs hoisted to chests, still with their leaking taps attached. Cutlery, tableware and even the cloth used to wipe them. If it could be carried, it was done by the armful. 

And if it couldn’t, it was simply rolled across the floor. 

A barrel came to a stop against an oaken table, itself being hoisted between a pair of stunned louts. They watched as Apple bore me past, frozen in their disbelief that a princess would ever sully herself with their presence.

Even so, their astonishment was little compared to my own.

I was appalled.

Indeed, this tavern wasn’t merely closed! It was being stripped bare!

And these hooligans … they were utterly useless at it!

Why were they rolling kegs while these permanently stained tables had yet to be removed? Why were they spending time dodging scattered chairs instead of tearing them away? And why was the floor absolutely littered with unretrieved bottles and steins?

The utter gall!

I expected nothing of ruffians, but I at least assumed they knew how to ransack a simple tavern! 

Naturally, since this watering hole was being requisitioned, changes would be wholesale. And this meant everything including the wallpaper had to go–something these charlatans hadn’t even touched yet, let alone the candle wax somehow melted upon it! 

Ugh. The absolute state of my kingdom’s looters.

Unless it was a royal tomb, I couldn’t rely on them to even pick their own pockets.

Having seen all I needed, I tugged on Apple’s reins, bringing him to a halt just before the bar. 

It’d been swiped clean, all its contents now stacked in a pile beside the only hoodlum to boast rags in the shape of a tax inspector’s uniform.

The leader of these failed vandals.

I noted the inconsistencies at once. The patches of underlying colour beneath the black. The flimsy collar lacking the rigidity to be used as an emergency weapon. The boots with soles far too thin to echo across all surfaces no matter the texture.

But most of all, I noted the utter look of bewilderment upon the man’s face. 

Unworthy of more than a glance. Our tax inspectors were practically handpicked by my family. For one not to recognise my regal aura was testament to his fraudulent nature.

Thus–

I idly peered around me instead.

“Salutations, gentlemen. And what exactly do we have here? I see greater organisation in a goblin’s laundry pile. Has a sense of urgency not been discovered in the countryside? Or does that come after you’ve finished spilling my newly seized assets beneath the floorboards?”

I gestured for an answer to shoot past my ears. 

Nothing came. And so I pointed at the stack of crates which would need their contents returned.

“Why have the beverages been removed first while the furniture still remains? These are the only things which don’t need to go. The peasants can do without seating, but what will they use to reconcile themselves with their life of inescapable poverty? Your apologies, perhaps? There is a mob of rapidly sobering peasants outside. And when they realise in a brief flash of epiphany that their time could be better spent supplanting their rulers instead of feeding them, chaos and anarchy will reign. How do you intend to escape when you can scarcely walk without stumbling over your own feet?”

I waited. 

Silence as heavy as the dourness of the curtains fell over the tavern. Naturally, they’d need to go as well.

And then–

“Bwahahaahahahahah!!”

“Oh gods, I thought it was just me! Someone’s actually ridden a horse straight into a tavern!”

“Oi, we need to make the sign bigger! The drunks are still coming in!”

“Gwahahhaha! Better bring one of the kegs back! We don’t know what this one will do otherwise!”

The tavern echoed with a chorus of mocking laughter.

As though its patrons had never departed, the noise rose as a crescendo of derisive glee. Hands slapped against thighs and boots stomped against the floor. The mirth shook the ageing, wooden beams until even trails of dust came spiralling down.

My mouth widened in outrage.

How … How dare they laugh at Apple!!

“Ahaahaahahaha~”

“C-Coppelia?! Why are you laughing too?!”

Horrified that even my loyal handmaiden was succumbing to the loutish atmosphere, I focused my attention on the loudest source of insult. The lout masquerading as a tax inspector, his face now red as an overripe tomato. 

“Bwahahaahhahahahahaha.”

I jabbed my finger directly towards his nose.

“You do not have permission to laugh! There are very few scenarios in which nameless goons are permitted to cackle! Why, you’ve neither a mysterious figure nor a weapon of doom before you! No, you are to properly prepare this tavern for refurbishment, restore the bar to full working order, and then direct me to whichever stained corner a lowly baroness seeks to hide herself in!”

The chorus of laughter faded at once.

Where there was the sound of rampant impropriety, there was now an appropriate silence. 

“Tch.”

At least until a tongue clicked before me.

A disgraceful noise to direct towards a princess, worthy of more soap than could ever be mined. At least until I saw where the man’s bleak eyes were narrowed towards. 

The copper ring around my finger.

I pursed my lips, withholding my unfair and partial sentencing. For now. 

I could fault these ruffians for many things. Their odour especially. But not that. 

“Well, well, what'd ya know? Not just a drunk, then. But a drunk adventurer.”

And then the pretender grinned, revealing a line of chipped teeth, freshly broken from the last tavern encounter he’d enjoyed. 

A shift in atmosphere filled the air.

It was tangible. Like an errant child’s squirm of delight. And now a group of hoodlums revelling in chronicle inefficiency found their mirth replaced by a different joy. One of roguish opportunity as clear as the glint of a Reitzlake alley.

Somewhere, I heard the sound of knuckles cracking in the dark.

The man before me gave a sigh, donning an appearance of regret only less false than his uniform. 

“Tough to be you, eh? Adventuring is a hard life. I know it. Even thought about doing it myself once. Problem is, when your job is being in the wrong place at the wrong time, that means you can’t even enjoy a drink in a tavern anymore.” 

He waved his arm at the furniture yet to be replaced, then presented his chipped smile once again.

“Luckily for you, I’m better than that. So I’ll make it easy for you. Take a seat. Any seat. You can play it smart and sit it all out somewhere nice and warm until this all blows over. Or you can be dumb and find yourself at the bottom of a well. A fair offer. And better than any of these would allow.”

I covered my mouth with my hands.

I … I scarcely believe it.

This completely irrelevant henchman was … taunting me!

The absolute insult to social hierarchy!

These were all utterly nameless, bottom-tier goons, lacking status, strength and hygiene! The very fact they were assigned to tavern work was proof of that! Any retainer of actual worth, skill or value would be orchestrating at least a minor nuisance somewhere worthy of a roll of my eyes. 

But these?

Their jobs were quite literally to ferry alcohol and chairs!

… And not very well, either!

Naturally, I disregarded every word spoken. I had neither the time nor the care to humour the threats of those who should be artistically peppering the background.

Which was why–

I reached for my side … and then did absolutely nothing.

Where my hand would be expected to call upon my multipurpose caterpillar and rodent remover, I instead found myself frozen as I once again assessed the company of odorous ruffians. 

I studied the raggedness of their attire. The simple glee in their eyes. The fists cupped to palms. And then I took in the ambience of my surroundings.

A cold sweat came over me.

Indeed … I’d read enough scandalous pages of all the bestselling romance-adventure novels of the past several years to know what utter peril I was in.

Because the moment I sought to defend myself–

My very status as a princess would be lost.

I had walked …. into the midst of a tavern brawl situation!

Here were thugs whose eyes were so blinded by ineptitude they saw neither the impassable canyon of status or Coppelia as she began doing arm exercises!

No wonder they were the joy of all swashbuckling heroes and strong willed heroines! Tavern layabouts were no better than props! Their purpose was for the leads to reaffirm their affections, basking under the weight of wanton violence and alcoholism!

I-It was scandalous!!

Page turning and suspenseful … but still scandalous!!

“... Oh?” The leader of the nameless goons smiled, seeing the horror written upon my face. “Good choice. Wouldn’t want Salty Jim to get his hands on you. You’d never get the dandruff out.” 

“Shaddup, Grub. Yours is just as bad.”   

The blood drained from my face. 

Why … even their names were scooped from the bottom of the barrel!

A tightrope. I could not under any circumstances engage in physical altercation. Such a thing would wound me greater than any wildly swinging fist doomed to miss ever could. Nor could I flee, even if their odour demanded it more than their leering did.

Yet as the first of the hoodlums approached to a chorus of low chuckling and brutish neck cracking, it was clear I couldn’t remain idle.

“Coppelia!”

“Present!~”

She appeared beside me with breathtaking speed, having no idea of the shame I’d ask of her.

I swallowed a deep breath, apology rising in my heart.

“Coppelia … know that I regret this request deeply … after all, it’s clear these are the most bottom-tier of goons. The lowest rung of an underground ladder. The braised fruit slime of haute cuisine.”

“Yep~ they’re the footstools of the bandit world. Completely useless. Want me to send them next door?”

The ring of approaching goons stopped. 

Suddenly, faces which were filled with simple mischief turned to frowns of indignity instead. 

A disgraceful reaction. To be sent next door without needing to use their own legs was a greater reward than any hoodlum deserved.

“We’re not bottom-tier goons,” said the leader of the bottom-tier goons, his smile fading at once. “... Why? Did someone say that? Was it Old Grubby’s crew? Because they couldn’t even steal a loaf of bread without causing a fire. The baroness trusts us, you see. We’re an important part of her network. A critical cog in her–”

I gave a sad shake of my head. Mostly to attune the frequency of every tavern lout from my ears. 

“Look, Coppelia, even when faced with an objective truth from a third party, they fail to see their lack of worth. Should they vanish on the spot, not a head would turn. It’d be years before their disappearance was noted, such is the lack of impact they have on the lives of others. Only when a bureaucrat behind a desk queries who these names on a crumbling ledger are will anyone realise they may have once existed.”

Mouths widened around me once again. Even so, whatever complaints they had for me, it was nothing compared to what Coppelia deserved to voice.

“This is why … I offer my express apologies. It is the most degrading, belittling and shameful task imaginable. To have you lift a finger against these chronic failures of life, whose only history is of perpetual inadequacy as they flee from every blundering mishap they’ve created. Untrusted to even feed themselves with a spoon, they find themselves ferrying wares from a tavern. A task with no responsibilities and no expectations. And still–they fail.”

A bizarre, gurgling sound made its way into my ears.

I ignored it.

“... Why, they’re such perennial disappointments that disappointment itself is now beyond them, for who can gather the strength to direct emotion at fish which leaps ever out of the river to its own death, flopping and flailing, until a passing soul places them back to begin their incompetence anew? After the umpteenth failure, there’s no longer room for grief. Only the routine of practised movement. Theirs is a life characterised by a lack of success and the ambition to achieve it, for if they had any sense of dignity or self-betterment, they would surely be anywhere but leering at a young maiden in a darkened tavern.”

Somewhere, a sniff filled the air.

“Indeed, here are the smallest scuff marks upon a window, worth so little time that thought cannot be spared on how to clean it. And now their irrelevance has become their curtains. All to hide away from the shine of those who became fathers, husbands, merchants and tradesmen. Now they languish in the lowly schemes of others, chittering as the last of their childhood dreams wheedles away, and the memories of their first sweetheart grow ever distant in the foggy horizon.”

I looked sadly at Coppelia. She nodded repeatedly, clearly keen for further clarification.

“That’s why, I apologise, and ask that you–hmm?”

I felt a tug on my sleeve.

From my other side, Renise had walked up to me, a concerned look upon her face.

“That’s … That’s enough … Miss Juliette …”

I blinked in puzzlement.

All the more so as I saw a ring of woe around me.

Nameless goons sat upon chairs, faces in palms as they shielded their eyes from the judging light of a dimly lit tavern. Wet streaks fell between fingers, the drops loud against tables and floorboards as I opened my ears to the sound of weeping.

“Uuuh … I had … I had dreams …”

“Josephine … I’m so sorry … for breaking my promise …”

“When … When did it all go wrong … ?”

My mouth widened at the fallen.

Everywhere I looked, I saw spirits crushed by truths as heavy as the tables I still expected them to move. Snotty tears wetted sleeves that wiped against the sides of chairs now needing to be burned. And hiccups as loud as Coppelia’s amusement as she battled a different form of tears to these whimpering souls.

After a moment–

I slowly raised a hand to my lips, barely covering my not at all unnatural smile.

“Ohhhohoh? … Ohohohohhhohohohooho!!”

B-Behold!

The strength of … of … I’ll decide later!!

However! 

It was doubtless the ability to sweep aside all facades, dredging the innermost struggles into the open! Why, by using my natural gifts of insight, I could paint a light upon the dark, paving a path forward in search of personal betterment for every nameless goon to have lost their way!

“You gotta be kidding me.”

Or at least, almost all of them.

The false inspector gazed around him, shaken but unfallen.

Bared teeth promptly met me. As well as the glint of a weapon.

“This … This was meant to be my one simple gig! I am not going back saying I can’t even put up a closing sign!”

As he stepped forward, vindictiveness burned in his eyes along with the rusted blade in his hand. 

I let out a small groan as I reached for my side. 

However … it was not my sword which met the callous attack.

Hnnnph.

It was Apple’s snort.

An assault from his nostrils directly into the face of the hoodlum seeking to ruin my image. He gave a yelp of surprise and spun, his balance swiftly lost. 

Especially once Apple headbutted him.

Poomph!

The hoodlum crashed to the floor, his head coming to rest against the side of the bar as all the stars left his eyes.

I looked on in shock.

But not for long.

Instead, I clapped my hands in delight, before immediately leaning down to collect a premium apple from the designated saddlebag.

It was important to reward Apple when he did something well.

After all, it was how he was trained to do it again.