"What the hell?" I gasped as we shoved the door shut. "What in the hell?" I dived over to a window, peeked through a crack in a shutter still closed against winter.

The street had cleared as though a god had swept a broom along it, excepting a mixed bag of six nasties with crossbows. They spread out, weapons aimed our way. Two came forward.

Saucerhead took a peek. Behind us the barkeep went into a "Here, now! I won't have trouble in my place! You boys clear out!" routine.

Saucerhead said, "Three dwarfs, an ogre, a ratman, and a human. Unusual mix."

"Odd, yes." I turned. "You got trouble already, Pop. You want it out of here, lend a hand. What you got under the bar to keep the peace?" I wasn't carrying anything. Who needs an arsenal to lumber around the block? Tharpe didn't carry, usually. He counted on his strength and wit. Which maybe made him an unarmed man twice over.

"You don't get going you're going to find out."

"Trouble's the farthest thing from my mind, Pop. I don't need any. But tell that to those guys outside. They already killed somebody in your watering trough."

I peeked again. The two had pulled the mustache Out of the water. They looked him over. They finally figured it out, dropped him, eyeballed the tavern like they were thinking about coming inside.

Saucerhead borrowed a table from a couple of old boys puffing pipes and nursing mugs that would last them till nightfall. He just politely asked them to raise their mugs, picked the table up, and ripped a leg off. He tossed me that, got himself another, turned what was left into a shield. When those two arrived, he bashed the dwarf's head in, then mashed the ogre against the door-frame with the table while I tickled his noggin with a rim shot.

One of their crossbows didn't get broken. I grabbed it, put the bolt back in. popped out the door, and ripped off a one-handed shot at the nearest target I missed and pinked a dwarf ninety feet away. He yelped. His pals headed for the high country.