Rixos has been the proprietor of the Golden Capon for four or five years. In the early days I guess I was still mainly drinking at the Gilded Capon but then drifted over to the Golden (as the regulars call it) with a few other people I know.
I liked Rixos right away. He’s one of those wry, sandy men in their early fifties who has just enough of a spark about him that you suspect he might have done some travelling in his youth. He seems to know a lot about music (types of instruments, regional styles, methods of notation) so if I had to guess I’d say he travelled as a musician, or perhaps in the employ of musicians. I’ve never heard him play or sing a note but, as I said, he seems to know a lot about it.
You’ll want to meet Rixos’ wife Alva as well. They both have the same thin, brittle hair and dry—almost airless—sense of humour. They seem happy together, and happy with the pub as the centre of their social lives. I don’t think they had children, or at least they’ve never mentioned any. I like the Kaleuns enough that I’d never meddle. If anything I’m amazed at how much privacy they’ve retained despite being at the centre of one of the most popular pubs in the upper city.
I don’t know if that helps at all, but I’m glad I’ve had a chance to write this scroll. Sometimes that’s the way it is in the cities. There are people you’ve seen dozens of times. You’ve shared a drink and a meal. You’ve commiserated like thieves or consoled each other like unwed sisters. But then, when the ale runs dry and you go on with your life, you end up realizing truly how little you know about theirs.
—Edmund Cheddarmilk, date.