Snippet #2393557

Ianthe let out a small sigh of disappointment at the girl's answer. Though, perhaps, he expected as much. He'd have to trudge around the streets some more to find an establishment that would let its rooms to travelers, and he knew, of course, how difficult that would be. A city as big as this was always full up. You were a damn fool for waiting this late anyway, he chided himself. He knew, from his many journeys, that a hermitage from the road, some place to pass the night, whether it be an inn, a straw mat, or merely a hollow out of the wind, is a traveler's principal end. He had been too hasty, too eager, too restless. Once his feet had touched ground he had but one objective to occupy his mind. But if I must pass the night in the gutters to see to it that what you reap is what you sow, to see to it that debts are paid, he thought, savoring the cool burn of his rice wine, then I will pass the night in the gutters. It would certainly not be the first time he had done so.

The din of the party had reached a new pitch. Every patron was in their cups, regaling their compatriots with some bawdy or another, smacking the girls on the behind and teasing them with promises of what would come later, roaring with riotous laughter. Wine stained fine silks and sumptuous damasks that might be worth their wearer's weight in gold. More and more people, all aristocrats or wealthy merchants, began to pour in. Soon, Ianthe was not alone at the bar. He engaged a few of them in casual banter, sharing a story or two, wondering who had arranged this gala, what it was for, not disclosing too much about himself. He learned that Selwyn Austaire, the Magistrate of the Merchant Quarter, and proprietor of The Crimson Fox, was toasting the brave Knights for their doughty efforts in maintaining the Queen's peace that day. Ah, a Magistrate's gala. I'm beginning to wonder if I might be intruding upon something I need not be involved in. He curtly bowed out of the conversation, and, with his capon and bottle of rice wine, retired to a more secluded corner of the establishment to think. He combed his memory for some recollection of the name "Selwyn Austaire", but came up empty handed. In any case, he seemed to be more hospitable than his predecessor. I wonder what happened to the old bastard. Silas Conbar had been a shrewd, calculating man; it could not be said that he was warm, or cordial, but Ianthe had respected him all the same. Though he didn't lift a finger when...

At that moment, the guests of honor finally appeared. The man was adorned in gilded mail, over which a tabard bearing the sigil of the God-Queen's Knights was displayed. His female companion, a beauty with shimmering silver hair, was dressed more modestly: a sleek grey gown and silver embroidered tabard. By the look on her face, she's a fish out of water here. The gilded Knight, all smiles, shared a few discreet words with her before, with a confident gait, making his way into the pandemonium. The silver Knight, looking like a marooned sailor, began to eye Ianthe's corner of the room. She passed her eyes over the bar as she made her way to the secluded nook, as if searching for something. I bear the Knights no semblance of good will, Ianthe thought, fingering his beard, but I suppose there's no harm in making small talk. And, most importantly, seeing what I can find out. As she drew closer, Ianthe called out, with a slight, wry grin, "Looking for someone?"