numerous kegs that lined the wall between himself and the kitchen. He dropped it down in front of her,
sloshing a good deal of it onto the sticky surface of the bar. Myranda wiped the rim and sampled the
beverage as she watched the keeper shuffle into the kitchen in no particular hurry. His back was to the
girl when the intensely bitter flavor of the ale struck her, sparing him the rather contorted face it
brought about.
In truth, it was not particularly a bad brew, as ales went, but she not been fond of the best of them,
and this was not nearly as good as that. She briefly entertained the notion of skipping the drink and
simply awaiting the meal, but the barrel clearly indicated that this was a home brew, and the owners of
taverns tended to take great pride in their creations. It was best not to turn her nose up at it. For the sake
of harmony, she took another swallow. At any rate, it was a darn sight better than the leathery rain
water she had been living off of from her flask day in and day out, and she did not look forward to the
flavor of the contents of the soldier's flask either.
The plate of food was set before her: a slice of rather overcooked goat meat accompanied by a
mound of boiled cabbage. A knife clattered to rest beside her plate. She carved a piece of the charred
meat, speared it with the knife tip, and tasted it. The morsel required more than its share of chewing to
render it fit to swallow. She followed the meat with a mouthful of the typically bland cabbage. Cabbage
seemed to be the only vegetable that existed these days, and the flavor was always the same. Absent.
Myranda's jaw ached by the time she had done away with the shoe leather of a main course. It was
barely the equal of the disturbingly old provisions that were even now growing older in her pack, but it
was thankfully enough to satisfy her appetite. When she pushed the pitted metal plate aside, she was
greeted quite swiftly by the innkeeper.
"Will that be all?" he asked insincerely, more interested in her money than her satisfaction.
"Oh, yes. Thank you," she said.
"Five coppers for the food, two for the ale," he said, holding out his hand.
Seven copper coins. That was a bit more than she'd expected. If she recalled correctly, there had
been twenty or so coppers in the soldier's bag. Her first thought as Myranda reached for the bag was
whether she would have enough for a room that night. That worry was pushed aside by the chilling
realization that the bag of coins was not hanging from her belt, where she had left it. She patted
desperately about, hoping to hear the jingle of coins somewhere, but the only sound she heard was the
impatient drumming of the fingers of the man waiting to be paid. Anxiety burned at the back of her
mind as she rustled first one side then the other of her tattered cloak, shaking any pockets she had on
her person. She knew she'd had it when she had come in. There had been the distinct clink of coins
when she sat down. Her mind raced. Where could they be? As her panic grew, the bartender's patience
wore thin.
"Today, Missy. The other customers want service," he said sternly.
"I--I just--" she stuttered, pulling her pack to her lap to search it.
When she pulled the bag in front of her, the sudden shift knocked the heavy bundled sword free. It
clanged to the ground. Quickly she bent to retrieve it. She plucked it awkwardly from the floor and sat
up, finding she had been joined. It was the tall, cloaked figure she had noticed in the corner earlier. The
hood was pulled forward, and in the dim light of the tavern his face was wholly hidden. He stood at
least a full head taller than she, but the coarse cloak hid his build. He pushed the fold of the cloak aside
to extend a lean, leather-gloved and gray-sleeved arm. As was nearly the requirement in the biting cold
of the north, not an inch of skin was uncovered. The stranger opened his hand and a silver coin fell to
the bar.
"The young lady's meal is my treat," spoke the stranger in a clear, confident voice. "She and I are
old friends. I do hope you will be staying until morning, there is so much to catch up on."
"Oh, yes, well . . . I had planned to if I could afford it," she said.
A second coin fell to the bar.
"Your finest room, good sir," he said.