The strangers departed as quickly as they had come, leaving Killian clutching his wound on the wood. A number of his friends attempted to stifle the bleeding, but Eris could see it was too late. Killian’s face was pale, his fine clothes stained red with blood.

The tavern-goers had begun to pick up their conversations again, albeit in a more solemn manner. Tallen and Eris, however, remained silent, watching as Killian’s friends attempted to aid their dying mate. Only one man at Killian’s table was still sitting; a tall, muscular man dressed in black silk robes. He gazed morosely at the opposite wall, taking long sips from his wine glass.

Tallen turned his eyes away from Killian’s deathly figure, his own hand reaching for a mug.

“Of all the ways that could have gone,” He said, taking a swig from his mug, “That was perhaps the best for everyone.” A few servers were now wiping at the ground near Killian, soaking up the lost blood with white rags.

“I’m not so sure Killian would agree.” Eris said dully.

“He’s hardly in a position to argue. He was never a good man, if that gives you any comfort.” Tallen took another gulp from his nearly empty mug.

“You knew him?” Eris asked.

“Hardly anyone in this room didn’t. I didn’t know him well, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And that fellow over there?” Eris gestured subtly over at the man dressed in black, wearing a dark eye-veil, who remained sitting at the now-empty long table. Tallen shook his head.

“Never seen him. Aristocrat, most like.”

“Killian was an aristocrat, then?” Eris asked. Again, Tallen shook his head.

“He’d have liked to have been. Ambitious fellow, from humble beginnings. Son of a shepherd if I’m not mistaken. ‘Course, he didn’t come this far on hard work and legitimate business.” Taking another sip from his mug, Tallen sighed.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“This place has changed much since I first came here. Folks like that,” He waved vaguely over at the group of men still huddled around Killian’s crumpled form,

“They used to keep to themselves, further inland. Came out here when they realised there was a fortune to be made in these ports.” Eris watched as a few of Killian’s comrades, with the help of some of the tavern staff, carried Killian’s body through the door, trailed by a solemn procession of their fellows. Eris caught a glimpse of a waiting carriage, before the door swung closed. Still, the man in black sat at the long table, his head resting in his hands.

“Well,” Tallen placed his now-empty beer mug on the tabletop, “I’m afraid I’ve had enough action for the night. I’ll be off.” He pulled two silver pieces out of his coin purse, plunking them down next to the beer mugs. Eris watched as Tallen strolled off, his hand still hanging by his waist.

The fire crackled softly in the fireplace as Eris leaned back against the table and watched the last of the tavern’s disturbed guests depart for the night. As one of the servers came around, blowing out the flickering wall lamps, Eris stopped him.

“How much for a room, sir?” He asked. The server looked him up and down.

“You wouldn’t have enough.”

“I asked how much, sir.” The server sighed wearily;

“Three pieces. Gold pieces.” He added. Eris frowned. Three gold pieces was a month’s wages for most sailors.

“A bit much, don’t you think? Would three silver do?” He asked. The server snorted.

“Three silver pieces for a room at the Frontenac? Wishful thinking, son.” The man turned to leave, beer mugs in hand.

“I’ll cover it.” Said a baritone voice from behind Eris’ shoulder. Eris’ head whipped around; it was the tall man from Killian’s table, his eyes still covered by their veil.

“I’m fine, sir, I’ll find somewhere else to stay.” He, too, turned to leave, but the tall man placed a gloved hand on his shoulder.

“You’re hardly going to have an easy time finding empty rooms elsewhere. All of the more… unsavoury places are bound to be packed full by this time of night.” Eris thought for a moment; the stranger wasn’t the least bit wrong. Most of the taverns and inns he had passed on the way to the Frontenac had already been brimming with customers. He was sure the rooms would be the same, considering the time.

“I’ll take you up on the offer. My thanks, sir. I don’t think I caught your name.” The stranger’s grin widened.

“They never do.” The man sifted through his purse and passed three gold pieces to the still-waiting server.