The room came into further relief as her eyes adjusted. Second-story windows let in weak shafts of pale, mote-filled light. The common room was cozy—a neat double row of tables and chairs, mismatched in height and grain but sturdy and clean. The fire popped under a brown brick mantel crowded with fat yellow candles and dusty wooden picture frames. A stout, wiry potted plant stood in the opposite corner, its leaves thin and yellowing, but alive. Frayed rugs ran the length of the empty walkway leading to a polished bar, with another door behind that must have led to the kitchen. An inn if she’d ever seen one, but this one was empty. That was a first.

The place smelled like dust and wood and stale beer, and she caught the acrid aroma of turmeric drifting out from the kitchen, along with the clatter of utensils and pots as Berip bustled about behind the door.

Her heart jumped as the man let himself back in, the blue bag in one hand, crossbow still perched in the other. He closed the door behind him with a solid click, then kneeled and surveyed Kit, his bow still trained on Anji.

He was old. Or, at least, older than Anji. She’d put him in his late forties or early fifties, but he’d obviously avoided an abundance of the drink he served. His round spectacles took up most of his face under a wide forehead grown wider by a receding line of gray and black hair. His thin lips were curled at the edges, like tiny hooks had been set in the lines of his sallow cheeks. He had no chin to speak of, but Anji thought he looked pleasant. Handsome even.

“That bag is mine,” said Anji, pointing.

The man peered at Anji. “No, it isn’t,” he said, then stood and gestured at the ceiling and spoke before Anji could retort. “Let’s get her upstairs, then,” he said, not asking Anji what a girl in chains was doing in his inn or why she’d dumped an unconscious, vomit-covered bounty hunter into its common room. She opened her mouth but he held up a thin hand.

“Peace,” he said, holding up the bag. “I’ve no quarrel with you, but this isn’t mine to give. Let’s get her in a bed and you can tell me what’s going on. Over some food—and a drink, I think.”

Despite herself, and the second crossbow held on her in as many days, Anji relaxed. She watched the man lift Kit easily over one shoulder, then motion for Anji to precede them up the narrow staircase onto the second floor and down a dim hallway where they stopped at the last room on the right.

“It’s unlocked,” said the man at her back. “Go in and sit on the bed to your right.”