An Ode to the Night

3

The two men entered callously, breezing by the wench on their way to the table. It was obvious that the well dressed one led, the other followed; he was less sure of himself, glancing around, questioning if it was his place. It would be improper, of course, for the establishment to question the motives of a gentleman, though, so the tavern keeper held his tongue and the serving woman ignored them.

They sat at the table, an uncomfortable silence existing between them. The rogue knew not what to do, and the polished fellow refused to make the first move.

The uproar around them had died down, the people going from laughing and joking to wondering. A man such as this did not frequent a locale like the one they were in, and the younger one was out of place as well. The gossip flew around the room, until a name was arrived at for the sword buckling gentleman, as one of the patrons had once done some carpentry work for him. It was Horace of House Sooth, the ancient line of the stone houses. It was rumored that at one time Horace had travelled out… out to the rich cities, where he had haggled wares well below the prices traders charged, and he had made a killing in doing so. Not that he needed to, of course. Others spoke of infidelity on his trip, which they said led to the premature death of his betrothed, Natalie of House Jest.

Now, though, the man who had lived to such an extent as to have travelled ten times the distance outside the city as nine of ten in the city ever would- the tenth man often doing so only when forcefully conscripted as a caravan guard- was in this inn, sitting, staring at what appeared to be a beggar.

Finally, the gentleman’s lip raised in a slight sneer, and he beckoned the serving woman. He spoke shortly, requesting a small tray of sandwiches and questioning as to whether the establishment stocked coffee among its drinks. Upon the denial of this, he dismissed her with a request for tea. Upon turning to the beggar, the wench noticed his truly ragged garb, not so apparent from a distance. It was cleverly sewn together in varying ways so as to give an image of a solid cloth from a distance, but in the light could be decried as threadbare and wanting. He quickly dismissed any notion of ordering with a pleading stare, a slight shake of the head, and his arms raised, palms up to show his lack of capital.

The other did not respond to this, did not offer to pay for his food, and the attention of the room remained on the two. There would be no private conversation.

The ruffian stared at a candle flame as they waited, the wench finally returning with sandwiches and tea, a drink which had required her to go across the street to procure. Such were the gentry, she thought to herself, believing everyone to have the luxuries that they so enjoy… His bill, however, would more than make up for the effort- that she well knew. He questioned her as to the amount and immediately overpaid by fifty percent, telling her to keep the change in a haughty, stuffy voice.

They did not speak for the course of the meal.

In the aftermath, they both rose, shook hands, and departed, going separate ways.