Throwing the drying tea towel on to the chair, Lone looks around and thinks he should give the room a sweep as well. Surprising how much dust comes up after only a few days.

Breathing out, he mops the sweat off his brow. “The Builder Storms might be fierce this year. Don’t want to be out during those lightning storms, but better than the snows in Trinity and White.”

Lone shakes his head, realising he’s talking to himself again. Being alone all those years, he considers himself one of the best conversationalists he’s found. From the window, he notices the clouds—must be why it is so humid.

“Well, empty house. It is time for ‘work’ and hopefully some cold ale, with Mela’s grace.”

Whipping on his Jack of Plate and strapping on his sword and knife, he opens the front door to leave, giving one of the gruff neighbours a nod. He receives a grunt in reply. Better than nothing, Lone thinks to himself.

He heads down the stairs, considering stopping at Brice’s to see what’s what. Residential Road is busy this morning, with a wash of people of different races heading his way, running too many errands. Even a few Adventurers are about this morn.

Lone ducks down Housing Place so he can cut through the Market Bazaar; wagons, noise, excitement and delightful smells. Turning alongside a shop, Lone spots Brice dealing with his early morning crowd. Customers are sitting on stools around a large cart, watching and chatting with this marvellous cook.

“Good morning, Brice. Seems to be a bit of weather brewing!” Lone calls out as he takes a stool in front of the food cart.

Turning to greet him is Brice—another wonder of this fair land. A half-breed like Lone but of a different cut, indicated by his aqua hair and slightly larger eyes. “Ah, Lone, how are you? Your usual?”

Getting his breakfast from this half-gnome was Solo’s usual morning ritual. “Not today. Pela made me breakfast.”

“You got up that early?” Brice gives Lone a wink.

“Haha, I have a meeting today, but I could take a cider if you have it warmed up.”

“Of course.” Brice picks up a cup and dips it into a large pot next to the stove. “Three bits,” he says, passing it over.

Groping and digging into his pants, Lone pulls out a five-copper bit and hands it over to Brice. Then he tips the cup towards Brice and takes a large gulp. This batch has a honey undertone pairing with the usual alcoholic kick from the apple taste.

“Keep the change. Anything happening this week?”

Brice finishes up with another customer. “Not really. Been easier to obtain produce since the Travellers dealt with those Jara cursed Swords.”

The memory of Zlata’s death and Roth’s capture flashes through Lone’s mind. His boss, Helmut, is still on the run, but with the High Inquisitor Dale hot on his heels that will not last long.

“Well, I am glad that I told the Travellers.” If I keep reminding him, Lone thinks, maybe he’ll keep giving me free food. Taking a small sniff, Lone smells some lovely pastry warming in the oven. “Have you got your pies today?”

“Yep, cooked fresh yesterday. Did you want one?”

“Sure.”

Pulling out his wallet, he grabs a silver slip. Brice opens a door on top of the cart and removes a flaky pie. The smell of spices and pork meat is intoxicating. “No charge.”

Lone sends brief thanks to the Green of the Trinity. “Are you feeling alright, Brice?”

“I did promise food for the job. Even if you didn’t deal with it yourself, you organised some great people to do it for you!”

Brice picks up another two cups, dips both into the warm cider and passes one over to Lone. “Thank the Trinity for its grace.”

Bowing his head slightly and taking a sip, Lone replies, “May the Trinity light always shine upon us.”

Brice returns the nod and takes a drink. Lone thinks this is going to be a good day.