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He walked back into town with a heavy heart. It wasn’t the first time that politics had spoiled his pleasure. I should have expected it, he thought dourly.

Finding himself with some unexpected free time, he decided to put it to practical use. He still had two letters he needed to deliver. When people didn’t seek him out, he found the best way to find them was to find the local magistrate or clerk’s office. With a bit of luck, he could find out where the recipients lived or worked and deliver the letters that afternoon. Assuming the city keeps those sorts of records, and assuming I can find the office.

Deciding the direct course was usually best, he stopped at the first shop he came across. It was a fruit seller’s. He bought a pear and a bunch of grapes, and, flashing his most winning and flirtatious smile, he asked the middle-aged woman behind the counter for directions.

Twenty minutes later, he was lost.

I should have known better, he chided himself, looking around the completely unfamiliar streets. I should have asked for a map. He’d foolishly left the one Maeve had given him at the tavern, figuring he wouldn’t be going anywhere he didn’t already know. He turned around, determined to retrace his steps, only to find himself facing three men with distinctly unfriendly looks on their faces. He nodded politely and tried to step around them, but they moved with him, blocking his way. “Excuse me,” he said firmly and tried to move around them again. Again they blocked his path. “All right. Tell me what it is you want and perhaps we can make this quick and easy for all of us.” Jimothy waited, expecting a demand for his purse and glad that he’d brought only a little cash with him that morning.

“We have a message for you,” the burliest of the trio said in a low, rough voice. In another situation, Jimothy would have laughed; it was such a stereotypically “bad guy” voice. As it was, his gut went cold and he wondered how to keep his guitar safe when he was outnumbered three to one.

I didn’t wear my knife today why? He was just as glad he hadn’t, though. It would be too easy for someone skilled to turn his own weapon against him. He braced himself internally, ready to run. “Your message?” he asked coolly.

“Just this.” The man was quick despite his bulk. Jimothy had no time to dodge the ham-sized fist that slammed into his gut, knocking the wind from him. He doubled over, gasping, and another blow sent him to his knees. Before he could put two thoughts together, the man struck upwards, catching him under the chin and snapping his head back painfully. Another blow connected with his jaw and he tasted blood. Then he was pulled to his feet, the tight grip on his collar choking him. “Our boss says it’s time you left town. Got it?”

Jimothy managed a stiff nod and the thug dropped him, apparently satisfied. He slammed to the ground, knees hitting cobblestones painfully and hands scraping as he caught himself from face-planting. Heavy footsteps receded and he knelt there for several minutes, regaining breath and sense slowly. He heard wary footsteps behind him and swung around to meet them defensively. His head screamed in protest and he fought down a wave of nausea.

A small girl stepped back, startled, a frightened look on her face. He guessed she was about eight years old, and she was already outgrowing the obviously hand-me-down clothes she wore.

“I’m sorry,” Jimothy said roughly, wincing as he felt and heard his jaw click. He coughed, clearing his battered throat. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You don’t scare me,” the girl stated staunchly, but her eyes belied her brave front.

“I wonder if you could help me.” He rose painfully to his feet and beat down another wave of nausea. “Do you know Five Corners?” She looked at him like he was an idiot. “Right. Can you tell me the easiest way to get there?”

“Gimme a copper and I’ll show you, eh?”

“I’ll give you two if you can take me to the door of the Cat and Turtle. One copper now, one when we get there.”

“Deal!” She held out her hand. He fished in his purse and placed a small copper coin in her palm. “Come on.” She didn’t wait, striding boldly down the narrow street back the way he’d come. He hurried to follow her, his bruised knees protesting the quick pace.

They reached the tavern sooner than he expected, and Jimothy gratefully gave her the other half of her pay. “Thank you.”

“Bye!” she said with a grin, and raced off.

Jimothy could see patrons inside the bar and wished he’d had the forethought to come in around the back. There was no help for it now, though. It was a long way around the block to the back of the building. He pushed open the door and practically fell into the room.

Startled exclamations greeted his unorthodox entrance. He heard Maeve shout for her husband, and suddenly she, Nita and Japheth surrounded him. He heard an unfamiliar voice, one full of open distress. “Please, let me help.”

Who’s that? he thought, dazed.

“We have him, thank you,” Maeve said, her tone kind but firm.

“I’m sorry,” Jimothy started, and was promptly shushed.

“Not a word from you until you’re settled,” stated Maeve in a tone that brooked no argument. She looked at Nita. “Send Aren to the Sisters, then cover the front of the house.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the young woman said quickly. She ran ahead of them to the back and before they could meet her there, Aren sprinted past them out the front door. Nita promptly took the post behind the bar as Japheth and Maeve half-ushered, half-carried the injured man past the curtain. Nita’s voice followed them out. “All right. Excitement’s over,” she stated with authority. “Who needs another drink?”