He stepped out from the shadow of the gate into full light and lifted a hand on instinct, blinking as his eyes adjusted.

  Someone clipped his shoulder and swore as they passed. Alric staggered half a step and caught himself. A smell followed close behind. Sewage and smoke, thick and sour, strong enough to sting the back of his throat. It was nothing like the faint traces outside the walls.

  The road ran along the inner face of the city wall, wide and bright. Smaller streets broke off from it at uneven angles, slipping inward between buildings without any clear order. Where the stone widened, even by a little, people had settled. Vendors crouched on blankets with their goods spread at their feet. Voices rose and fell in steady bargaining.

  Sound pressed in from every side. Shouts cut across conversation. Metal rang against stone. Wheels rattled past close enough that he felt the air shift as they went by.

  “Oi! You some country lout?” a guard barked. “Get out of the damned way!”

  Alric blinked and looked to his side. The guard was staring straight at him.

  He edged closer to the wall. The guard leaned on his polearm and clicked his tongue, watching him with open irritation.

  With his back to the stone, Alric watched how people moved. There were no lanes, but carts still pushed through. Bodies parted just long enough to let them pass, then closed again. The main road stayed clear of overhangs, but the side streets vanished beneath jutting upper floors. Laundry hung between windows. Banners drooped against the walls, their colours dulled by sun and weather.

  He shifted his stance and kept his shoulders tight to the wall. Too many eyes lingered when he stayed still. Beggars waited at the edges of the street, some seated in the open, others tucked into alley mouths. A few leaned back against the stone, watching him appraisingly.

  “You looking for something?”

  Alric turned. It was the same guard as before, no longer shouting. His attention lingered just long enough to be deliberate.

  Alric stopped near the wall and looked down the road the guard indicated. He had been moving to stay clear of carts and shoulders, nothing more. That would not get him off the street.

  “A hotel,” he said, then hesitated and tried again. “A place to stay.”

  The guard squinted at him. “You mean an inn?”

  “Yes,” Alric said at once. “An inn.”

  “Should’ve said so.” The guard glanced him over, eyes dropping to Alric’s boots before lifting again. “White Dove’s your best bet. See that road there?” He jerked his chin down the avenue. “Head that way. Right-hand side. Can’t miss it.”

  He turned away, already disengaging, then added, “Tell ’em Erik sent you.”

  The guard stepped back into the flow of traffic.

  Alric waited until a gap opened, then moved with it, keeping his shoulder clear of the road as he followed the avenue.

  Past the main thoroughfare, the press thinned. Movement eased, but the streets twisted inward, narrowing without warning. Stalls crowded the edges. People crossed his path without slowing. He placed each step carefully, avoiding outstretched goods and low baskets.

  A voice called out. He answered without thinking.

  He slowed. Another voice joined in. Then another. Hands rose close to his chest. Something wrapped in cloth was pushed toward his face. Questions overlapped before he could finish a reply.

  Alric stopped answering and kept moving. The voices followed for a few steps, then peeled away as attention shifted elsewhere.

  The street widened by a few feet. Heat drifted across the stone.

  On the edge of the road, tucked into a shallow doorway, a man crouched beside a small grill. Sausages hissed over open coals. Fat struck the fire and flared, sharp and savoury. The smell reached him and stayed, persistent in a way that felt pointed.

  Alric angled toward the stall, then checked himself and stepped clear of the road. “How much?”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The man glanced up and smiled. “Copper each. Three at a time.”

  “I’ll take three.”

  Alric drew a silver coin from his pouch and held it out. The vendor reached for skewers, then stopped. His eyes dropped to the coin.

  “I can’t break that,” he said. “You got small coppers? A big copper?”

  Alric shook his head.

  The man shrugged once and turned back to the grill. The sausages were turned. The smell lingered, as if it had decided to make a point.

  “I’ll come back,” Alric said.

  The vendor nodded without looking up.

  Alric stepped away and let the street take him again. After a few more turns, a sign came into view ahead, jutting out over the road. A white dove was painted on it, wings spread wide, clutching a slab of cheese.

  Why the hell is it carrying cheese?

  He kept his eyes on the sign and moved toward it, slipping past a handcart and edging around a man bent beneath a sack nearly as wide as his shoulders.

  By the time he reached the building, there was no space to stop without blocking the way. He stepped in close, reached for the door, and pulled it open.

  A voice rang out from inside.

  “Welcome to the White Dove!”

  The sudden cheer hit him like another shove, and Alric flinched, pausing just long enough to reorient.

  “Uh… thanks,” he said, trying to take in the inn at the same time.

  He stood in a narrow entryway that opened onto a rough wooden counter worn smooth by years of elbows and coin. Behind it, a wall was crowded with keys, each hanging from a small wooden tag.

  And behind the counter was a smile.

  Alric smiled back without thinking. It was the first genuine smile he’d seen since parting ways with Garrick the merchant.

  It belonged to a young girl, mid-teens by his guess, dark hair pulled back and sleeves rolled up as if she’d been busy long before he arrived.

  “Ma! We got a customer!” she called to her right.

  “Well, you know what to do!” came the reply, brisk but familiar.

  The girl grinned again. “What’ll it be, mister? You need a room, or just a meal?”

  “A room, please,” Alric said, stepping closer to the counter.

  “That’ll be eight smalls for the night,” she said easily. “One big if you want meals. A washbasin costs extra, just a small, though.” She held up a finger to emphasise the point.

  “Coppers, you mean?” Alric asked, blinking.

  She frowned for a heartbeat, then giggled, clearly assuming he was joking. “Of course coppers. No one’s paying silver.”

  Alric raised his hand and showed her the single silver coin resting in his palm.

  She blinked.

  “Ma!” she called again, louder this time. “Ya better come!”

  She stepped away from the counter, flashing him another bright smile before she went.

  “Honestly, you’ve done this so many times,” a middle-aged woman said as she appeared behind the counter, wiping her hands on a simple apron. She glanced at Alric and then did a small double take at the coin.

  “Ah… welcome to the White Dove,” she said, smoothly recovering. Her smile was practiced but warm. “How long will you be staying with us, sir?”

  Her eyes flicked over him as she spoke, lingering for a moment on his boots before returning to his face.

  “Let’s say three nights for now,” Alric said. “Include meals and the washbasin.”

  She blinked. “Every day?”

  “Yes. Every day.”

  For a moment she simply looked at him, then reached beneath the counter and produced a small abacus, setting it down with a soft clack. Her daughter leaned in immediately, far more animated now, eyes darting between the beads and the silver coin as the woman began to count.

  “That’ll be three large and three smalls,” the woman said, fingers moving with practiced ease. She shifted a few beads, then turned the abacus slightly toward her daughter. “He’ll need six large and seven smalls.”

  She smiled at Alric once more, then stepped away, already satisfied the matter was settled.

  The girl ducked under the counter again, retrieving a short length of string before anything else. Intrigued, Alric leaned forward slightly. He heard her counting under her breath as she worked.

  “Six…”

  She placed six larger copper coins on the counter, each punched through the centre. She glanced back at the abacus, counted again, then bent down once more.

  “Seven.”

  A neat stack of seven smaller coins followed. With quick, practiced movements, she threaded the string through the holes and tied the bundle together, tugging it tight before holding out her hand expectantly.

  Alric chuckled softly and passed her the silver coin. She accepted it with a grin and placed the string of copper into his palm.

  How practical.

  He turned the bundle over in his hand.

  “Key!”

  The girl froze, eyes widening as she spun toward the wall of keys, scanning them with exaggerated seriousness. After a moment of intense consideration, she reached up and plucked one free.

  “Up the stairs to your right,” she said, recovering her smile as she handed it to him. “Second door on your right.”

  The key was attached to a small wooden tag, its surface marked with a simple carving that looked vaguely like a snake.

  Alric nodded, glanced once more at the tag, then turned toward the stairs and began to climb.

  He paused after the first step, a thought surfacing a moment too late.

  Leaning back into the entryway, he looked toward the girl behind the counter. “Uh, don’t know if it matters, but Erik the guard sent me.”

  She blinked. “Erik, you said?”

  He nodded.

  Her voice overlapped with her mother’s as they spoke quickly, words tumbling over one another. Alric found himself standing awkwardly in the passage, head still poking out, unsure whether he was meant to stay or leave.

  The mother’s voice cut through the chatter. “Alright. We’ll send him just a small, mind you. We’re not made of money either.”

  The girl turned back and startled slightly when she realised Alric was still there. She smiled again, quick and reassuring. “Don’t worry. We’ll deal with it.”

  Alric nodded and turned back to the stairs without asking.

  At the top, the hallway stretched out in both directions, doors evenly spaced along the walls. Each bore a small wooden sign marked with a carved symbol. He scanned them until he found the one that matched his tag.

  The key was large and unwieldy in his hand. He fitted it into the lock. It caught at first, refusing to turn, before finally yielding with a dull scrape.

  The door swung inward.