Beyond the Pale

Worlds Apart

"Get out of my sight, before I plunge something in you!"

Castorius had been seen out with more pleasant parting words, but on the other hand, he'd gotten worse ones too in his time. His face was a bit tender where the woman had struck him. It hadn't been one of the blows she'd dealt him before their "making up" or even those she'd dealt during, for the healing potion he'd ingested afterwards had taken care of those, but from the latest one, the one she'd planted on his cheek as he'd requested a "kiss for good luck". Clearly the concept had an altogether different significance where she came from.

It mattered less, however, for despite his decline from a sub-par spy to a poor-quality dinner for one having looked just about inevitable, no one could deny he'd come out on top at the end. In a manner of speaking.

So in a good mood he certainly was.

"Good day!" he bid a haggard gentleman stumbling out of the Inn, and wasn't sure whether the man's slurred reply was "indeed" or "eat shit".

Castorius shrugged, and pushed open the swinging door.

Nightgate Inn looked every bit the same as all the rest of them. One was always struck with a certain sense of déjà-vu in these places, the setup, the atmosphere, the smell, even the clientele being pretty much always exactly the same. Castorius nearly felt the red of shame rise on his cheeks from the memory of the night before at Windpeak Inn. He had to remind himself that there were a few mountains between that place and this. Nobody here would have seen him. Most likely. And, it being just a little bit after noon, the place was mostly empty anyway.

He marched to the counter behind which a burly, bearded Nord stood with his arms crossed. The man regarded Castorius with his one good eye, the one which did not have a nasty vertical scar running under it. The eye had the sort of wariness about it as if it was constantly on the lookout for someone trying to get it too.

The man gave Castorius the slightest of nods. He was bald, and wore a stained, once-white shirt below his take-no-nonsense expression.

"Good day!" Castorius said, not exactly holding his breath for any friendlier reply than the one he now suspected having gotten from the earlier man.

"And a good day to you, sir," the man replied, "how may I help you?"

The man's voice was warm like the Sun's Height afternoon sun in your face; the low, raspy purr of it like the crackling of a fireplace on a windy Frostfall night.

Castorius, caught unprepared, tried to find a position to take in this unexpected dose of bonhomie. "Uh, I'm, er, looking for somebody."

"Ah," the man said, gave a superfluous gesture at the room. "Anyone here satisfy your tastes?"

Upon a closer look, it became obvious the place was actually completely empty. That was, if one didn't take into account the older-than-heavens man fast asleep at the back. Castorius did not.

"Um," he said, "no. Someone else. A man by the name of Sang—Sam. Sam Guevenne?"

Unless the one in the back was another one of his disguises. No, but he'd said something about not being able to fool the same person with different faces. Who knows, he may have even been telling the truth.

"Ah," the man said again, "he said you'd come." He nodded contently.

"And . . ." said Castorius after an uncomfortable silence, "he would be . . . where?"

"Ah," said the man, like each time he repeated it was an attempt to hit a lower, more enticingly wise note, "he's here." Thankfully, instead of another pause, he tossed his head back. There was set of steps leading down behind him. "He's downstairs, waiting for you."