Slumped over, he sat in the corner watching over the rim of his mug. The action, though tame for his tastes, provided just enough distraction from the pain in his lower extremities. If only the grimy dishwater served here qualified as proper brew.

“Beggars, Choosers, and the like,” Darby assumed with a swallow and a twitch. “Could be worse, I suppose. I could’ve ended up like that lot.”

The tiny crew of whom he spoke appeared to be travelers, road-weary and suspicious. Darby observed the two gentlemen stride slowly into the tavern, quickly surveying all sides. Apparently, he posed no threat.

“Heh…”

A lady and a child accompanied the new patrons and took spots between them at the center table. Barely a word passed between the party Darby noticed. He coughed, adjusted himself, and wondered if they would chance ordering a bite. When the young girl sent the barmaid away, he got his answer.

“Well, that’s that,” he said through the last dregs of his swill. “Time to go to work.”

And so, it began.