The third tavern proved to be a fair walk from the second, and down streets it became clear Kent did not know well. He had handled himself with easy confidence as they approached the other two music halls, but in this part of town his confidence was more of a deliberate projection. His eyes flicked incessantly to alleyways, storefronts, street signs, and he let out a mostly stifled breath of relief when the tavern rose up before them at last.
It had not been painted any time this century, as far as William could tell. The sign had nearly rotted away, displaying only “ell” to his questing eyes. “Hell,” perhaps. Even the torch stuck outside smoldered in a sullen way.
Inside was even worse. The fine decorative tile that had once graced the entryway was now stained and cracked. Guttering can
