‘Probably some drunkard knocking things over,’ responded Eadwine, a serious-looking young woman whose black hair contrasted greatly with the milk-white of her skin. ‘You know the Rose Hip tavern on the street corner hasn’t entered a slump as we have. I took a walk past there a few hours ago, and there were people spilling out of it into the street.’
‘Yes, well, the winds of fortune seldom tend to blow on everyone with the same strength,’ Madame Fleurese said quietly. ‘Doubtless in a few days’ time that brutish dwarf of a tavern keep will be sat on his own stoop wondering why he has no customers, and we are quite so busy.’
‘It might help if we lowered the prices here a bit,’ Eadwine muttered darkly, ‘or if we actually sold beer. Only those born with a silver spoon in their mouths think of
