In a side-street tucked away from the main thoroughfare, Irenya found the recommended hostel, but the manager needed no domestic help in exchange for lodgings. She returned to the main street where she saw an inn. It had no available accommodation. Further along, she saw an affluent affair with ornate columns at the front door.
The hostelier stared at her jeans and asked her to wait in the passage. ‘I have an argument to finish,’ he rasped in a sandpapery voice and sailed his bulky frame through a doorway.
The dispute, which appeared to be about money, was of no interest to Irenya until the other person replied. His voice was familiar.
‘You pay a pittance and expect me to pander to the tastes of your ignorant guests. Find someone else to do your entertaining. One day I will be Master Mu
