Densha gave her name and spelled it out for the innkeeper, then dropped the correct amount of coins into his hand.

“Thank you,” she said. She thought briefly about whether she could ask him about Y without raising suspicion. Then again, innkeepers see so many travelers coming in and out, and this is the only inn in town; if Sloan has a good enough memory, he just might have seen him.

“By the way,” she began, choosing her words carefully, “do you often get a lot of, ah, [i]diverse[/i] customers? I can see there are many different races of people here already, and it’s not even noon.”

“Oh? I s’pose so, yeah,” Sloan replied, confused. “Why d’you ask?”

“Do you get customers from some of the more northern parts of Imerill? Maybe a man who wears a lot of furs? Shoulder-length red hair, a hooked nose? About yeigh high?” She raised her hand above her head to indicate Y’s height as best as she could estimate.

Sloan narrowed his eyes warily. “Lookin’ for someone you know?”

“Um, yes,” she said, thinking fast. “A friend of mine. He mentioned he might pass through here.”

“Well,” Sloan began cleaning a glass mug as he spoke, “I might’ve seen someone like that. I don’t keep track of everyone who stays here, y’know. We throw out our older ledgers every so often.”

“He couldn’t have been here too long ago!” Densha said quickly. “In fact, he might still be staying here. Do you think I could have a look‒“

“[i]Absolutely not[/i],” Sloan interrupted gravely. “Our records are for business purposes only. If y’need help finding someone, try asking around town. There’re plenty of people who’re better at trackin’ folks than they oughta be.”

She gave in with a small sigh. “Sorry for bothering you,” she mumbled, and went upstairs to her room. [i]Maybe I’ll have better luck asking other people staying here for the night[/i], she thought to herself. She stored her spare clothes and extra food in a drawer, then returned downstairs.

Finding an empty table, she pulled up a chair and sat, looking around the room at the various people. A small, colorful jester was attempting conversation with an annoyed-looking man clad in black. A woman who appeared to work at the inn was serving breakfast to some diners. The innkeeper was pouring ale into an enormous pitcher.

A loud grumble emerged from her stomach. Realizing she hadn’t eaten in hours, Densha waved her arm to get the attention of the serving woman. 

“Can I get a plate of potatoes and chicken, please?” she asked her. “Oh, but before you go,” Densha realized she had an opportunity; surely this amiable-looking girl would be willing to share any information she had. “Have you seen a red-haired man come in recently? Maybe wearing some fur outfit, has a hook of a nose? Fair skin, rather tall?” She made sure to lower her voice to avoid getting the attention of the innkeeper.