He could not have pinpointed any particular transitional moment, yet the tavern seemed all of a sudden to have grown remarkably animated, considering the quantity of its tenants. Indistinct mutterings began to reach Ectemund's ear, and soon afterwards two of the figures rose from their seats without having so much as raised their kegs and made for the door. One of them cast a glance at him as it passed, and it seemed to him that her eyes, for the brief moment they were within his sight, harboured a somewhat unnatural - clumsy a definition as that was for an innate anatomical feature, he could not conceive any more fitting one - hue, of the sort common among the Fae. Mildly unnerving as the look might have been, he perceived himself safe - no self-respecting royal enforcer would probably have employed a Fae as an agent. Such a prejudice was not altogether comprehensible to Ectemund, in whose view, as far as he was aware, these creatures were in their current state neither far worse nor far better than the average human peasant, and would in fact have been indistinguishable from the latter were it not for their physiognomic peculiarities. Curious as it might have seemed, their potential academic value was likewise roughly equivalent to that of a farmer: their cultural wealth of occult lore, frequently, he suspected, of more than hearsay quality, was often offset by their a reserve as unnerving as it was stubborn, and most of those he had himself spoken with had responded to his queries by gazing at their feet and mumbling some unintelligible gibberish. Nevertheless, the presence of a Fae in that forsaken town at that conjuncture was mighty intriguing. What business could she have had here, seeing as many of her kin seemed to have no business anywhere throughout the land?

The second departing figure Ectemund believed he recognised as the young scoundrel who, some time before, had seemed to try and intimidate him by shewing him some firearm. These devilish contraptions were a truly fearsome thing; that they might be so easy to procure as to place one within the grasp of such an outwardly unassuming individual was slightly alarming. Yet the chief conundrum concerning that character was not her possessing a singularly destructive weapon, but rather the fact that, as the Fae had done, she had stridden away without quaffing from the mug the innkeeper had set down before her. To his knowledge, those of her ilk often left without paying for what they had drunken; yet he had never heard of one leaving without drinking what they had paid for. Whilst the yellowish orbs of the first departing patron had reassured him, the unusual demeanour of the following one engendered a new train of suspicious thoughts within his mind. Had this one been a hired agent - [i]the[/i] hired agent dispatched to track him, and had she gone to report to her employers, who were mayhap expecting her without that very door? Then again, this conjecture was opposed to reasonable intuition. A spy of that sort would certainly have acted in a less conspicuously odd manner. Although the ensuing conclusion assuaged his apprehension somewhat, it yet did not explain the event he had witnessed.

Then again, was he truly certain she had paid for what she had not drunken? Ectemund himself had, after all, been served his beverage without a price being demanded of him, in what he had assumed was some sort of display of "courtesy of the house". Had the offering been spurned owing to its deplorable quality? It seemed improbable. Or was it that...? He glanced at the crudely inscribed napkin in his hand, then at the vacated corner, but the shadows prevented him from seeing anything definite. He was about to stand up and approach the spot, but at that moment the man who had been muttering when the commotion began rose from his seat and, dragging what seemed to be his bare feet across the grimy floor, walked toward the window and peered through it. Unwilling to attract unnecessary attention by appearing to follow his example, Ectemund remained still, and reverted to pondering the meaning of the unorthodox missive he had received - as far as he knew, he could have been the only one, or the only one whose message was "[i]Stable[/i]". And what, pray, was [i]stable[/i]? The liquid in the mug? Though he was no aspiring alchemist, he was fairly certain that it could not be restless as quicksilver, and its stability was not one to require a label. What else, then, could it be? The promise of the expedition? That it should be confirmedly [i]stable[/i] was, of course, a relief; yet why would anyone send such a confirmation without further instructions to accompany it? He resolved he would, in spite of all, verify whether such a note had indeed been bestowed upon anyone else.

Slowly and cautiously, yet firmly enough, Ectemund rose from the bench, and his left knee snapped once again. With a soft, though slightly shuffling gait he stepped toward the corner with as neutral an expression as he could convey, and, as he passed behind the bare-footed man, he casually directed his eyes toward the window, and was somewhat surprised to glimpse the Fae who had departed from the tavern beyond it. For some reason she stood in the middle of the muddy street, rummaging through her satchel before the ill-kept wooden shack which passed for a- Hark, now. It was a stable - nay, a [i]stable[/i]. Why, the prolonged parsing of formally-worded documents must have occluded his linguistic clarity! Why had he so insistently considered the word "[i]stable[/i]" as an adjective? Had he truly forgotten that it could designate a structure such as that which he now saw? Verily, he could only hope it was not a sign of the approach of one of longevity's more pernicious companions - the fading of one's acuity and memory, followed by a dramatic weakening of the mind altogether. To be struck by such a condition when he had yet accomplished so little would have been aggravating beyond words' expressive capacity. However, he was not quite so aged yet, was he? Having sufficiently rebuked himself for his oversight, he concluded that the most logical course of action would be to see whether the message was effectively an invitation to betake himself to the stable, as there seemed to be nothing to gain by remaining further in the tavern - and seeking other napkins would now have been an unnecessary occupation at best. Conscious of the fact that he had remained in a spot for what was probably a suspiciously lengthy interval, Ectemund quietly strode toward the door and stepped out into the vesper air.

The street's yielding consistence was not improved by the palpably nondescript temperature of the mud beneath his feet, which conferred upon it an unpleasant oozing sensation, promptly transmitted into his feet. Yet he heeded it little as he virtually slid his way through the decaying hamlet, lifting his beaten leather soles to a barely visible height above the soil, his attention being altogether drawn to the mysterious errand at hand. It occurred to him that the stable might have been the ideal site for an ambush, had a scheme involving one effectively been set in motion by his hypothetical persecutors, and his steps grew slightly slower. Then he reflected that, whatever the case might be, he would surely not be so reckless as to simply blunder in there, and would devise a plan to probe the ground in all safety. His right hand slid to the handle of the dagger he had concealed at his belt beneath the folds of some inconspicuous rags. Although the weapon's sinister appearance and the ominous conjectures concerning how it might have been employed before somehow finding its way into his family's chests, there was, beside the ever-compelling lure of shadowy mysteries it evoked in him merely by virtue of its existence, in it a strange soothing power that never failed to fill him with a vaguely impersonal boldness, nay, even pride, which he perceived to be more than the mere sensation of carrying a potential instrument of death.

Having reached the street which ran before the stable, he paused, seeing that the Fae was, oddly enough, still standing where last he had seen her. The other receiver of an apparently unsolicited beverage was nowhere to be seen. Ectemund was initially vaguely irritated at perceiving what seemed to be an obstacle upon his way; then, reflecting that the Fae might very well prove to be the diversion he required, he decided it were better to observe her motions, preferably without being apprehended himself. He therefore slid into a patch of particularly deep shadow upon a nearby wall and stood still, gazing in the direction of the stable.