The snake-faced woman maintained a serene smile, and she finally raised the second mug to her lips while Catarina excused herself to the bar.

Upon her companion's brief return and subsequent departure, the woman very simply placed the mug back on the table, rose delicately out of her chair, and plucked Pyre's Fortune out of its comfortable encasement. She stepped away from the table and faced Catarina's retreating form -- still wearing the same gentle smile. Her other hand balanced the hilt of a thin blade.

"It appears I was mistaken," she called after Catarina.

All at once, the other occupants of the tavern stood, their chairs rumbling on the floor. All at once, blood spilled: all six of them broke bottles or took up the knives from their tables or their belts, and all six drove glass or blade into their own throats. Quietly, swiftly, they all sank to the blood-slick floor. Their bodies crashed into chairs and tables and thumped, grotesque, into contorted positions.

The snake-faced woman hadn't moved or changed her expression. Pyre's Fortune had already claimed a firm hold on her mind.

The Dragon, meanwhile, had found a window to peer into.

At the first sign of quiet chaos, he felt he no longer had a choice. He'd changed his mind -- that little bauble was worth far more than he'd anticipated. He pulled a roll of parchment from his gilded coat and displayed it pressed against the windowpane: a map of very old and unusual origin.

The snake-faced woman, however, was not looking at the window. She pointed her rapier at Catarina, smiling serenely.