[center][color=00ff00][h1]Abbot Andrew[/h1][/color][/center]

Andrew called out, [color=00ff00]”Come in”[/color] He still not able to sleep. Still tapping the sword sheath against his head, thinking. 

The scribe shook her head as if Andrew needed to get over his pity party and opened the door to his room. She went over and pulled the window shades so the gloom could come in. On the table sat the Abbot’s breakfast, untouched. She shook her head disapprovingly and looked at the guests a look saying “He’s all yours.” Bowed slightly, then left the room. 

After the door closed Andrew asked, “Assassins in town yet?” Not getting up from the pile of bedding since his cot was occupied. He asked, half mockingly. 

Andrews thinking was much like the weather, gloomy and dreary.  At least Suzy was doing better this morning, the man's arm and ribs would heal, and the woman with pneumonia would heal with some strong herbs and tonics. He wasn't a complete failure. The problem with dealing with thieves is they were thick skulled and needed a lot of persuading to come to terms with. What would motivate them - fear, greed, power.. He needed the name of the Guild Master and who started the new faction. He hoped that the Harbor Master would share it.   

He wanted to hear what the men wanted to share with him.