Emmaline put the strange fortune teller out of her mind in the traditional way. By spending a bunch of money. Though some of more extravagent stores were beyond her price range, she only had the hundred or so pieces of silver she had stolen from Von Roberts, her eye for what was real among the forgeries and nonsense allowed her to pick up a few bargins and then sell them back to more reputable stores. More than once a propiter suggested that they could arrive at a better price if they went into the back of the store where, coincidentally, there was a bed or cot, or in one case an alley, but Emmaline politely but firmly declined. After an hour or so of haggling and trading she had aquired a grimoire which seemed to be a collection of spells and formulae from the Gold College, it was an old book, printed nearly a hundred years ago in Altdorf. The unknown wizard who had owned it had made copious notes in the margins, expanding at some length in a cramped spidery hand. She also purchased a small diary bound in tattered leather that appeared to be hedge magic. The final volume she had found was a rarer thing, filled with the kind of ritual magic rarely attempted by Imperial Wizards. Some of the illustrations were detailed enough to make even Emmaline blush, but as she had used such magics to heal Markus once already she figured she might as well read up. The sailors said that the voyage to Ind would be months long and there would be plenty of time for reading. She had also aquired flasks of some common alchemical reagents, most of what she needed she could find or manufacture, but there were a few staples which she wanted to lay in store. Perhaps, she thought as she headed back towards the inn, she could get some money from Markus. The thought made her giggle, sure, maybe she could get some from Sketti too.

It wasn't until she had nearly reached the inn that she noticed that there were a pair of men watching her. One of them, the taller one with a trim mustache, she thought she had seen once already. Had they been following her? They certainly hadn't been until after she left the Street of the Arcane. Emmaline frowned, she couldn't imagine why anyone would want to follow her, but she supposed it was a free city and if they wanted to skulk around that was their business. If they were planning on robbing her it was too late now she had already reached the inn.

Stepping inside she was immediately impressed by the understated style of the place. Expensive but not flashy in the way that expensive places often were. It reminded her of the inns and dining houses which the uppercrust of Altdorf society frequented, in deliberate negation of the flashier taste of newer mercantile parvenu. It lacked the stink of most of the inns Emmaline had been in as well, that familiar cocktail of stale beer, moulding reeds, tallow candles and the sharp tang of vomit. This place smelled faintly of vinegar and... Emmaline wrinkled her nose before her eyes widened with delight. She marched up to the bar, tripping at the sudden step down and juggling her books for several seconds before regaining her poise.

"You have dwarven ale?" she demanded of the tapster. The barman a stout man with a neatly shaved scalp hooked a thumb at one of the booths sectioned off by curtains.

"Your friend is looking for you," he grunted. Emmaline nodded impatiently.

"Yes yes, but ale first," she demanded, placing one of her few remaining pieces of silver on the counter top. The barman gave her a speculative look and then scooped up the coin. He produced a wooden flagon from under the bar and then turned to a tapped keg on the wall. He turned the tap and filled the mug with the reach malty brew that was so rare in Imperial taverns and all but unknown in Tilean ones.

"Here you go," he told her, sliding the stein across the bar to her.