So when the tall, heroic man with the fearsome countenance, who seemed to be seeping blood-or bloody rain- from every pore, came in and spoke familiarly in a gravelly voice, saying, “Snapper, I need a favor,” the day bartender drew himself up to his full height-almost equal to the stranger’s-puffed out his spoon-chest, and replied, “Anything, my lord-except credit, of course: house rules.”
This, too, was part of being human: caring about little stamped circles of copper, gold, or silver, even though their value was only as great as the demand of the humans who fought and died over them.
But this big human wanted only information: He’d come to Snapper to consult.
The stranger said, while around him the bar cleared for a man’s length on either side and behind him certain patrons skulked out into the storm and two serving wenches tiptoed into the back room, “I need to know of your former mistress -did
Roxane ever find her way out of Tasfalen’s house uptown? Has anyone seen her?
You, of all… persons… would know if she’s about.”
“No, friend,” said Snapper, who used the word friend too much because he’d just recently learned its meaning, “she’s not been seen or heard from since the pillar of fire was doused.”
The big man nodded and leaned close across the bar.
Snapper leaned in to meet him, feeling somehow special and very favored to be having this conversation with so formidable a human before all the patrons in the Unicorn. Nearly nose to nose, he began to notice, through his right-looking eye, some things about the man which were naggingly familiar: the hooded, narrow eyes that watched him with hot intensity, the thin slash of a mouth whose lips twisted with some private humor.