5
Not many women came to the Unicorn, not many at least of the elevated sort, and
this one took a table to herself and held it. One of the Unicorn’s muddled
regulars brushed by, and leaned close, and offered to sit down … but a long
hand from beneath those black robes waved an idle and disinterested dismissal. A
ring glinted there, a silver serpent, and the bully’s bleared eyes stared at
that, at immaculate long nails, into dark almond eyes beneath the shadowy hood.
And a fog of alcohol seemed to grow thicker then, so that he forgot all the
wittiness he had meant to say, forgot for a moment to close his mouth. A
second wave of the thin, olive-skinned hand and he forgot everything and
stumbled away in confusion.
‘Acolyte,’ Cappen Varra thought in his own counsel, slouched on a bench in the
nook nearest the back door. There was somewhat of chaos in the Unicorn of late,
a certain lack of the authority which had held the peace, and that sort moved
in, cheap muscle. But the woman – that was something extraordinary, like the
Unicorn before; a woman, a stranger in the neighbourhood… He was intrigued by
the dark robes and the fineness of them, and his fingers moved restlessly on the
moisture-ringed tabletop, thinking of a song, fingering imaginary strings of the
harp he had pawned (again) and thinking – oddly – on Hanse Shadowspawn, in
another and quite irrelevant train of thought, as Hanse had ridden his mind all
day. Sjekso gone, Hanse vanished utterly, and night falling outside … Hanse
was up to no good, it was certain. There had been neither sight nor sound of him