Inside the Inn

I make my way to the bar, and show the barman my coins. "Is this enough to hire a room?" I ask.

"For how long?"

"For whatever the minimum period is. I just need somewhere where I can sleep for a few hours."

"You can have a room for six hours for that." He whisks the coins out of my hand. I suspect that I've been marked as a non-native and an innocent abroad, and have been massively overcharged, but I'm in no position to complain.

"I'll take your bag," he offers.

"I don't have a bag."

He looks at me suspiciously. "This is a respectable establishment. If you are taking the room in order to use it for an assignation then..."

"Certainly not!" I say.

"Very well. Follow me, and I'll show you to your room."

He leads me through a door at one end of the bar and down a corridor lit by oil lamps. At the far end he opens a door. "This is it," he says.

The room is small and dingy. The same could be said of the bed. A little light filters in through a small window high on one wall. "Thank you," I say.

"I see you don't have any shoes," the barman remarks, as he holds the door open for me to enter.

"No."

"Down on your luck?"

"You could say that."

When it's obvious that I'm not going to elaborate, he leaves. I close the door, noting that the latch is broken, meaning that the door can't be secured from the inside. I remove my cloak, and hang it over a chair, then get into bed. The mattress is hard and lumpy, but I'm so tired that I quickly fall asleep.

Some time later I am woken by:

1. A banging on the door, and the barman's voice shouting: "Your time is up."
2. Being roughly shaken. Before I can open my eyes, a voice says: "You are under arrest for murder."
3. Being roughly shaken. I open my eyes to see the hated face of the leader. "Thought you'd escaped, did you?" he says. "Get up; there's still time to get you to the slave market before they close for the day."

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