263
‘W … w … what do you want,’ squeals the merchant, cowering behind the edge of the table. His haughty manner has vanished with the lives of his bodyguards, and he is shaking with fear.
You push the table aside, grab him by his lapels, and hoist him to his feet.
‘Relax my friend—I only wish to ask the way to Brass Street,’ you say with a laugh.
The merchant looks at you incredulously, the sweat pouring down his ashen face. ‘The … the … the way to Brass Street?’ he stammers. ‘Of course, of course … er, let me show you.’
The terrified little man produces a crumpled piece of parchment and hurriedly scribbles directions to Brass Street. You see that it is located on the far side of the city, close to the west wall. Taking the parchment from his twitching fingers, you bid him goodnight and step over the dead bodies of the guards. There is a sudden crash; the merchant has fainted and fallen flat on his face.
