Samantha Iscariot stepped into the dimly lit room and looked around.  For a man of his status, Lord Henry Chambray sure knew some run-down out-of-the-way places.  The Wayward Travelers’ Tavern was located in a desolate area, in a town full of thieves and murderers.  There were a few round wooden tables spread out through the front room, and a staircase in the left-hand corner led up to what she assumed were bedrooms for the never-ending flow of travelers.  A doorway to the right of the bar showed a back room with more of the round tables.  The candlelight was just bright enough for her to make out a few vague shapes that resembled the bodies of sleepless or passed out men and women.  One of the rougher looking men, middle-aged and most likely more than a little drunk, noticed her standing there and grinned mischievously.  When he started to stand, she slowly unsheathed a portion of a glinting dagger which was tied securely to her waist in the case of an emergency.  To her satisfaction, he sat back down, surely smart enough in this area to know when to back off – even drunk as he was.

The barkeep glanced up at her from his station behind the counter and grunted a greeting.  Samantha nodded in reply, keeping the hood of her long, red, woolen robe pulled down over most of her face.  Still, her feminine nose and mouth were visible to anyone who dared get close enough in the lighting to recognize her.  She slid her weapon back into its leather casing and ventured further into the dreary establishment.  Out of the corner of her eye there was a barely noticeable movement, a slight man in similar garb as herself motioned her to his table in the corner on the other side of the stairs.  The unthreatening gesture informed her of his identity, so she went to where he sat and she merely stood – a show of arrogant dominance which he submitted to.

“Chambray,” she stated rather than asked, although she’d never met the man, omitting his formal title and again showing her assumed superiority.

Chambray lifted a cloth pouch and gave the coins inside a quick jangle before letting it hit the table.  “Will this be enough?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t ask for more.  He watched as she dumped the coins on the table, drawing attention to the two of them, and counted out twenty-five pieces of gold.

Samantha seemed not disappointed, but rather angered.  “Do you believe me to be some kind of cheap harlot?”  Her mouth pursed into an angry pout as she continued.  “This would be worth a bothersome old beggar – if I had half-a mind to bother with him.”  She crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at him.  “I’d have expected you to have quite a bit more on you, and considering your status, I doubt it’s a beggar anyhow.”

He grimaced and reached for another, larger coin pouch and dumped in on the table.  “For this job, I surmise it will take a hefty amount more, so consider these four-hundred gold pieces a down payment.  You’ll get the rest once you’ve finished.”

She trailed her fingers along the pile of shining coins, and then nodded.  “His name?”
His reply made her lips part in greedy anticipation, but also with anxious trepidation.  Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips.  “I expect twice this much upon my return.”