Alexander ought to have remembered that much. Smoke from a fitful blaze hovered about the rafters, while sunlight made a valiant effort at penetrating a heavy layer of soot on the high windows. Once his eyes adjusted, he peered into the corners. Not a leather-skinned sailor in sight, foreign or English. “Damn.” How would he find out who had rattled Tilly in such a manner? His glance alit on the owner, who was holding up the bar with his sizeable belly. Perhaps the man knew something, perhaps not—but Alexander would only find out by asking. Working his way between empty tables to the back of the room, he ordered an ale. The owner pulled a pint and set it on the bar. Alexander would be buggered before he’d even touch the greasy-looking mug. Instead, he slid a guinea across the counter. “I’m looking for someone. Perhaps you can help me.” The owner sent him a gap-toothed grin before swiping at the bar with a grayish rag. “See lots of someones in my line of work, I does.” “This is a specific person.
