![]() ![]() The stranger was not old but his hair was almost entirely white. The innkeeper wiped his hands on his canvas apron and filled a chipped earthenware tankard. The outsider, still in his coat, stood stiffly in front of the counter, motionless and silent. The innkeeper raised his head above a barrel of pickled cucumbers and measured the man with his gaze. Not enjoying the best of reputations, it was almost empty. He pulled his horse farther down the street to another tavern, a smaller one, called The Fox. The stranger did not enter the Old Narakort. As usual, at this hour, it was full of people. He stopped in front of the Old Narakort Inn, stood there for a moment, listened to the hubbub of voices. It was hot but the man had a black coat thrown over his shoulders. It was late afternoon and the ropers', saddlers' and tanners' stalls were already closed, the street empty. He came on foot, leading his laden horse by the bridle. Later, it was said the man came from the north, from Ropers Gate. ![]()
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