"I beg f'yer pardon, good sir, I have misjudged ye." Susan blushes. "I meant ye no offense, ye ken. We have had... problems from folk wi' similar requests. As fer a room, sir, it's but 5 silver a night. If ye insist on payin' such a sum t' us, I insist on fixin' ye a fine meal as part of it. What'll ye have?"

A voice from behind the gnome says tentatively, "If you want to share.. uh... could I join you?" The voice comes from a young, short boy with dark brown hair, the lad who accompanied the old man, now finished with his task of hauling the pair's luggage.

"You may not, Jonathan."

The boy jumps at the sound of the old man's voice and looks chagrined. Idogbe rises from his chair, still puffing on his ornate pipe, and walks over to the gnome and his young charge.

"I do not mean to ruin your party, my revelrous little friend, but young Jonathan here is under my charge, and I would keep him from hard drink just yet. As for me, I find that hard drink clouds my mind too greatly, but I should be quite pleased if you would join us in our conversation and merrymaking this evening.

Stormy weather is the finest to make joyous in, and I have already promised tales to Miss Arabelle there. It is not meet to share company with a man and have him drink alone, though. Mrs. Whitby, a bottle of fine wine, if you please. I believe we shall make an evening of this after all." He looks to young Jonathan, the poor boy's face downcast and sullen. "Of this, Jonathan, you may partake."

The boy smiles weakly. "Thank you, Master Idogbe."