Light streams in from the narrow window of the attic room. The morning has arrived.

A young woman lying in bed blinks slowly, returning to the waking world.

Rubbing her eyes, she rises, casting off the rough linen of her bed-sheets and swinging her feet onto the hardwood floor, the boards creaking their own cheerful greeting.

Shuffling the few feet to the dresser, she began to brush out her shoulder length hair, still not quite out of the semi-stupefied state of half-sleep.

Despite being in a dustbowl town where 'well-dressed' was synonymous with clean rags and 'acceptably presented' meant that you'd brushed of the dirt, she tried to take care of her hair.

By the end of the day, though, both her hair and clothes would inevitably change from their original colour's to various shades of dust; it was a fact of life.

Tying it back, she donned her apron, stockings and shoes and went to work.

She kicked the attic staircase, letting it swing down from the ceiling of the second floor.

There was a yell of protest from below. She descended the stairs quickly, wooden soles clacking with each step.

"Sorry Master Ankhrin!" she peered around the edge of the staircase and saw the beefy faced travelling craftsman rubbing his nose.

He softened after seeing the anxious expression on her face.

"It's alright Miss Glen Anne, just a bump. I've had far worse knocks on the road and then there was no pretty face to apologize to me afterworlds. Just be sure to call down a warning in future."

She nodded and attempted to push the staircase back up into the roof and as always, struggled to jam it into place securely in the ceiling. The man came to her aid with a swift blow of the palm, smacking the panel into its rightful place.

She saw him off with thanks, a personal injunction to 'Please, call me Lyra.', and instructions to call on her if he needed anything at all.

Stepping downstairs, she began her chores. In the morning, it was time to fold sheets and bed linens, wash the sheets from yesterday and hang them out to dry. By then even the dreariest of customers had shuffled down the stairs from the guest-rooms of the second floor to breakfast in the inns eatery.

While they ate, she'd have to remove all the dirty sheets, cast them out the second floor window into the wide wooden laundry basket and then replace all of them with clean linens brought up from below.

All of it was manual labor, to be done by hand and hand alone. The owner of the inn and tavern, old mister Doric, was very firm on that point.

Beds made, she gathered up the dirty clothes that guests had left out to be washed and cast them out the window as well.

It was a small mercy that she didn't have to take care of that little chore herself. Old Miss Wutherwick would wash them, in exchange for an open tab when the taps of the tavern flowed free in the evening.

Instead, Lyra descended the stairs and collected up the dirty breakfast dishes and washed them, again by hand.

The Inn used more water than anything else in town, but despite that, everyone seemed to respect, even sometimes admire Doric's flat out refusal to take shortcuts in his establishment.

By the time the dishes were done and her hands had begun to throb from immersion in the hot water, the guests had left the tavern, either returning to their rooms or wandering about the town.

Now she had to clean and ready the place for the evening, when the room would become packed with everyone who wanted to wash down the dust.

She'd just begun cleaning the spigot-taps of the huge wooden barrels containing imported mead, ale and beer which sat behind the bar, when there was the familiar click-Clack of the doors swinging open.

Out of habit she turned to greet the customer, only to have her expectations dashed.

Usually the people who came in around midday were merchants and travelling craftsmen and women, hard people in cracked leathers with belts pouches and packs containing every essential for the hard life of the Stoneroad trading route.

Instead, there was a boy, not much more than a child and dressed in odd clothes- A sheer white cotton shirt, cloth shorts that were rolled up to above his knees and a red hood and cloak. She'd seen the hood before, it wasn't the kind of design you easily forgot, with twin tails that ended in bells and a design stitched in black thread to make it look like the hood was in fact some bizarre red creature that was attempting to eat his head whole.

There was something almost indistinct and unreal about him, like she wasn't noticing something important. She couldn't see his face and around his right hand, her eyes just refused to focus, slipping off like a pair of lodestones when you tried to push them together.

He walked to the bar, the sound of his footsteps accompanied by an odd wooden grinding.

"Where is this?" He didn't look up at her and so she could only see the stitched eyes and mouth of the hood-thing.

"This is the Rocky-road inn-"She began in her best professional voice, only to be cut off.

"No. Where, is this town?" He said it firmly, almost a demand.

Affronted Lyra leaned over the bar, caught his chin and looked him in the eyes.

"Don't take that tone with me young man, I don't know what you're trying to pull, but I know every face in this town. You aren't one of them, meaning that your folk are traders. Ain't no way you'd be able to get this far out on the Stoneroad all by your lonesome-" The boy's brow creased underneath his long fringe of white hair "Stone road? Please don't tell me I'm still in the dust-bowwlll!" he drew out the sound into a complaining whine before continuing, "Aww scorch it. How far away is the nearest town?"

"This is the last stop before the marble mountains. Unless you're part of the caravans bringing supplies to the mining camps on the other side of them mountains, then the only way is to go back towards Hubtown. There's another waystation half a day's travel from here, Ranger point."

Lyra watched as the boy visibly deflated.

"How much for a room?" he reached to his belt and pulled out a small pouch "I'll pay any price, as long as there's a bed."

Lyra bit her lip. "I'm afraid that you might not…" She trailed off as the boy laid a dozen round disks of dull yellow metal "I'll only need it for one night. If you have a room that's difficult to find…"

He too trailed off. Lyra hesitated- With a caravan going out tomorrow, all the rooms were full, but he was paying perhaps several times over what they charged. She examined one of the coins. It was from the Hubtown mint, the circle cross emblem of Hubtown emblazoned with… a Caduceus.

She bit her tongue to stop herself from gasping- The boy was loaded. The coins were in fact healer's sovereigns. All sovereigns were valued as the second highest demarcation of currency, a month's pay for someone like her. However, guild sovereigns and district sovereigns were more than just coin; they symbolized a favor owed by the one that issued them. Such emblems, once added to normal coins, obliged members of the corresponding group to give a proportional discount to their services.

Healer's coin were some of the most sought after, with good reason, considering how much healers charged for their services.

"Allow me to show you to your room sir." She swept up the coins and lead the boy upstairs, using the concealed hook to pull down the attic staircase.

"This is my room; it's off limit to normal guests so you won't be disturbed."

The boy let his fingers trail over the steps and then nodded.

"This is better than I expected." He reached into his pouch and drew out a single large coin.

Lyra had never actually seen a platinum Link before. It was so very, very beautiful.

"Don't tell anyone I'm here. If I remain undisturbed until tomorrow morning, I will be satisfied."

He went up and the staircase quivered and after a moment, swung up into the ceiling.

Lyra blinked and looked at the gold in her hands. It was enough to run away with. Which probably meant that the boy had a serious reason for not being disturbed and that there was more to him than met the eye. Still the 'Ask-no-questions' sort of customer sometimes passed through here on their way to hide out in the mines, beyond the reach of all but the most dedicated bounty hunters and lawmen.

He didn't seem like that though, those men were paranoid, always alert and shifting.

Whereas the cashed up boy seemed to be more exasperated than anything else… And how was she to tell Doric where she got the coin, without revealing the boy in her room.

She could give it to him after he left. Yes, just say it was his preference and then tell him about the bonus. Doric would understand.

The evening came fast. The tavern filled up rapidly as another band of travelers reached the town and strolled straight into the pub without even bothering to stow their packs and as usual shedding dust everywhere.

Lyra was stacking mugs under the bar when a couple of the newly arrived guests stepped up to the bar.

There was a single ring of the service bell and then a soft smacking noise. She was about to stand when she heard one of them speak up.

"Now if it's your first time here, so be careful. The girl who works the bar here's sharp, damn near unnatural when it comes to money and faces. Don't try to run up a tab, she'll know if you're a new face passing through. Don't try and be sweet on her either, otherwise-"

Lyra stood, mugs in hand.

The bearded man who'd been lecturing the others, choked.

"You rang?"

The merchant cleared his throat "Ah, yes. A round for myself and my new crew."

"Certainly mister Rivernhal." She turned and began to fill the mugs "It's been almost two years since you passed through here last. I see you remember me and I hope that the times have been kind enough to you to pay what you owe, six copper Bits and a silver Dak."

She placed the mugs on the counter and saw he'd already gotten out his pouch to pay.

"You're the first one in a long time that left here without payin', even I didn't think you'd jump out a second story window and skip town before your bill was due." Lyra kept talking as she swept the coins up and deposited them in the takings draw.

The 'crew' was looking at Lyra with frank admiration.

Rivernhal smiled underneath his shaggy beard "Sharp as ever aren't you little Lyra, although you've grown some since I seen you last."

Lyra nodded "Or perhaps you've gotten shorter- but excuse me, a gentleman near the back requires my attention."

The weathered traveler nursed a small mug of mead, sitting near the door and half hunched over.

Behind him there was the Click-Clack of the doors swinging open and shut, he stood, took one step toward the exit and then saw Lyra standing at the door. She opened and closed it. Click-Clack.

"I do hope you weren't intending to leave with that mug and without paying up?" Much of the tavern had fallen silent and many heads turned to watch as the man placed the mug on the round table and then lunged for the doors. Instead of stepping out of the way, Lyra stepped forward, lowering her center of gravity and sending her elbow straight into the man's stomach.

He collapsed onto the ground, while Lyra straightened out and dusted off her hands.

The rest of the bar clapped and whistled in approval.

Lyra nudged the downed mans hat off with her foot "Master Aldershot, I know you can pay, so why do you always insist on trying to run off?"

The man managed to shape his pained grimace into a grin, "There ain't nothin' else to do for fun 'round here- And I'm going to get away one of these days."

Lyra returned to the bar. The expectant expressions on the faces of Rivenhal's new crew told her everything she needed to know.

She held out her hand in front of the third man along and looked him in the eyes.

After thirty seconds, he reached into his pocket and deposited the coins he'd taken from the takings draw in her hand.

She opened the draw and looked up. "The other two bits please."

The money bounced on the counter and she collected it up.

"Settle the bet now."

The three new men each took out two bits and handed them to Rivenhal who chuckled "I told you, Lyra is the sharpest girl this side of the hub. She could tell how many coins you have on you by the jingle of yer pockets!"

Lyra smiled "Flattery won't get you any-" She stopped. Six men had just filed through the doors of the inn and fanned out. They were carrying weapons and looked ready to use them.

Doric hadn't left the kitchen yet, since he only took the bar when evening changed to night, but she grabbed the string connected to the kitchen bell and yanked it.

In moments Doric came out, red faced as usual.

"What's the matter?"

"Six patrons. Armed. I think they're veteran bounty men." Lyra whispered it to him under the babble of the packed room.

"I see. Lyra, you're worth your weight in gold." He murmured back.

"About that, there's something I need to give you later, in private." Doric looked at her questioningly,

when they were interrupted by the thud of a gauntleted hand on the bar.

Lyra looked at the dents left in the wood sourly, but refrained from commenting.

"You're Doric, the keeper of this… Place?"

Doric bristled "The Rocky-Road is mine, yes."

"We're looking for a sorcerer, a particularly dangerous one."

Doric darkened "There are no magicians in my establishment. I've got nothing against those folk in general, but they draw trouble to themselves like flies to honey. You and the rest of your gentlemen, best be looking for this man elsewhere."

The bounty man leaned over the counter and over Doric. He was a little over seven feet tall and all muscle "We have reason to believe he is staying here."

Doric harrumphed and stood up on the bar, his head almost touching the roof beam.

"Would everyone staying at my inn, please stand up!" He yelled across the room.

The words cut through the babble and six men rose.

"We have four rooms, with two that have two beds. Count them, not a magician amongst them."

the large man nodded to one of the bounty hunters in the corner of the room.

The second hunter raised what looked like a monocle to his eye and with it in place he examined the men who'd stood up. After a moment he shook his head.

The large man growled in the back of his throat "Well, if he's not here, you won't mind us searching the second floor then, would you?" Doric faced him, now taller by a head from having stood on the bar.

"Touch. Nothing."

The six men filed off up the staircase and Lyra pulled Doric into the kitchen and wordlessly reached into her apron pocket and produced the sovereigns and the single Link.

"Blast! He, your room?"

She nodded "I didn't know. But something's wrong, he was just a child."

The anger on Doric's beefy face was replaced by puzzlement.

"It wasn't an illusion either, I was able to touch him and look him in the eye, his form was true… unless he was shape-shifted, but if he was that powerful then those men would be like nothing to him. "

Doric nodded "Could you describe the child to me?"

Lyra thought back "White hair, shorts, shirt. Clean, really clean. Hardly any sand on him. And his hood, it was red-" "-And had eyes and a mouth stitched in black." Doric spoke hollowly.

Lyra was surprised "Yes, that's it, how did you know?"

Doric swallowed "That is because, you just sold a room to Epsilon the Red."