"People saw it, Ned," Quintin said, drumming fingers over the table. "I saw it, I was there. Too late, but, I was there. I know it was you, I saw you here three, four days ago? Fuck the booze."
Ned frowned. Quintin the drunkard, saw him approached the tavern, saw him when he was slumping like an idiot in the corner of the tavern, smelling booze. He must be good, too good for an idiot. He was a hunter, that's why, and Ned felt too good a hunter he was.
"So, what now?" Ned said, not a hint of childish voice. He frowned, looking both at Master Claire and Quentin. They were talking about me even after I came over, Ned thought.
"Who do you work for?" Quintin said, looking up at Ned. The drumming stopped, his dagger gleamed under the orange light. Behind them, guests murmured with a decreasing voice.
"Kid," Master Claire said, scratching the scar under his right eye "Answer the man. We wanted to know who we are dealing here."
