The inn was called Miatild's Nest. From its shaggy and weatherworn outlook one would not have assumed it to be the place of death for one of the most prestigious poets of Sennas. However, it had apparently had enough visitors over the decades that it had comfortably kept itself upright. The lady of the house was a matronly woman with a good sense of humor. She informed Serenica that the place was famous for a certain steak dinner and that patrons from all over the country came to have a taste of the delicious meat.
Serenica knew this to be the way people talked when selling their services. Nevertheless, she was tempted to try the steak.
"I don't have time for that," the first mate said. "I hope you find what you are seeking here."
Serenica was now alone in the room, waiting for her steak and desperately hoping for the mysterious man to appear.
