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Grimmer has pushed his way through the crowd and is now standing right next to me, sharing his delightfully fishy breath, which actually forms brief, faint greenish clouds whenever he speaks. I glance at the barman, but he just winks and turns to serve another customer. I can't help feeling that I'm being set up here.
    “So,” Grimmer continues, leaning closer until the smell is unbearable, “what's a nice lady doing in a place like this?”
    “No idea,” I reply, taking another sip of beer. “Why don't you go find a nice lady and ask her?”
    He laughs. No, that's not quite the right word, it's more than a laugh; he bellows, causing the floor to tremble for a moment and sending a thick spray of spittle everywhere, including right into my half-drunk glass of beer. Before I can tell him to go to hell, he slaps my back so hard that I'm briefly pressed hard against the bar. I'd hoped to spend a few hours here, drying off and waiting for the rain to pass, but I'm starting to think I'd rather be out there. So much spit came from his mouth, some is still dripping from the beer pump.
    “I've got a wager riding on you,” he continues finally, still chuckling to himself. “I reckon you're not from anywhere on the map. I've been watching you since you walked through the door, see, and you look like someone who's a long way from home.”
    “You're right about that, at least,” I mutter. Looking down at my beer, I see fine chunks of Grimmer's spittle floating on the top.
    “You also look like someone who doesn't expect to see home for quite some time,” he adds. “You've got that lost, lonely look in your eyes, like you spend every night in a different lodging house. All alone, like.”
    “Well that's where you're wrong,” I reply, not even bothering to hide my irritation, not even as drunk morons start singing nearby. “I not only expect to see home soon, I know I'll see it. Granted, it's not exactly an easy task, but I'm going to find it eventually and there's no-one in the eight known worlds, or even in any of the unknown ones, who has a chance of stopping me. In fact, if any fool tries to get in my way -”
    Laughing again, Grimmer puts an arm around me and pulls me tight until my face is pressed against his stinking armpit. Pulling free, I reach for my sword but hold back at the last moment. Killing this idiot would only draw attention, and I'm far too tired for that. I just want to drink my beer and hit the road again, but I guess I should have known better than to expect any peace or privacy in a rundown dump like this. Lifting my glass, I'm about to down my beer when I see the chunks of spittle floating on the surface, so instead I set the damn thing aside. Time to leave.
    “So where are you from?” Grimmer asks, putting an arm on my waist. “Come on, why so secretive?”
    “Trust me,” I mutter, “you don't want to know.”
    “Try me.”
    I shake my head.
    “In case you were wondering,” he continues, “I'm from the Underworld.”
    “I guessed that from the smell,” I reply, before instantly realizing my mistake. I close my eyes just as he starts laughing again, and as another spray of foul saliva covers my face. Note to self: never say anything even remotely amusing or surprising around this idiot.
    “Do you know the Underworld much?” he asks, hugging me tighter.
    “I can't say I've really had the pleasure,” I tell him. “I've passed through some of its less salubrious corners, but that's about it.”
    “Where I come from,” he continues, slipping his hand across my thigh and between my legs, “everyone tries to get along, you know? Peace and harmony, that kind of thing. Of course, something that requires a little negotiation and compromise, giving people things to ease your own path. There were so many wars in the past, it feels good to live in an era of relative calm. I mean, no-one wants things to be how they were in the old days, do they?”
    “And how was that?” I ask, once again