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shrieked as he span around with a squeal, bringing howls of laughter from her fellow drinkers.
    Bartholomew hurried on.
    Blake was sitting on a stool at the corner of the serving counter, a position where he could keep an eye on the drinkers, the barmaids and the cashbox, all at the same time. He was a large man but not a fat man; Blake was the kind you wouldn’t want trouble with. The years had added a comfort layer and a big belly, but it was stretched across a large muscular frame. Bartholomew made his way over and tried to introduce himself.
    ‘Mr Blake, good evening to you, my name is…’ he faltered, as Blake cast him a quick look before returning to his task of watching the room.
    ‘What do yer want and wot’s it werf?’ growled the innkeeper in a low voice.
    ‘I merely seek…’ started Bartholomew.
    ‘Speak up, man,’ growled Blake peering down at Bartholomew with disgust. ‘If yer got something to say then out with it and let me be, I’ve a business to run or can’t yer tell?’ he gawped at Bartholomew. ‘Well…?’
    Bartholomew was sweating more than ever by this time and simply wanted to be done and gone from this awful place. He stared into Blake’s dark eyes then summoned a little courage and a lot of voice. ‘I seek the Hawk!’
    Conversation stopped at several tables around them, and Blake quickly pulled Bartholomew to the side. ‘Shhh, not so loud with yer 'awk business.’ He glanced around Bartholomew’s shoulder at the room and, satisfied that his girls were all working and a fight hadn’t broken out in the last few heartbeats, he turned back to Bartholomew.
    ‘You better ’ave a real good reason for asking for the ‘awk’ in ere, my fat friend, a real good reason.’ He leaned closer and belched softly. Rank, stale breath wafted over Bartholomew, who blinked and held his handkerchief to his nose. ‘Well? …And not so loud, all right? What do yer want with the ‘awk?’
    Bartholomew started to feel a little ill. ‘Oh dear…well…’ he started.
    A short while later Bartholomew found himself being seated into what Blake described as a ‘private nook.’ A tankard of Elder ale was set down messily in front of him and Blake walked away. Bartholomew started to wipe down his shirt where the ale had splashed, and then noticed that he wasn’t alone. The nook was quite dark and the other occupant had been sitting well back in the corner saying nothing. Bartholomew couldn’t tell if the fellow was staring at him or even if he was awake. Was this the Hawk?  He dabbed at the sweat on his upper lip and cleared his throat. ‘My name is Bartholomew Bask, Merchant by trade,’ he glanced around nervously, then peered into the corner, trying to make out more of the dark shape. Whoever it was, he was wearing a cloak with the hood up and Bartholomew couldn’t see whom he was addressing, which disturbed him. ‘I seek The Hawk,’ he managed to hiss, then sat back and drank thirstily from the tankard.
    The stranger slowly leaned forward, his face briefly caught in the dim light. Bartholomew could just about make out the features of a man - he blinked. A large nose was the first thing to emerge from the hood, closely followed by two gleaming eyes. The Hawk folded his hands upon the table and stared at Bartholomew.
    ‘For what…and for why…’ rumbled the Hawk, in a deep gravely voice ‘…do you seek Matheus Hawk…Mr. Bask?’
    It took a moment but once recovered; Bartholomew presented a lengthy heartfelt description of his problem, how little he had to go on and what a travesty of justice it was that strange criminals could be allowed to wander the streets at night taking advantage of…
    Matheus Hawk stopped Bartholomew with a slap of his hand on the table. ‘ Enough of your prattle…I’m expensive,’ he growled, ‘but I can find your goods, if found they can be, and I can skin the hides from the thieves and hang them out for the crows if that is your wish?’
    Bartholomew