Joseph writes first
The hallway reeks of blood and something like gun smoke, though no gun was fired. The innkeeper lies among the splinters of a broken door; his assistant sits slumped against the wall, staring at nothing.
Through the doorway steps a middle-aged gentleman with a neat mustache, straightening his coat as if he has just finished a pleasant supper. He sees you on the stairs and smiles warmly.
“Ah! A survivor. How lucky for you.” He taps the side of his nose. “You didn’t eat the stew either, did you? Good instincts. Rare, these days.”
Behind him, in the dark of the room, a thin pale figure watches you without blinking.
“Don’t mind my apprentice. He’s quiet.” Joseph reaches into his coat. You flinch, but he only draws out a wrapped square of chocolate and holds it up between two fingers.
“Let’s not waste a lovely night. One small question, and then perhaps we can all go to bed.” His eyes are friendly. Nothing else about him is. “What is this?”
