Lozhapad was quieter now, but still far from silent. As she navigated through the winding streets behind her employer-apparent, Ishtal could hear muffled sounds of people talking in the distance or through open windows of the buildings they passed, as well as a miscellany of other sounds she couldn’t place, of the nearby inhabitants settling in to…do whatever it was all these different Peoples did in the evening. Back at home, right around now she and Arancha and Father would be eating supper, and after that they might talk or read from Father’s small collection or work on one project or another. Abruptly, she remembered that there was a tunic she’d been meaning to patch, that was probably still tossed to one side in her room.

She shook her head; this was no time to not have her wits about her. 

The building Mr. Trippingly finally stopped at didn’t look much different from the ones around it, aside from being a bit larger and rather better maintained. It boasted a couple of squat stories, with a sloping roof of dark thatch and half-timbered walls. The windows, Ishtal noticed, actually had glass in them, small squares of it set into iron lattices—she’d seen such things closer to the northern end of town, but the (presumably poorer) neighborhoods down here were more likely to favor empty windows that could only be fully open or shuttered, like most Onena dwellings. 

A sign hanging over the stout wooden door read The Snarky Salamander in green and gold script, with a lizard creature that she assumed was the eponymous salamander picked out in the same colors. She stared up at it, briefly distracted again, until Kosef stepped past her to open the door, and she had to follow him and Mr. Trippingly inside.

The Snarky Salamander, it turned out, was a pub, one that struck her with an immediate sense of coziness the moment she walked in. The walls of the common area had been painted a warm, dark green, and although the space could have probably fit the whole population of Bosgarren Herria in a pinch, it was well lit, with lamps hanging from the rafters and a fire in the large fireplace off to her left. Most of the room was taken up with spaced-out round wooden tables and the open-backed chairs around them, but there was a cluster of cushioned chairs around the fireplace rug, and a bar with stools along it at the far wall. 

There were perhaps a dozen individuals scattered throughout the room—at a glance, Ishtal thought perhaps half of them were probably human, and the rest were from a variety of other Peoples—but Mr. Trippingly headed straight for the table nearest the fireplace area where, sitting alone, was an—

“Ezkatatsua,” she breathed, for that was unmistakably what this person was. There was only one kind of People with those scales and claws and that powerful build, not to mention the face that was clearly draconic, although it was considered bad luck to point it out. The overall effect was significantly less horrifying than Father’s illustrations had suggested, although still plenty intimidating.

“She doesn’t bite,” Kosef rumbled as he turned aside, presumably to go about his own business now they’d arrived.

“I know that!” Ishtal muttered snappishly. “I just didn’t know the ezka—” What was the human word for them? “—the hatchers bothered with you people anymore.”

“Come along, come along!” Mr. Trippingly called. “Akiba, there’s someone I should introduce you to. This is…” He trailed off, blinking up at Ishtal. “You never did give me your name.”

“Really, Trip?” the ezkatatsua said, her voice deep and far more melodious than Ishtal would have expected. “You’re supposed to be the one of us who’s good at handling people; if even you forgot to get a name, I might need to worry.”

“I did ask!” Mr. Trippingly retorted. “She said it was none of my business and then, well, we got to talking. But she wants a job.”

Ishtal swallowed hard. “I’m Ishtal…Inon. I’m new in town and I’ve been trying to find work, and I stole from Mr. Trippingly by mistake.”

“She’s got a gift for it,” Mr. Trippingly chimed in. “I can’t wait to see what Lilah makes of her. Anyway, Ishtal, this is Madam Akiba, my partner and fellow leader of the Green Dragon Gang.”

Ishtal forced herself to maintain eye contact, and not let her gaze flick to Madam Akiba’s emerald scales and her mind to arrive at the undoubtedly impolite conclusion. “Good evening, ma’am,” she said, unsure of what else to do or say.

Madam Akiba looked her up and down. “Inon, hmm. I assume the stealing was what led to you getting exiled?”

Ishtal twitched in surprise. “Um, yes.”

“You’re not the first Onena I’ve met,” Madam Akiba said by way of explanation. “Well, I trust Mr. Trippingly’s judgment, so I’m sure we’ll be glad to have you. There’s a few papers you should fill out to formalize things, and someone will need to go over the ground rules with you—”

At that moment, Ishtal’s stomach took the opportunity to let out an audible rumble, and she winced. 

“—but perhaps that can wait until morning,” the ezkatatsua amended. “You’re clearly worn out as well as hungry, and Kleev would have my horns if I kept you.”

“I certainly would!” piped up a sharp voice from behind Ishtal. She turned and spotted the speaker, a goblin woman who came up approximately to her ribs, wearing a bright yellow ruffled dress with a flare of green petticoats. There was a perky green bow above one ear that clashed remarkably with her indignant expression.

“Mr. Trip, you should have brought her my way straight off, and left business till morning,” she went on, hands on her hips. “I expect better of you. Now, dear,” she switched her focus to Ishtal, “come along and have a seat in the kitchen where you won’t have to deal with anyone else staring at you, and I’ll make up some soup for you, something quick and hot. Not to worry, I already know all about what an Onena can and can’t eat. I assume you’re needing a place to stay for a while as well, yes?”

Slightly dazed—she wasn’t sure if she’d ever encountered…whatever this attitude was before—Ishtal nodded. “Mr. Trippingly said he knew somebody he could arrange with.”

“That would’ve been me. Or Tem, I suppose, since he owns the place, but I can speak for him on something like this.” Kleev nodded decisively. “Come on then. I’ll make up a room for you while you’re eating.”

She turned and bustled away, her long shock of shining black hair switching back and forth across her back, and Ishtal glanced questioningly at Madam Akiba. Of her two employers-apparent, she had the feeling that the ezkatatsua was the one to not cross.

“Go on,” Madam Akiba said, waving a clawed hand. “We can sort the rest out in the morning.”

Ishtal took one step, then remembered the interview several hours and an eternity ago that she’d walked out of. “What am I…going to owe you for the food and the lodging?” she asked with all the dignity she could scrape together.

All three blinked. “You’re not going to owe us anything,” Mr. Trippingly said after a moment. “Consider it an investment in you. We’re criminals, but we don’t con our own like that.”

Probably, there were a lot of follow-up questions that she should have asked, but Ishtal couldn’t seem to find them. Instead, she opted to nod and head for the door at the back that Kleev had disappeared through. Food, at least, should be straightforward and uncomplicated.

The kitchen was warm and crowded, disorganized but clean. Kleev was already heating a small pot of water on a low stove that suited her height, and setting out dried fish and rice and a few vegetables and herbs Ishtal recognized from the gardens at home.

“You don’t have to make something just for me,” she attempted to protest, a last shred of politeness rearing up, but Kleev just tutted.

“It’s no trouble,” she said, “and anyway, the crowd tonight already ate up all the stew I’d made for today, so I’ve only wheat bread and cheese left, and I know that’d just make you sick, which does no one any good.”

She gestured for Ishtal to sit on a short bench against the white plaster wall, and Ishtal obeyed, curling her tail along her leg out of the way and tipping her head back wearily. The whole day seemed to be catching up to her at once, draining her.

A handful of minutes later, Kleev nudged her, holding out a steaming bowl of fragrant soup. The last time Ishtal had eaten anything that wasn’t road rations or something she’d hunted in the wild was the few bites she’d managed that awful evening before Berezi arrived. She devoured half of the bowlful almost without realizing it. Once she was paying attention, she would have been embarrassed, except that Kleev had gone back out and there was no one to see.

Shortly after she’d finished, the goblin woman returned, pulling Ishtal to her feet with surprising strength. They passed through the common area—now rather emptier—to a staircase that led to the upper floor. It was significantly darker upstairs, lit only by the candle Kleev was carrying, and Ishtal had to blink hard before she could make out the corridor with its row of doors on either side. There were, as far as she could tell, eight small guest rooms in all. Kleev led her to the furthest one along on her right. 

“There’s a basin of warm water and some cloths if you want to wash up a bit,” her hostess said, “and plenty of pillows on the bed. It’s a little bare, but I’m sure you’ll make it your own if stay long enough to want to. Sleep in as late as you like; it’s pretty quiet around here in the mornings.”

With that, she handed over the candle and departed.

Ishtal entered, not bothering to take in much of her new quarters. She spotted the basin and cloths right away, and took the time to wipe the mud (now drying and even more irritating) from her feet, but that was all she had energy for. The barest necessities taken care of, she dropped onto the bed on top of the blankets, fully clothed, and drifted off to sleep almost at once.