The two men sat silently observing each other from opposite ends of the table while the food was served to them. Meecham was served chicken and a strange dish he had never seen before but smelled wonderful. At the opposite end of the table his possible employer was receiving a much more grand meal that he couldn’t quite make out in the dim room. The other man inclined his head slightly and they both began their meals with what he felt was a well deserved hunger.

Small talk broke out near the end of the meal between the two. They talked of women, weapons and horses while each man watched the other intently as if the simple chatter held a large matter of importance. After an hour or so, Meecham stood to excuse himself, "My thanks for the wonderful meal and the talk afterwards milord, but now I must retire. I have never been one for late night ventures unless necessary." Making a slight bow, he left the dining room and headed for the stairs.

Pulling out his pipe, he began to fill it as the door to his room closed. Drawing long on the stem he sat back on his bed and let the smoke slowly fill the room. His mind raced as he undressed and prepared for sleep. As he lay on his back attempting his nightly calming rituals he could see cold blue eyes staring back into his own. Sleep finally came to him, full of chaotic dreams of death for causes he didn’t know or care.

The next morning Meecham woke to a steady knock at his door.  He kicked himself for not waking at the alarm bell directly above his head. Moving to the door, he opened it to see the same boy that had brought him the message the night before. He seemed to be bursting with energy now as well. "The man you dined with says he is leaving in a half hour!" And again the boy raced down the stairs.

Twenty minutes later he arrived in the stables next to the inn. Drak, if that was his true name, was standing next to his horse checking the bridle one last time before the journey. Meecham walked quickly over to his own mount to find it already saddled and waiting anxiously for open spaces again. As they both mounted he turned to the other man. "Where are we off to in such a hurry if I may ask?"

Turning his large mount around he said, "I think we will just follow my horse’s nose for a while."

Meecham followed quietly as they rode out of the city.

Sitting two levels above the ground on the small ledge outside the window of his room Meecham drew thoughtfully on his long briar pipe. He had always enjoyed watching people from afar. It gave him a chance to feel out the moods of a place, though he had done that the first week he had come to the Dancing Man. For the next two weeks he had mostly stayed to his room to make sure he didn’t miss the arrival of the cold eyed man. He drew again on his pipe and wondered if the man had simply been toying with him.

The sound of the small bells he had placed above his door drew him from his brooding, followed shortly by the knock at the door of the person who stepped on his wire three paces from his room. Rising from his precarious position he re-entered his room. Tamping out his pipe he replaced it in the inner pocket that also held his tabac along with several other choice items. Crossing the small interior of his room he opened the door to find a small boy that seemed slightly skittish.

“What do you want boy?” he asked. “W-well sir t-the m-man you have b-been waiting f-for has arrived. He w-waits for you in the p-private d-dining room.” The small boy turned and ran back down the hall he had come leaving Meecham standing in his doorway with his mouth open. He’s here, now? Springing into action he ran to the chest holding his clothes and pulled out his best. Though they were nothing to catch the eye they still were nice enough to be formal in. Pulling on his trousers as he ran out the door he began to compose himself, he moved down the hall in a half dream state still wondering that the cold eyed man had truly come.

As he entered the common room the reality of his situation struck him. This man was dangerous to him; with a single word he could sign his death warrant. Meecham looked towards the doors to the private dining room. Should I run? Leave after all I have done to get here? Making his decision, Meecham crossed to the doors and pulled them open.

His eyes locked on the man at the end of the table. He was wearing the same sun bleached travel clothes with armor showing through the worn tunic in several places. He looked exactly the same as their last meeting, somehow untouched by time. Meecham stood for a moment eyes locked with the man until finally he spoke, “So, what brings me for this visit? Please, tell me what makes you worthy of my attention.”

Moving forward to take the proffered seat Meecham mulled the question over in his mind. Lowering himself into the seat he heard a slight creek of wood behind and looked back to see a man on either side of the door he had entered watching him intently. Returning his attention to the question he worded his answer carefully, “I cannot say if I am worthy to have your attention for I do not know anything about you. Though I can say that the works I have been hired for have been finished discreetly and well in the eyes of my employers.”

Meecham felt the answer slightly insufficient but still waited for a reaction.

Meecham stepped down from his horse and winced. Even though he was raised to ride for long periods of time everyone has their limits. Apparently his haste would cost him. Four days in the saddle without rest was now added to his mental list of blocks to overcome. Tying his horse to the rail outside the inn he took in his surroundings. Two buildings down stood a man having a casual conversation with another. By the way he stood told it all. He was a soldier trying to hide the fact. The other man seemed to be nervous. So the soldier was gather information. No matter of his though, he was here for one reason only. It had been five years since the death of his father and Meecham finally felt himself ready to me the man with the cold blue eyes.

He looked at the aged parchment again and back at the ragged sign over the inn, The Dancing Man. Moving to the other side of the horse he had 'borrowed', he pulled off the saddle bags and slung them over his right shoulder, showing all that cared to look and notice him, that he had no sword and didn’t expect any trouble. Though he doubted anyone would notice him unless he specifically addressed them. Still, he checked the daggers in the sling under his ragged shirt and the small poisoned throwing pins held to the underside of his wrists. The poison on them was as much of his own making as the pins, mixing seemingly innocent herbs to create the most potent concoction he had ever found. It was so fast acting that the victim would hardly have the time to notice the pin and yell for help, though he himself held the only antidote.

Walking up the steps to the inn’s entrance, he moved through the double swinging doors into a well-lit, if shabby, common room. Scanning the room he found that, as usual, after the automatic reaction of looking at an opening door, he was completely ignored. Finding the object of his search, he strode over to a short fat man standing behind the bar at the other side of the room. As he moved towards the man he pulled out the letter and ring that had been given to him and sat them on the counter directly in front of the inn owner. Looking up he noticed Meecham and asked, 'How may I help you this fine day, sir? If you’re looking for a room we have plenty to spare and the ale’s not...'  He cut off in mid sentence when he spotted the letter and then the ring. His eyes grew wide and his skin grew pale as he began to sweat and stammer.

'Master, if there’s anything I can do for you don’t hesitate to ask!' he half croaked. Looking at the fat man, Meecham wondered how important the owner of the ring must be. Speaking for the first time, he looked directly into the keeper’s eyes, 'I need to find the owner of the ring and the writing.  He is a cold eyed man with hair to his shoulders. Do you know who I speak of?' The fat man merely nodded dumbly seeming to have lost all ability to talk. 'You will send him this message by bird and by runner, but until then I will require a room.' Again the man nodded stupidly. Then suddenly he realized the taller man was finished and sprang into action. Yelling for his wife to give Meecham a good room, he took the letters saying they would be gone before he reached his room. A woman that would have been pretty in her youth approached him with a warm smile and motioned for him to follow her up the stairs to the left of the bar. Following the woman to the second floor and to the end of the hall they stopped at a door that appeared the same as the others in the hall except for one difference.

The lock on it appeared to be stronger and as the key was turned he heard what must have been a massive bolt slide out of its hold. The room was nicer than he had expected from the quality of the inn. As he shooed away the woman he closed and locked the door. Releasing his composure, he limped over to the bed and pulled off his trousers to see his legs bright red and rubbed raw. As he finished disrobing he cursed the stupidity of riding for so long without rest. Lying down on the bed he began his nightly ritual of calming himself before sleep.