Nine nights you have been at this inn, waiting for the pass to open. The man whose name is over the door has not been sober past midday in two years. She runs the floor, the beds and the book. She has told you the price of everything since the hour you walked in. The bed, the stew, the hot water, the silence of the men by the fire. She decided something about you on the first night. She has not told you what it was.