Lucien moved through the city without hurrying.
He observed as he walked.
The city was full of opportunities. Some were obvious. Others required more thought.
Eventually, he reached a pub.
The building was larger than most of the surrounding shops, with a broad wooden sign hanging above its entrance and enough noise leaking through the doors that Lucien could hear laughter from across the street.
He slowed.
If he wanted information, this was probably his best chance.
People guarded their words in markets.
They guarded them even more around officials.
Alcohol tended to weaken that instinct.
Lucien entered.
Nobody stopped him.
At sixteen, he was already considered an adult by the customs of this era, and the young men drinking inside did not look much older than him anyway.
The pub was crowded but not chaotic.
Most tables were occupied by laborers, guards off duty, travelers, merchants, craftsmen, and men who had apparently decided that tomorrow's problems could wait.
