A man steps in from the back, and I compose my face in tired friendliness as I take in details. Well dressed. Close to my height and age, though he seems far less weathered. Well dressed, handsome. Dignified manner. Something in the voice I cannot place as yet. Simple Brother Samuel might be too humble and dull a face to wear for this one. No matter. I have many.

"Can I help you?"

I extend a calloused hand, and when I speak, I allow my voice to be touched with the flavor of Central Europe. "Samuel Durand, sir. Late of the Franciscan Order. I've only just arrived, and the Whitechapel Inn was recommended to me by Deputy Hollow. Have you any rooms?"