Once the decision is made Tasanto, Tyrion, and Damaris can quickly catch up with Molnar and Katalin (if they wish) since the farmer's business would lead the group right past Market House, the inn at the edge of the city market. Tasanto watches those on the streets as they travel: the common people seem spiritless and avoid meeting anyone else's eye. Those that do tend to watch furtively and with narrowed, calculating eyes, though even those turn away when members of the guard pass. Tasanto gets the feeling that if he and Damaris were alone they would have had a less than pleasant interaction with a couple of the more brutish locals. Tyrion, armed, armored, and hard-bitten as he is seems to have stayed ill intentions of the less well equipped loiterers.
The market square is certainly not well deserving of the name as it seems there is little actual merchandise for sale. It could be that it just isn't a big market day but the goods that are displayed are cheap copper or other low quality goods or food that Venzans would toss into the canal or otherwise dispose of. The need for Molnar's fresh food is painfully obvious.
The inn, Market House, is a tall stone building rising at least four stories that leans to one side and has a large crack along the entire length of the building, most likely from a glancing strike of a siege engine years ago. The interior is shabby and it is easy to surmise that the original furnishings were sold and replaced with furnishings of much lower quality. The proprietor is a skinny old woman wearing a shapeless sackcloth dress and a filthy apron. She grins a snaggle-toothed grin in welcome when Tasanto, Tyrion, and Damaris enter that grows wider when Damaris asks for baths to be drawn.
"Oh, yes, dearie! Rooms we have, and baths we can ready for you. The water needs to heat. I'll get your keys and set the water to boiling. I'll be back with you in two wags of a dogs tail!" She smiles again as she turns and walks with a crooked gait from the common room to behind the bar where she begins fumbling with a cabinet that holds keys.
-----
Thuvian, Cavernous Hode, and Mister Dickens have just moments before left Tasanto, Tyrion, and Damaris and are headed for a cross street when they are approached by a girlish-looking young boy, maybe eight or ten years of age. The boy peers down the dim road after the others before turning back to Thuvian and Cavernous Hode, and screws up his courage by clutching a greasy, unlit torch in both hands. He steps to put Cavernous Hode between himself and Mister Dickens and, finally, speaks up in a bright clear voice that warbles with uncertainty.
"I can take you wherever you want to go." He pauses and looks down the road that the others departed down. "Um, you are the guards of that wagon aren't you?" The boy shifts from foot to foot as if ready to bolt at the first sign of an ill spoken word or hostile action.
