Heinrich Skau was having a bad day.
The brawl the previous evening had wrecked a great share of his furniture, and as much as he hated, he would be compelled to pay a carpenter to fix his chairs and tables.
Now Patience had left for the day, announcing, “Oy’m SICK of yer FACE, HenReek!” God, how he hated the way she spoke to him! The nerve! And him of fine stock. Left in this cesspool. Oh, his innards pained him, and he felt his need to void build, and his misery increased. The apothecary… later today, mayhaps. Patience had gone to see her rotten acquaintances, those gabbling geese on the hill-path, leaving HIM to clean up the blood and vomit and beer… and he knew, he knew, one of his tormentors of the previous night had been the one’s HUSBAND, for Saint…oh, now he couldn’t think of a saints’ name! Look what this place was doing to his Christian soul! He was going to Hell…
Well, he hadn’t cleaned it, the mess, he’d dropped sawdust and straw on it. The smell was terrible, but some herbs burnt might help…
The door opened. The one nodding sot in the corner wobblied up his head, then dropped it again. A man, respectably dressed, although his coat was buttoned quite wrongly, stepped in. He was followed by a Black man, probably his servant. Heinrich welcomed him:
“Hello. Velcom to mine tavern sir. How mite I help du?”