The hooded figure stumbled through the filth-filled alleyways. Tripping on one of the many broken pavers that lined the lane, the figure reached out a gnarled hand before the weight of its body crashed into the timber frame.
Moor’s teeth… steady thyself Lappacio… there is no need to rush.
He took a deep breath, regaining composure as he pushed through the sturdy door.
The warmth of the room embraced Lappacio as a sweet voice greeted him.
Welcome to Bacio Divino, what would please our honoured guest?
Lapaccio croaked a response, his voice trembling.
Pray fetch yon ale mistress, I be parched. cough
His eyes darted around until he saw a lone warrior seated at a table across the room. He made for the soldier, past the exquisite dancers moving seductively to the sounds of a small troupe of musicians.
Reaching the table, Lapaccio pulled back his hood… cough
Oh tush sir… you gave me a fright you did!
Good e’en, cousin.
Well met Lapaccio, what news doth one bring?
I bear news of strange happenings in cough Pavona. Since the dramatic assassination our city is confuséd. A blight of elves, everywhere I look; cough who knows what draws them to this place.
Pray tell, cousin, what doth thou wot of our Lady’s betrothéd?
Forsooth cough, he Is naught but a reeky flap-mouth’d hugger-mugger; travelling around with that Bretonnian tosspot, bawbling woodsman and elf poppet.
Hark, enow cousin, hush, our wench approaches; Luccrezia as always hath made a fine choice.
With a hacking cough, the server placed goblets on the table before the two men.
Gramercy. mine good woman. Come cousin, let us toast Lucrezzia and her lucky lover. We wish them many happy tidings!
As the server walked away, their voices quietened.
F’r as long as he may live cough. This one may survive… perchance.
The two chuckled quietly to themselves.
What news of the ordinary at large?
Trantio is clouded in a perfuméd fog. Certes an omen of woe.
Is nay import for us, the Common-Kissing Foot-Lickers get what they deserve; best we prepare ourselves f’r the coming war.
TO THE MIGHT OF PAVONA; A POX UNTO MIRAGLIANO! cough cough cough
I fear a pox hath captur’d thee dear cousin… Pray go to, you’re an ill fool… Mirmidia save thee.
Rising from the table while spluttering, Lapaccio threw his hood over his head and shambled towards the door.
cough cough Fare thee well; I shall aroint!