In the back room of the Rusty Barge, the largest tavern in the city of Linhir, someone some years ago had set up a large, hardwood tub. It was more like a giant bucket really, with aged oak sides and brass fittings. A spout to convey water heated over a fire outside came in through a hole in the outer wall, along with the sounds of birdsong from the apple trees yonder.

When I awoke in the Rusty Barge, tucked away in a corner no one could see. My head rang like the hammers of Dain’s smithy under the mountain. My eyes were gummed together and my mouth tasted of sawdust and grog. As strange taverns go this one wasn’t so bad, well, not as bad as some others I have woken in. Although the body by the front door and the blood on the bar left something to be desired but the tavern itself was homelike and warm, then I remembered.