A wide smile splits the stringy man’s face, revealing a tarnished gold tooth and several other unfilled gaps. “Welcome, welcome,” he says, arms flung wide. He takes a deep bow. “My name is Monsieur Montague, humble proprietor of this barbery and bathhouse, home of the most luxurious tubs and sharpest shears in the city.” Rising from the bow, he takes in the gang’s road-roughened appearance.
Fassn strolls over to a tub, plunging his hands in, and is disappointed to find there’s no water inside.
“Eager for a bath, friend? Please, please, the relief is so worth it! And at a mere three coins per dip, an unbeatable bargain as well.”
“We don’t have any money,” Shyan says simply.
Monsieur Montague’s face falls cold.