"I have the fee!"

The Thrasson placed the amphora on the floor and balanced it against the counter with his leg, then opened his purse and counted out the gold. Ten gold coins would buy a lot of wine, but he could always get free wine back in Thrassos. He passed the coins up to the bariaur, who confirmed the count, entered the amount in his ledger, and dropped the coins into a slot on the surface of his bench.

"Do you want a receipt?"

"No. I want…"

The bariaur raised a finger to silence the Thrasson, then produced a large iron bell from behind his bench. He rang it six times. Though the tolling was not particularly loud, it reverberated through the cavernous hall as clearly as birdsong. By the time the last knell had died away, a gentle murmur had arisen to fill the entire structure. A trio of human youths, all dressed in pale blue uniforms with ugly red shoulder sashes, rounded a comer and stood at attention beside the counter. Around the opposite corner came another six guards, all wearing the same red plate armor as the door sentries. These men positioned themselves between the crowd and the counter, holding their glaives at port arms. From somewhere in the depths of the building echoed the measured clatter of four hooves clacking upon the marble floor.

The bariaur dipped his quill in the ink, then poised it over his ledger and peered down at the Thrasson.

"Name?"

The Thrasson hesitated, loathe to admit his one weakness in public. An impatient murmur rustled through the lobby, and the guards began to push the crowd back.

"Name?"

"I-er-uh, why is my name important?"

The bariaur's eye twitched. "We have our procedures, berk. Name?"

"You dare call me-" The Thrasson bit his tongue, reminding himself that he needed the bariaur's cooperation to keep the promise he had made. "I-uh-I can't tell you my name."