Still, it would be enough. His target wore no armor, and he was not relying on the force of the bolt. Venden pox coated the serrated metal tip. A deplorable poison for assassination; it neither killed quickly nor paralyzed the victim. The concoction would certainly kill, but only after what he considered an unprofessional span of time. He had never used it before and only recently learned of its most important trait-venden pox was invulnerable to magic. Merrick had it on good authority that the most powerful spells and incantations were useless against its venom. Given his target, this would prove essential.

Another figure entered Arista's room, and she sat abruptly. Merrick imagined she had just received some interesting news, and he was about to cross the street to listen at the window when the tavern door opened behind him. A pair of patrons exited, and by the sway of their steps and the volume of their voices they had obviously drained more than one mug that night.

"Nestor, who's that leaning against the post?" one said, pointing in Merrick's direction. A plump man with a strawberry nose whose shape matched its color squinted in the dim light and staggered forward.

"How should I know?" said the other. The thin man's mustache still glistened with beer foam.

"What's he doing here at this time 'a night?"

"Again, how should I know, you wanker?"

"Well, ask him."

The tall man stepped forward. "Whatcha doin', mister? Holding up the post so the porch doesn't fall down?" Nestor snorted a laugh and doubled over with his hands on his knees.

"Actually," Merrick told them, his tone so serious it was almost grave, "I'm waiting to appoint the position of Town Fool to the person who asks me the stupidest question. Congratulations. You win."

The thin man slapped his friend on the shoulder. "See, I've been telling you all night how funny I am, and you haven't laughed once. Now I'm getting a new job…probably pays better than yours."