They hadn't dared spend the night in a tavern. Not with the whole city looking for them. Instead, the boys found refuge in the sewers, sleeping on the other side of a crack in the wall that led to a tiny, partitioned room. Underneath the old pipes and away from the rancid rivers that flowed a little too thickly, they had managed to find some semblance of sleep.

Holsley woke with a start, the putrid smell invading his nostrils. He gagged at it. Across the room, Roland was already awake. He looked like he'd been awake for hours. Perhaps, Holsley thought, he hadn't slept at all. He was sitting there running his fingers over one of the ruby pieces, simply admiring it with his touch.

Roland had been so enamoured by the piece, he hadn't even noticed Holsley rising.

'Morning.' Holsley said, stretching off the aches from the rough bed of stone he'd forced himself to sleep upon last night. 'How long have you been up?'

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Tiacat, eagerly cornering a rat.

'A while.' Roland didn't look at him. Holsley knew what they needed to do next but wasn't quite ready to voice it. They had both the ruby and the rapier. That meant they could now leave the city of Tressa, but first they needed to find a way to deal with the Hangman. It meant they needed to visit The Smiling Bard.

Holsley came a little closer and leaned in to admire the ruby. 'What's the story with the ruby then?'

'What's that?' asked Roland, looking up for the first time.

'Where did you get it from?' Holsley nudge him. 'Just wondering.'

'Oh!' Roland shoved the piece back into his pocket. 'I stole it from, well, let's just say a pirate. A pirate that deserved it.'

'Ominous.' Holsley's stomach rumbled, although he wasn't sure if it was hunger or nerves. For the past three years he'd been avoiding thinking about Dan and that tavern. Now, today, it would be all he could think about. The idea of going back there after all this time, it unnerved him. Holsley was finally going to confront it.

Tiacat patted at the scraggly rodent, which gave a hiss and made a run for it. For a cat, she was slow in giving chase. That was probably due to her privileged life, Holsley thought, or maybe it was because she was being weighed down by all those table scraps he'd been giving her.

'Are you sure you want to come?' Roland placed a hand on his shoulder. 'I can do it by myself if it's too much for you.'

'No, I have to,' replied Holsley with a sigh. 'Though, I would appreciate some breakfast first.'

Roland gave him a wink, and the pair slunk out of the sewers. They kept to the alleys, doing their best to disguise their faces, and stole some fresh clothes from a convenient washing line. Thankfully, the freshly died cotton did wonders to mask the smell of the sewage Roland even managed to find a washboard with some soap in it, which they used to rub the dirt off their faces.

As they walked, Holsley wondered and stroked the cat standing on his shoulders. She let out a little wail, and he sighed, next handing her a slip of meat. His pockets were getting looser and Holsley wasn't quite sure what was going to happen when he ran out. The young bard kept his mind off it, he had bigger concerns.

He had considered coming back to Tressa a few times during his sojourn with the elves. A small part of him had wanted to believe that maybe the tavern had survived. Maybe Dan had survived. It was a hope that kept him going, and he knew seeing what had become of the Smiling Bard would shatter that illusion. He'd never be able to doubt it again.

The young bard looked over at Roland as he idly played with the firelighter hidden in his pocket. Why did he still have the stupid thing?

'Just around the next corner,' said Roland. 'Breakfast time.'

There was a lot wrong with Tressa. It was blatantly corrupt, the buildings were dilapidated and condemned, the people were rude and indifferent, crime was rampant, taxes were high, living standards were plummeting, hangings were common, there seemed to be a supernatural threat around every corner, nobody ever gambled a fair game, the apples were always sour, the streets were uneven, most taverns only served cheap ale, and the markets were basically barren. There was so much wrong, it was hard to focus on what was right about the city.

Everyone agreed that there was at least one thing — the savoury cooking.

Some of the best pastries along the Avanni Coast were home in Tressa, and there was no greater pastry than that of the Tressan Pie: a round pastry traditionally poked with holes and topped with a soft crust. Inside it contained sausage meat, onions, and a source that was sharp and sweet.

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Every Tressan knew it, and every Tressan's stomach would rumble at the thought of it. Sure, most cities served something similar, but there was something about the way the Tressan's made it that made it so damned delectable. Some had theorised it was to do with the altitude. Others said it was because the pastry had been born here.

With what little coin Holsley had left, they took a detour along the Unending Alley and found themselves standing outside the window of a stranger's house. Technically it was a café, but, in reality, the building served as a home. There were no bakeries in the Unending Alley, people couldn't afford to run them, so they just made pastries out of their kitchen.

The rough and tumble woman that ran the place wobbled about, gathering snacks from the oven as Holsley watched through the window. It wasn't a very large space. She barely fit in it, in truth. The woman had made it work for her, though, and Holsley admired the grit. You could say a lot about Tressans, but they were hardy when they were at their best.

The boys took their pastries to go and paid without complaint.

As usual, the first bite was more scorching than it was food, but it was an important part of the eating process. They needed to air out the savoury snack for proper consumption. They both dawdled as they walked, clearly neither of them was keen to get to the Smiling Bard. There was something else on their minds, though. The Hangman had promised to kill Roland tomorrow at noon. The pair were running out of time.

They marched to the roadside, arriving at a tall post with an upwards arrow, and waited patiently for a coach that would take them down the main road. It would be quicker than walking. Roland took a lean against the post, while Holsley sat on the curb. They watched the carriages and carts go by. Roland shifted his hood up over his face.

'Tell me about the elves,' Roland asked then, daring another bite of his breakfast. It was clear that he regretted it instantly. 'What was it like living in a city of elves?'

'It was a very pretty place,' replied Holsley. 'I don't think I enjoyed it, though.'

'Oh?'

'They weren't the most supportive teachers.' Holsley winced at the thought. 'There was a lot of expectation. I was never quite good enough, and every time I got something right, they would tell me a dozen things I was doing wrong. It really sucked the fun out of playing the lute.'

'I think I can understand that.' Roland took another bite. It still burned like the fires of Zoz'Gaden's soul. 'The Whispers were the same. They expected exceptional.'

'Yeah, but you are exceptional.'

'That kind of skill comes with some scars,' Roland said. 'It wasn't worth it.'

'I let Dan down,' said Holsley. Roland stayed quiet. The young bard shifted in his curb side seat. 'I thought if I could become a great musician then maybe…well, you know.'

Again, Roland said nothing.

'When he was….' Holsley took a breath. '…he told me that all he wanted was for us to play together in the tavern.' Holsley took another deep breath. He wasn't in the mood to cry just yet, he was saving his tears for something spell. Still, the memory haunted him. 'I just…'

Roland wrapped an arm around his friend and brought him in close.

'Those elves were stupid,' said Roland. 'I've heard you play plenty of times. I never thought you were terrible. Actually, every time you played, you played better. I remember when you started out. You couldn't even strum.'

'That reminds me.' Holsley sniffed, pulling away. 'I need to get my lute from the menders. I mustn't forget that.'

The coach rattled along the cobblestones and came to a stop before them. It brought with it the din of conversation from the huddle of passengers on board. Holsley and Roland boarded and became a part of the conversational hum. They walked the aisle and found a quiet spot in the back. There, they got comfortable and enjoyed the gentle vibrations of the coach beneath their bodies.

'Tell me about something that happened to you in the past three years,' Holsley said then. 'I've told you about the elves. Now I want to hear something about the pirates.'

'Anything?'

'Anything,' Holsley affirmed.

'I got kidnapped by parrots once,' replied Roland. 'They were trying to get back at Berry Kellam and they took me, thinking she'd care. Their mistake. Well, they weren't parrots really. They looked like parrots, but they were people, taller than me. What's funny is they were nicer than the Bloody Darlings and they adored me. I had a fling with the captain's daughter. Barradora. She was an interesting character.'

'Did you stay with them?'

'No, I escaped.'

'Escaped?' Holsley raised an eyebrow. 'It sounds like you enjoyed it there.'

'I did. They were great, but that's exactly why I escaped.' Roland's smile faltered. 'I didn't want Berry Kellam to go after them.'

'She really did a number on you, didn't she?'

'She was a piece of work alright.' Roland turned his gaze to the street rolling past the window. 'We're here.'

Holsley bit down on the last bit of his pastry. He was surprised that his stomach could hold it in with the nerves. Together, they hopped off the coach and found themselves on the other side of the alleys. The further they walked, the more it came back to them. Holsley recognised streets he had played in as a child, buildings he had visited with Dan, and even some faces he now shied away from.

The last time he had seen the Smiling Bard, it had been on fire. That's all he could think about. He couldn't bear to see the place burn down, so he had run away from it before it had been given the chance to collapse. His heart thudded in his chest. Just another couple of turns and he would see the charred remains of his childhood home. The place Dan had taught him to play the strings and where he had come to know a hundred or so regulars.

'You okay.' Roland placed a hand on his shoulder.

'Yeah,' Holsley said breathlessly. 'Are you?'

The rogue had gone white. Beads of sweat had formed on his brow. Holsley could see that he was nervous too, shaking even. In some ways, he seemed even more nervous than him. They came to the last corner and stopped. It had been three years. Holsley felt pale.

Don't leave me, Holsley.

'I don't know if I can do this,' he said. 'I think this might have been a mistake.'

'I'm right here,' said Roland, placing his hands on the bard's shoulders. 'I'll step out with you.'

Holsley nodded his head and summoned his courage. With a puffed-up chest and a sense of something like obligation, they rounded the corner together and quickly discovered what fate had befallen the Smiling Bard.

They stared in disbelief at what they had found. There was no pile of ashes, no charred remains of the rafters, no shattered chairs or scattered bits of glass from the windows.

The Smiling Bard was fine.

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