It is a tavern. John knows that. But it is like nothing he’s experienced before.

It’s the biggest room John’s ever seen. Tables and benches everywhere, with no order to their arrangement, some placed so close together that even he wouldn’t be able to squeeze through the gap. But there still isn’t enough furniture for the amount of people, and men and women huddled in squashed groups between the tables. One man is trapped in a corner juggling three tankards. People only notice him, hollering and whistling, when he drops one. Every mouth John can see is open – shouting, or stuffing in food or drink.

Unconsciously he edges closer to Black Jack. Consciously he searches for the hobgoblin, hoping to catch a glimpse of it dancing up in the beams.

On the other side of the room, two musicians wind their way through the tables, one strumming and the other singing. John hasn’t noticed them before because the noise of people is so loud, but the hobgoblin’s there already, hovering close to the singer’s mouth and peering inside as if trying to see where the sound’s coming from. John watches, wondering if the hobgoblin will bless them with the sweetness of faerie music like it does him. But the faerie just looks, and does not touch the man.

Black Jack gives the musicians a nod of greeting and speaks quietly to John. ‘You’re taken with those two? You’ve got good instincts. They’re people you can trust to make adequate distraction, and they never demand more than their share. But tonight, I’m thanking you for saving my neck, not working.’ He leads John on, slipping easily through the crush of bodies.

The air’s thick with voices calling, ‘Good Even,’ ‘How Now!’ ‘What do you?’ and just plain, ‘Black Jack!’

The words that leave Black Jack’s mouth in return are spring buds that blossom and sprinkle petals over everyone in the tavern. John wishes he could reach out, catch the flowers and keep them for himself. His chest feels squashed and every breath hurts.

Black Jack bends close to John’s ear. ‘It was a fine idea of yours to find a better place to eat. We’ve hit a lucky time: with so few people here, there’ll be plenty of food left for us to bargain over. We’ll get better fare at a cheaper price.’

John stares around, his breath quickening. So few people?

Jack cups John’s chin. ‘How’s it possible for your skin to become any whiter?’ He frowns. ‘Have you had a tiring day, my country girl?’ He straightens up and puts an arm around John. ‘I know what to do. We’ll celebrate being alive by spending the coin on a room, and we can eat there. It’s not my custom to rent a bed, but this is a special day. We’ve found each other, and how often do you meet a new friend?’

‘Never,’ John murmurs against his shoulder. ‘Never.’