Are you enter, you notice a rather lively crowd engaged in their own revelry, but upon noticing you, the rooom grows unnervingly quiet. You stand your ground and try to understand why, one by one, the entire room seems to cease its activity to watch you. Nobody speaks and no pair of eyes leaves you for an instant as you walk to the bar and gesture for the short, rotund and nervous bartender to approach.
Before you utter a word, he speaks appeasingly, "Ah, you've returned. All's still in order. Room number eleven has been arranged as you asked," and holds a key out to you.
"What is this?" you begin to speak, referring to the key.
Misinterpreting your confusion for displeasure, the bartender grows even more solicitous. "Again, I apologize humbly for not having had the room prepared earlier."
As he speaks, his eyes dart anxiously behind you and in bewilderment, you follow his gaze to a table lying broken upon the floor across the room that you hadn't noticed before.
Quickly, the bartender continues, "I hope our kind visitor from will be better pleased with the accommodations this time." Submissively dropping his eyes down to the counter, the little man practically seems to stand in utter fear of you.
You ascend a steep and narrow wooden staircase in the back of the tavern to a dimly gas-lit second floor corridor. There are a dozen rooms for letting, each marked with a yellow-painted number from 1 to 12. The door marked 11 stands on the far end of the hall.
As if having followed you from the tavern, a young boy suddenly comes up to you from behind. With an air of self-importance that only a child entrusted with what he perceives to be an important mission could have, he announces: I bring you a message," and holds out a sealed letter to you.
You have reached a neat if rather small room in what you determine to be the northeast corner of the inn.