The Oathtakers turned at the end of the street. They rode past a newsboy who cried out the headlines from the daily fliers. Then, after making their way around carriages, people on horseback, and those on foot, they arrived at a small, weathered inn. Unattached to the buildings at its sides, it stood a mere two stories high. Though old, someone clearly maintained it well. From another, even smaller building tucked behind it, horses and carriages came and went. A large oak grew in the front yard, partially concealing from view, a sign hung above the front door that read: The Clandest Inn.
“I love the name of this place!” Jerrett exclaimed with a smile, as the sign came fully into view.
Marshall looked up. “Yes, ‘The Clandest Inn’ is the perfect name for a spymaster’s place.”
When they arrived at the stables, the men dismounted. They handed their reins to the stable boys, whose hair and clothing was mottled with hay dust. After watching the youths walk the horses into the stables, they made their way to the front door.
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