After nearly a day of travel Vasil and I arrived in Lipova.

  Phisto had chosen to stay at the cathedral, of course. He seemed to have taken a real liking to the place, but most of all he was lazy. Now that Vasil was with me I think he felt that he had a good excuse to do even less than usual.

  Travel was surprisingly smooth. Vasil seemed to know the swamp well, and with him navigating it almost felt straightforward. Of course I didn’t need him to navigate (since I knew exactly where I was at all times), it was just more convenient to have someone else take the lead for a change.

  The town was exactly as Vasil had described it. Small. With wooden houses radiating outward from the central square. The square itself wasn’t much either—it really was just an open patch of flat dirt with a wooden church, a well and an inn. There were no shops or stalls I could see. There also didn’t seem to be too many people around.

  I was still wearing the dress, now with the cloak I’d borrowed over it. I was also wearing my sandals and had hoped to acquire some boots here. Since there wasn’t anyone around, it looked like boots would have to wait.

  I adjusted the cloak and looked at Vasil. “If this place doesn’t have food, I’m eating you.”

  He gave me a look I had come to recognize as the I genuinely can’t tell if you’re joking look.

  “I’m joking,” I added. (Mostly.)

  We crossed the square and headed straight for the inn. There was a small wooden sign hanging over the door. It said “Inn.” Very creative.

  Before I even reached the door I could already smell cooked meat. Actual meat. I inhaled deeply and didn’t detect even the slightest hint of fish. This was going to be good.

  “Well,” I said. “Looks like you’re safe for another day.”

  Vasil didn’t look relieved. “You should be more concerned about your own safety. Don’t do anything impulsive when we’re inside.”

  “Why would I? I never do,” I scoffed.

  I leaned down and opened my satchel. “In you go. Wouldn’t want people thinking I’m some kind of weirdo who walks around with a frog.”

  Vasil didn’t argue and hopped inside.

  With Vasil safely in my satchel I felt confident that I wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention. Cheerfully I pushed open the door and walked in.

  The inn was small. One room with a long wooden table in the center and a hearth against the far wall. A pot hung over the fire, and the meaty stew smell made my mood even better. I looked around, but didn’t see any roasted meat. Unfortunate, but the stew would do.

  There was no counter or bar area, just the room and the table. Functional.

  A few people were inside. They looked up when I walked in, stared a moment, then went back to eating, occasionally sneaking glances at me. I suppose they didn’t see many outsiders here. At least none of them looked like they were going to kill me.

  The person tending the pot glanced over. His hair was cut short, and his beard looked like he had given up halfway through shaving it.

  “Morning,” he said.

  “What’s on the menu,” I asked.

  He pointed at the pot. “Sit. Dorota will bring you some.”

  Good. Direct. No pointless questions. I liked this place already.

  I sat at the nearest open space at the table. I had almost forgotten what civilization was like. Even something as basic as this was a welcome change from the swamp. Vasil peeked out of the satchel, just enough to see.

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  A girl walked over to the pot—blonde hair, blue eyes (of course). She filled a bowl with stew. As she walked past the table, one of the men reached out and slapped her behind. She flinched, embarrassed, but kept moving.

  "Looking good today, Dorota," he said, grinning proudly at his friends.

  I grumbled.

  “Let it go,” Vasil whispered.

  The man leaned back in his chair, satisfied with himself. He reminded me of a fatter, poorly groomed Menandros with blonde hair.

  Dorota brought the bowl over and set it in front of me. She gave me a small, tired smile.

  "Thank you, Dorota," I said.

  She nodded and turned to walk back to the pot. That's when the man reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her down into his lap.

  “Bartek, please don’t,” Dorota said, trying to pull away. The man—who was apparently named Bartek—laughed. His friends laughed. The innkeeper looked away.

  "For fuck's sake," I muttered.

  Vasil sighed. "Hecate—"

  "Hey!" I called out.

  Bartek looked over at me, still grinning.

  "You feel like a real big man, grabbing someone half your size like that? Someone who can't fight back?"

  His grin faded slightly.

  "Why don't you try that with someone your own size?"

  He pushed Dorota to the ground and stood up, walking over to me.

  The man's breasts looked like socks filled with potatoes and swung slowly as he moved. What the fuck. I didn't understand the physics of this, and found myself slightly disturbed as the hypnotic penduluminously swinging continued even after he had stopped moving.

  "Someone like you?" he said, looming over me.

  I looked up at him. "Look at yourself, man. You're at least three times my size. Your tits are even bigger than mine."

  His friends laughed. He didn't think it was funny.

  "What's with the eyes?" he asked, leaning closer.

  "I'm blind," I said, moving my arms around like I thought a blind person would.

  "How can you see my 'tits' then?"

  "I can't. I just heard them slapping against each other."

  The friends laughed again. Louder this time.

  "How many fingers am I putting up?" He held up his hand.

  "Twelve?"

  "Is this bitch fucking with me?" He looked back at his friends, then turned back to me and narrowed his eyes. "How come you're not bumping into things then?"

  "Echolocation," I said. "Ee ee ee. See?" I gave him a nod.

  He thought for a moment, trying to work out whether I was mocking him. He decided I was. “You better watch yourself.”

  I shook my head solemnly. “I wish I could. I heard I’m quite the looker. Unfortunately, as I told you before, I’m blind.”

  He raised his fist. “Enough of this shit!”

  I mock-gasped. "You wouldn't hit a girl, would you?"

  He grinned. "I would."

  "You wouldn't hit a blind girl, would you?"

  "I would."

  “Yeah. I thought you might. Not this girl, though,” I said as I activated [Clean Entry] and shot him right between the eyes.

  The bear totem's extra damage ripped his head away so violently it surprised even me. One moment he was there, grinning. The next, his body was falling backward and his head was everywhere—in my stew, on the table, and it had even reached part of the back wall. My dress was still clean.

  “Could I have another bowl of stew, please?” I asked. “This one appears to have bits of Bartek in it.”

  Everyone in the inn stared at me.

  The innkeeper's mouth hung open. Dorota was still on the floor, frozen. The dead man's friends looked between me and the headless corpse, calculating whether to fight me or run. One of them started to get up.

  I put my revolver on the table. “No one leaves until I’m done eating.”

  He froze with one foot up. His friends looked at him, then at me, then at the body, then at each other. You could see the math running in their heads: fight me and die, run and be cowards (and maybe also die), stay and possibly live. They stayed.

  "I told you to let it go," Vasil mumbled from the satchel.

  "I did let it go," I said. "Right through his skull."

  Vasil sighed.

  Dorota slowly got to her feet. She looked at me, then at the body, then back at me. She walked to the pot with shaky hands, filled a new bowl, and brought it over.

  "Thank you," she said quietly as she set it down.

  "You're very welcome," I said, cheerfully picking up my spoon.

  I took a bite. The stew was good. Really good. Actual meat, actual vegetables, seasoned properly. I let out a satisfied "Ahhh."

  "This is great stew," I told the innkeeper with my mouth full.

  He nodded stiffly, still staring. Everyone else was still frozen, terrified.

  “What’s with the faces?” I asked. “You’re all acting like someone died in here.” I chuckled at my clever joke.

  Everyone just kept staring. Guess they didn’t have a sense of humor around these parts.

  I sighed. "Does anyone know where I can buy boots?"

  One man pointed toward the door without looking up. His hand was shaking.

  I raised an eyebrow. “The door is selling boots?”

  "O-outside," he stammered. "Cobbler. Down the street. The house with the sign that says ‘Shoes’."

  “Good. Love the way you name things around here, it leaves little to the imagination.” I set the bowl down. “Compliments to the chef.”

  No one replied. That was fine.

  I got up and dropped a copper coin on the table. A small chunk of Bartek on my shoulder caught my eye. I flicked it off.

  “Gentlemen, it’s been a real pleasure. I’d love to stay, but I have things to do. Be nice to Dorota now. I won’t be as gentle with the next guy as I was with old Bartek over there.”

  I made finger guns with both hands. “Pow pow!” I laughed. They didn’t seem to think it was funny. Tough crowd.

  “What the fuck.” I heard Vasil say from the satchel.

  I patted the side. “Let’s go get me some boots.”

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