"Maybe they are asleep," Bastien says, letting the weight of the bags bend him forward for a moment before he hoists them cheerfully over his shoulder. "Maybe Monsieur l'aubergiste hates money. Or he has already laundered the bedding for the season."

He smiles at the innkeeper as if this is a joke he is included in. Behind it, he considers steps beyond preventing Richard—who'd have thought?—from potentially making a scene. Considers Maccio Vasari, passed out and snoring in his suite.

"Come on. I know somewhere. And you cannot get much wetter."