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The gamblers are enraged that their privacy has been invaded. They crowd in on you, demanding an explanation, but you push them aside and leave the room without uttering a word. At the bottom of the gallery stairs you are met by an excited throng of people, still shocked and angered by Smudd’s murder. Some openly blame you and attempt to stop you from leaving. By the time you have forced your way across the taproom to the doors of the inn, your face is bleeding and your body is bruised from their kicks and punches.
You stumble out into the street and, as you turn towards the stables to go and retrieve your horse, your eagle-eyes catch a glimpse of movement on a second storey balcony. It is the archer you saw a few minutes ago, the man in black who fled from the gallery. With bated breath you watch as he climbs onto the balcony rail and leaps across the narrow street onto the roof of the building opposite.