Ropati’s mouth pushed to the side as he maneuvered through the crowd like a fish in its school. A large fish, but a fish nonetheless.

It was quite noisy here. The sound of Ropati’s voice was distinct, on the lower side of medium, but the words were not quite sharp enough to carry consistently over the louder drinking crowds.

“Kemble? What’s his first name?”

Actually, unless he was the posh fellow with the cross whose beverage preferences were ‘drunk, fast’ with the occasional cheap wine chaser, he was almost certain he did not sell to a Kemble of religious nature. Nevertheless, he did not offer that.

The church’s peaked tower was coming into view some blocks down.