A hooded figure strode along briskly, soft cowskin shoes barely making any sound even on the loosely pebbled pathways. He was rather slender and about a head shorter than the average man. A boy perhaps, possibly in his teenage years. His gait however, was hardly that of a foolhardy, carefree youngster. His hands held the edges of his cloak close to his other garments, which were flowing almost all the way to the floor. Occasionally one hand would reach up and pull its cowl ever lower over his face, making his features unfathomable. The only proof that a living person resided in that grey shadowy walking pile of clothing was the hooded figure's periodic breaths, which condensed in the chilly night air shortly after escaping the pitch dark recesses of his cowl.
It soon appeared that he had arrived at his intended destination. The mysterious young man swerved off the main path onto a narrow cobbled walkway. Raising his head slightly at the slowly swaying, creaking sign above the door of an inn depicting a mug of beer, he nodded to himself and approached. He paused momentarily at the heavy oaken door and peered about hastily before sticking an arm out and pushing the door open, releasing the ruckus of semi-drunken revelry into the dark, empty street. The door closed swiftly and silently, the shafts of lamp light emanating from the doorway thinning and warping before disappearing altogether. Soon, all had faded to black and the night was quiet again.
The hooded figure glided through the mass of burly drinkers, toppled chairs and half- filled mugs in a most ghost-like fashion, materialising at the opposite end untouched and unstained. He seated himself at a small round table across another man who was wearing a brown cape and cowl. Presently, he was dissecting a steak with his long thin dagger. Upon the arrival of the grey figure, he delivered some steak to his sharp, yellow teeth and pulled the dagger back out, producing a shrill metallic ring. Violently sticking the rest of the steak clear through with the dagger, he pushed the plate aside and hissed through his teeth,
"You're late."
His testy monologue and dramatic pause garnering no response from the grey figure, he reached into a packet and produced a pipe, some leaf and a weathered deck of cards. The two played cards for several minutes, unspeaking, leaning over the table and straining to see in the flickering lamp light. The smoke billowing from the brown figure's lips further obscured their activities.
Finally, the figure in grey pushed two gold coins across the table and flicked the fingers of his right hand, indicating that he had lost the game, and their unspoken bet. The brown figure nodded slightly and accepted the coins. The grey figure got up to leave, but was stayed, "wait." Using his middle and index finger, the victor conveyedan upside down card which slid smoothly over the table surface. Stopping the card with a finger, the grey figure peeled the card off the table. The king of spades stared at him solemnly, wearing his black crown and weilding a black sword, expressionless behind his thick black beard. Behind his self-imposed, impenetrable veil of darkness, the grey figure's eyes narrowed. Turning on his heels, he melted into the crowd, the king in his hand disappearing with a flick of his wrist.
"Better luck next time," the brown figure grunted.