By the time that Sparrow arrived at the Cow and Corset, Reaver had gotten bored waiting at their table and had relocated himself to the games table. She could just barely see him through the crowd that was pressing in around the no doubt highs stakes game of spinnerbox. His laughter carried over the noise of the tavern and Sparrow decided to take a seat at the bar rather than pull him away from the game. She had his little purse of custom ammo tucked safely away in the top of her left boot so, should the game go poorly, the simple citizens of Bowerstone would not have to fear being shot through the eye.

"Glad to see you feeling better, Sparrow! Nasty weak ale they must 'ave up North, eh?" the bartender commented cheerfully. He was a stout man in his late forties, who had fed Sparrow and her sister scraps out of the kitchen when she was a child. When Sparrow bought the tavern she had remembered his kindness and left him in charge of the day to day running of the business (along with a nice raise).

"The ale is plenty strong up North, Barnard." Sparrow said with a friendly smile as she pulled a stool out from under the heavy oak bar. "But they call it mead and the women brew it from honey. Packs a wollop it does."

Barnard's salt and pepper eyebrows nearly touched his hairline as he repeated the young hero's words incredulously. "Brewed from honey by woman? Nay, say it's not so! Women, ye say? Honey?" he wiped at this bar fervently. "Preposterous!"

Sparrow rolled her eyes, Barnard was a good man but he still had rather strict views on what a man or woman could or could not do. Sparrow never asked him what he thought of her hero work. However, he couldn't be too opposed to it. Anytime something invaded the cellar, Barnard turned to Sparrow before the guards.

"I'll take a tea and any information you have on Alex, the bloke I was talking to last night?"

Barnard tucked his washcloth into his apron and nodded happily. "A sad one he is, Alex, lost his fiancé a few months back been seeing him less and less in here since." Barnard leaned over slightly to retrieve a mug and teapot from under the bar. He gave both a quick wipe with his cloth while Sparrow took in the information.

Sparrow leaned forward on the bar, "So he was regular customer before?"

"Aye, he was in here almost every night sittin where your pretty new friend is right now." Barnard stepped away from the counter to fill the teapot with hot water from the kettle on the fire.

Turning slowly, Sparrow looked back at the spinnerbox table. Fewer patrons were gathered around it now; most had drifted over to the band that was tuning on the terraced back corner of the tavern. She could see Reaver much more clearly now. His cheeks were flushed and his dark hair was perfect despite the number of time he seemed to be running a hand through it. He really was pretty and admitting that was nothing strange, Sparrow thought to herself, it was a simple fact. Reaver was an attractive man to anyone who likes dark haired and grey eyed men with exquisitely chiseled features. And I certainly don't, Sparrow thought, so let that be the end of that!

"Cream or sugar?" Barnard asked with a secretive smile. He had noticed Sparrow staring at her companion and Barnard liked to think he could recognize a smitten girl when he saw one.

"None thanks." Sparrow turned hastily away from the spectacle of the spinnerbox table. "So," Sparrow tested the tea with her finger, too hot, "a man who is a known gambler and drinker leaves his fiancé at the altar. She jumps off a cliff to her death and that's when he decides to cut back on his vices?" Sparrow idly ran her finger around the lip of the mug. "That doesn't sound like a man who has lost his true love to me. Most men'd dive deeper."

"And that's the puzzling bit 'cause his little beau had a fair amount of gold to her name. So why would he not marry her? She had enough to pay his debts and to start them off fresh."

"Then why would he not go through with it?" Sparrow wondered aloud, tapping the edge of her mug.

"Who not go through with what?"

Sparrow suppressed the surprise that ran through her at Reaver's voice sounding directly over her shoulder. She tested her tea again, forcing an aura of calm. "Alex not marry his intended. He would have been set for life if he had."

Reaver seated himself on the stool next to Sparrow; He turned so that he was facing her, one elbow resting on the bar and both feet on the floor ready to stand should there be trouble. "Well, your boy probably got in over his head. Like you are hero."

Sparrow raised her eyebrows incredulously but didn't reply right away, she had an idea. "Barnard? You think Alex loved the girl?"

The bartender thought her question over for a minute before nodding, "Aye that he did. Never touched a coin of hers but," here Barnard sighed dramatically as he picked up another glass to clean. "He loved the game more in the end I suppose."

Sparrow nodded excitedly, "You're right Reaver. Alex was in over his head, swimming in debt to the wrong people, and he tried to shield his fiancé from it. Jilted the poor soul."

Reaver looked at her curiously, "Do you think she was murdered?"

"She walked off that cliff herself." Sparrow lifted her mug to her lips and sipped the earthy liquid. She would have mentioned her own murder. Sparrow suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at that memory of the chatty ghost. The woman had seemed at once extremely overwrought at her ruined wedding and smug that she was such a talking point in the city. "But Alex won't if we don't help."

"Tis a reason we call it Poorman's Point." Barnard looked Sparrow straight in the eye. "Alex may be a slimy, penniless drunk but he's one of us. A Bowerstone man! Lucien shadows blight 'im, took enough from this town. Don't you give that Nickname gang more of a foothold, Sparrow."

"He is a rat. Best let him drown." Reaver shook his head. "Then he and his lovely can work out who hurt who more."

Sparrow lowered her eyes in thought. Alex, now there's a mess. He was a weak man certainly, but not an evil man and Sparrow couldn't justify abandoning him to Arfur. "No, we'll help him." Sparrow raised her eyes to meet Reaver's steely gaze. She could see the condemnation in his eyes, the inability to tolerate weakness in others. "Tonight, midnight at the clock tower. He'll be there and so will Arfur." Sparrow dropped a hand to the hidden pocket in the top of her boot. She pulled out Reaver's ammunition purse and pressed it against his chest. "Ready for some shooting practice?"