"You're late," the waiter says with a disapproving tone to the boy who has just arrived. "Sorry!" He is breathing hard in his haste. Inric listens to the pitch and emphasis of their words, trying to pick up the ebb and flow of speech along with unfamiliar words to look up later. "A melys bun for the guest, please," the waiter says. "And two coffees!" Another man has arrived, dressed similarly to the boy in a long dark tunic. "I don't see any more customers," the boy says, his face and voice snide. "No, they're both for me!" the new arrival says, walking past the boy and ignoring the glare.