The young lord grimaced at the sound of his Changed name. “I told you not to call me that.”

“Of course, I must have forgotten. Old age is setting in, you know.” Sirach mumbled, as he put the cup he’d been washing away.

“At your age- old has come and gone, my friend.” Lukas forced a laugh but it sounded false in the empty room.

Sirach merely nodded before digging a wrist-sized key ring out of the pocket of his shabby coat. Six large keys dangled like dissimilar wind chimes. The old man’s fingers manipulated them like a musician until he found one he wanted. It was large and black, worn with nicks and scratches, the bow of which had been smithed into a clover with four leaves. Carefully, he threaded it off the key ring and slid it on the bar to Lukas. The heavy metal made a rasping sound against the wood.

Lukas eyed it dubiously. “That’s not my usual room.”

“You’ve a good memory, M’lord. There was- an accident there. Nothing that should trouble you, but I couldn’t possibly let you sleep in there tonight.”