Customers recently reported that the tavern is so dim. “There’s just no light in here!” said tavern patron Elizabeth Williams, squinting to see the outline of her tin cup of ale. “I can barely make out the barkeep, and I can’t tell whether the weary travelers who entered a fortnight ago are the ones sounding with merry laughter. I can’t even see if it’s the blacksmith and his wife over by the barrels of mead, or if it’s the cobbler and his wife. Heavens, would it kill the proprietor to gather a few more candles? I certainly know he has enough of a relationship with the wickmaker to strike a convenient barter.” At press time, the tavern patrons were scorning a local wench.

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