The Threadneedle Cafe. All coffee shops in Essyrn had some degree of infamy - few establishments would so readily accept slaves as patrons - but the Threadneedle had its own thick atmosphere of intrigue.
Small windows high in the clay walls shut out the sun so the interior was lit by lamps in the rafters which did little more than emphasise shadow. The air was thick with pipe smoke and steam from the mugs and the tall silver coffee pots. It was barely possible to see more than a few metres - perhaps fortunate as the Threadneedle contained a complete cross-section of the fractious Essyrni society packed cheek-by-jowl.
A merchant prince lounged across a couch, fingers interlaced with those of his mistress across the table. Two stonemasons played backgammon, the better part of a day's wages laid out between them. Small time crooks fixed the price of tomorrow's bread. Most subversive though, the slaves, unveiled, sat and talked in corners or congregated standing near the door to the kitchen, their infringement of Essyrni law tacitly sanctioned.
In one of these corners, Yannis. He wore his face uncovered, the sheer veil in a scrunched wad by his side. He had a pinched look, thick black hair swept upwards and away from his forehead, thin lips pursed and dark eyes magnified behind his thick spectacles. Seldom at ease enough to recline, he perched on the edge of a couch, scrutinising a the grain of the table in front of him.
"Your pastry, love." The proprietor herself had come out to deliver the multi-layered, honey-covered confection. Yannis looked up, as though surprised to receive what he had just ordered.
"Ah, yes," he said, gathering himself. "Well. Can I put it on credit?" At this suggestion the matron of the Threadneedle threw back her head and cackled. Pausing for breath, she leaned down to rest a heavy hand on Yannis' shoulder (she did this much more often than he would have liked).
"Oh, Yannis. You are a one! Your credit has never been good here!" Some more barely controlled hooting. "Can't make exceptions, even for the Leaders of the Revolution!" More laughter, much much too loud.
Yannis looked about swiftly, flapping his hands at the landlady now wiping tears of mirth from the side of her eyes.
"Shh will you! It's not that funny. For heaven's sake, someone's going to hear you!"
