Mercor laid down his sack of possessions as far from the vomit as possible. He didn't have much, just some clothes and money. He pocketed his money and went back into the frigid rain to check on his cargo. He paid a stable boy who worked across the road from the inn to move the cargo to his room. Mercor usually detested pubs and was not a drinker but decided to visit the pub, if only to meet someone to whom he could sell his new "Plague Cure". He had ample amounts of it in the crates.

The pub was noisy and bustling with people who weren't afraid of the plague. One of them with a fighting air was staring at Mercor. Mercor sat himself down at a table far from the man, and quickly spotted someone in finer clothes than that of the rest sitting alone at a table. This man had to have money. Mercor went over and sat across from him. The man looked up from his drink quizzically. But then he looked pleased to have company.

"You heard of the plague?" asked the man.

"Er, yeah," Mercor said. He was confused: this was not the response he was expecting the man to have. But Mercor quickly composed himself.

"You have any family?" Mercor asked.

"Yeah, I have a son. Why?" The man responded.

Mercor began into his standard sales routine.

"You can protect him from the plague with my new…"

"Too late." The man interrupted.

"What?"

"It's too late, he already has the plague."

Mercor wasn't ready for this response.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear," he said.

The man then said, "You're a con man, yes?"

Detested, Mercor retorted, "I am a merchant. I do not cheat people out of money…"