((Sorry, Chevron, but the spy's going to say something else. Hope it's OK.))
As slowly as she dared, Per'dra withdrew the two blades from around the spy's neck. She stood under the spell of the Elf's words, even though she was not actually bewitched or enchanted at all. She was simply caught off guard, and stunned by how contemptuous he suddenly seemed. "I--if I have erred, I shall pay for it," the Bard replied, "but how did I 'slip', as you put it?" A name echoed in her mind: V'toryv. You were not to reveal her. After a long pause, the Bard nodded. "Now I see."
"WHAT do you see, you bird-brained wench?!?" cried the drunken man who had first called for the spy's interrogation. "Why did you just lower your swords? The fool was going to blab, and now you've gone and removed two blades from both sides of his neck! If I were you, I'd pummel him--" Rushing forward, the middle-aged barfly, surprisingly spry for his sixty years, prepared to sock Velor in the jaw. However, Per'dra saw it and blocked his path expertly. "G'out of my sodding way, before I decide to punch you!" When she did not do so, the drunken man lowered his head and charged.
However, his head smashed not into Per'dra's stomach, but the rock-hard one of Meara. The barkeep had come out of nowhere to the rescue, and as soon as she had the thin old coot in a chokehold, she hurled him straight out the door! He landed with a thud in the dusty streets outside, and to make matters worse, he'd also landed in a pile of horse dung. The patrons laughed!
"Y--you idiots," rasped the spy. "You only have hours to live, 'ere we come..."