A black coach stopped outside the tavern shortly after midnight.
It had not come by the main road. It emerged directly from the darkness of a side passage, as though the Dungeon itself had spat it out. Four black horses stopped as one, and tiny sparks flew from beneath their hooves. Steam rose from mouths lined with sharp teeth, even though the air in the passage was warm.
The coachman set down the reins.
He wore a long black coat, its surface glistening with drops of water from the deeper reaches of the Dungeon. A careful observer might also have noticed pieces of black armour beneath it, polished to a mirror sheen in the torchlight. He climbed down from the driver's box, retrieved a helmet from the seat and tucked it beneath one arm before heading into the tavern.
When he entered, several of the newer guests fell silent. The regulars did not even look up from their tables.
It was difficult not to notice that the helmet carried so casually beneath the coachman's arm also contained his head - something generally considered inseparable from the space between a man's shoulders.
The headless man crossed the room and took an empty stool at the bar. He placed his head on a clean black cushion that the goblin evidently kept there for this exact purpose, then rested the helmet on his knees. Meanwhile, the body pulled off its leather gloves and wearily stretched its stiff fingers.
Without waiting for an order, the goblin filled a tankard with mushroom beer and set it in front of the headless knight.
"Long shift?" the goblin asked casually.
"It was supposed to end three hours ago."
A hand attached to the headless body lifted the tankard and held it to the lips of its own head. The head drank deeply and closed its eyes in contentment. Not a single drop of beer was spilled in the process.
"We went to the northern crypt first," the knight continued. "Vlado said he only needed to take care of something quickly."
"How long did it take?"
"Six hours."
The goblin nodded sympathetically.
"Then he remembered that he was supposed to attend an execution at the Broken Tower. When we arrived, he discovered it was not until tomorrow."
"Well, time can be difficult to judge underground. Was he angry?"
"He had the organiser executed."
The goblin considered this for a moment.
"Why did they not simply move the execution forward by a day?"
"I said the same thing."
"And what did he say?"
The knight's head glanced towards the door.
"That coachmen are meant to hold reins, not opinions. You know what vampires are like. Once something has been written down, they insist on following it to the letter."
The body lifted the tankard again. This time the knight drank so deeply that a line of foam remained on his moustache.
A young adventurer at one of the tables was watching him. He tried to be discreet, but every time the body moved an arm without a head on its shoulders, the young man forgot to close his mouth.
The coachman's head was slowly turned towards him by body.
"Is there a problem?"
The young man immediately lowered his gaze.
"No."
"Good."
The head turned back towards the goblin.
The body set the empty tankard on the bar and pointed at the tap. The goblin refilled it without a word.
The coachman sighed.
It was a peculiar sound, considering that his lungs remained in the body seated on the other side of his head.
"One more for the road."
The goblin began pouring a third beer.
At that moment, the tavern door eased open by itself. A current of cold air slipped inside, and every candle flame bent in the same direction. For an instant, two red eyes appeared in the darkness of the coach.
The goblin stopped pouring.
The coachman's head frowned.
"I hate it when he does that."
The body rose before he could finish his drink. It pulled on its gloves and fastened the coat tightly around itself.
"Sit down," its own head ordered.
The body ignored it.
"We are on a break. It has been a long day," pleaded the head, still resting on its cushion.
The body caught it by the hair and lifted it from the bar.
"Traitor," the head snapped.
The headless body carefully returned the head to its helmet and tucked it beneath one arm. With the other hand, it placed two silver coins on the bar.
Then it added a third.
The head stared at its own hand in disbelief.
"Why are you tipping him? Vlado does not even reimburse us for maintaining the coach."
The body patted the goblin on the shoulder and headed for the door.
"I am beginning to lose touch with my own body," the head muttered.
"It happens," said the goblin.
The knight left the tavern, placed his head on the seat beside him and took up the reins once more. The black horses began moving before he could give the command.
The coach thundered away down the dark passage. The beat of its hooves could be heard for a long time afterwards.
The young adventurer finally lifted his disbelieving gaze from his tankard.
The goblin collected the coins from the bar and carefully returned the little black cushion to its chest.
"He did not even get a chance to eat. Again."
