The tea is brought by a tall, elderly waiter with a gentle manner - quite different from the bouncy excitable young woman who had spoken so fast.
"Your tea," the waiter says.
"Might I suggest a melys bun? They are very good."
"Thank you," Inric says again, guessing that had been a reference to food.
"Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"Yes, please," Inric says, more than ready to take advantage of the offer. He has his pen and paper ready. "What is the 'convocation'?"
"It is the year-long meeting of the Wizards' Guild," the waiter says, and Inric makes notes of the meaning and the other words he does not recognise. "This year it is being held in Rhydaber."