The Old Tenement

This old house looks like it might slide into the harbor at any moment. If this hostel ever had a proper name, no one remembers it. Those who stay here rarely have an interest in interrogating the ancient owner, who sits behind a small desk in the cramped entry. She makes no attempt to speak with her tenants, merely collecting their coin nightly.

Nearly a dozen rooms here play host to sailors down on their luck, criminals on the run, and those only one step above sleeping in the streets. The wind howls through the twisted planks, and the beds are little more than bales of straw covered in old canvas.