“So yer lookin’ fer someplace you an’ yer mates can discuss business in private, eh?” The man’s weatherbeaten skin and devilish eyes scream pirate, but since you are in a ‘civilized’ tavern with a group of navy soldiers nearby, you decide not to ask.
The old salt chuckles, “Y’ don’t have t’ say a word. Sometimes a man just wants a quiet place to enjoy a few hands of cards without any bilge rats wandering in aye? Or maybe yer guild be needin’ a place t’ socialize wit’out any outsiders stoppin’ by. Doesn't matter t’ me. But if y’ be needin’ such a place, all you have to do is tell a lookout that y’ want to go to the , an’ he’ll take y’ there quick as a whistle. They’ve got tables set up where y’ can play and at yer leisure.”
“It ain’t on any map an’ y’ can’t just walk in, but once yer in, y’ can call yer mates right over. It’s right cozy, be a good place fer celebratin’ profitable ventures.” The old man picks up his bottle, finds it empty and cracks a smile, “only downside is they ain’t got in infinite supply o’ rum like in a tavern, ye’ll have t’ bring yer own!”