Ah. Fair enough. He knows hers. Or part of it anyway - enough to do the work he'd been hired to do in any case, and beyond that he doesn't much care what other names she might go by. Not that fairness has anything to do with it. Down here in the dark especially, her knowing his name can bring no trouble.

"Ricart. Marcoulf, if you prefer it." It's a strange, lopsided name which huffs out from behind the teeth in his heavily accented trade tongue. Hangs heavy in the mouth and not at all in the darkness closing in around them as he leads the way gingerly down into the narrow cavern with the torch held high enough to light her way as well as his.

"What else would you like to know?" Best to deal with whatever questions she has (and she must have some) now while he still has the patience for it.