Thero palmed the tooth and closed his eyes. “He’s close, but not in this tavern.”

“Well, then, let’s enjoy our dinner and this fine beer.”

The turab was good, in fact, and so was the food, much to Thero’s amazement. Razor clams boiled with wine and herbs was the specialty of the house, and the floor was strewn with the long, narrow shells. They were a rarity in Skala, and seldom seen this time of year.

Rose came back with a few hot, spiced bread rolls for them in a napkin. Thero was impressed until he tore one open and found a few weevils baked inside among the raisins. Micum ate his share with relish, though, picking out the bugs without a care.

“Now then, Rosie my love, I wonder if you know a man I’m looking for?” asked Micum, pulling the woman into his lap again.

“What you wanting a man for when you got me?” she teased, then nodded at Thero. “Or him? He’s a bit on the stringy side, but I like his face. Does he always scowl like that?”

Micum laughed. “Most of the time, yes. And I’ll see to you later, but this fellow I’m after owes me money and I’ve a mind to collect.”

“Well, I know a lot of men,” she drawled coyly.

Micum reached into his purse and held up another coin. “The whoreson’s name is Notis.”

“That one!” She laughed and shook her dark curls. “By the Sailor, he’s a terror! Drinks himself silly, then pukes on the floor so he can drink some more. Wharit’s thrown him out half a dozen times, but he’s got the money to come back in when he sobers up.”

“That’s good news. I could use some of that good Plenimar coin in my pocket.”

“Then you’re out of luck, love,” she told him, then burst out laughing. “For all his money is ’faie, stamped with the Virésse seal, every penny of it.”

“Well now, I guess that spends just as good. How’s that tub coming along? And what do I have to do to get some soap with it?”

Rose was in good humor, it seemed, for all it cost was a kiss from Thero. She smelled of old beer and cooking smoke but he made a decent job of it and she pinched his cheek.

Micum gave him first go at the tub. It was splintery and in plain sight of the kitchen door, but he was anxious to show Micum he could act his part as well as the next man. He stripped off and climbed hastily into the tub while Micum sat on a barrel and smoked. As he soaped his hair, it occurred to him that he was being given a glimpse of the sort of life Micum and Seregil had shared all those years, out in the world, while his world had still extended little further than the Orëska gardens.

“I’m afraid I’m a poor substitute for him,” Thero said, knowing Micum would know whom he meant.

Micum smiled around his pipe stem. “You’re not so bad.”

Pleased, Thero ducked his head and climbed out to dry himself with the threadbare towel Rose had left for them. As he reluctantly pulled his dirty clothes back on, Micum took his turn in the tub. As he stripped, Thero looked sidelong at the numerous scars that covered the man’s body, including a thick rope of raised white flesh that wrapped around his chest to his hip. Seregil had many, too, and even Alec. He saw them as proof of the bond between the three-marks left by the lives they’d chosen.

Micum sank up to his chin in the water, pipe still clenched between his teeth. “That’s a long face. What’s the matter with you? I was only joking about Rose, you know.”

Caught out, Thero smiled and waved aside his concern. “Just worried about them. I’ll be happier when we find what we’re looking for.”

Notis did not make an appearance at the Serpent and Dragon that night, so Thero took the tooth in hand again and sighted for him along the dark, malodorous streets of the harbor front. They found him at last in a tavern on the far side, drinking with a handful of fellow Plenimarans and a couple of Zengat. None were dressed like soldiers, but they had that same hard, dangerous air about them, and they were all well armed. Among them was the man he’d seen. As he laughed with the man beside him, Thero saw the gap where he’d lost the tooth.

“Should we lure him outside?” he whispered to Micum. This place was even dirtier than the Serpent.

“No need,” Micum assured him, and walked right over to them. Thero hung back, sure he was about to witness a knifing, but Micum said something that made them all laugh, and before Thero knew it, they were all drinking together.

Since Notis was already drunk, and Micum was liberal in standing more rounds for them, he had no trouble loosening the man’s tongue. Micum started off arguing good-naturedly about horses with them, but somehow steered the conversation around to their trade.

Micum, whom Thero had never suspected of being such a consummate actor, pretended surprise when he heard what their business was. “What are you doing here, then? Aurënfaie don’t deal in flesh.”

“Shhhhh! We don’t bring that here,” Notis explained, leaning on Micum’s shoulder. “We carry the poor buggers to the Riga markets, then take on cargo for here. You get the money here, get more flesh and round and round we go! The khirnari don’t care, so long as we got no slaves aboard when we drop anchor here.”

“Is that the best port for it? Riga?”

“Unless we got something real special. That we take to Benshâl. Good money in Riga, but best money in Benshâl. The Overlord? I hear he’s got five hundred of the best in his private collection. And that’s just the bedders. All the household slaves? They got to be perfect, too. No marks ’cept for the brands. Especially on the face.”

“Not even what the clothes cover up?” asked Micum.

“Not even,” Notis assured him.

“Do you get many of those?”

“No, damn the luck! We’ve not been up that way for months. Just come back from Riga, though.” Notis slapped his purse down on the tabletop with a respectable jingle of coin.

“By the Flame, there must be good money in it,” Micum exclaimed, slurring a little now himself. “How’s a man get into that business, anyway?”

Eyes narrowed around the table at that. “You asking, Skala?”

“Do I sound like a Skalan to you?” Micum scoffed, offended. “I’m a northlander! No queens for me. No sir, I’m a free man, free to do as I please. And…” He paused and gave them a knowing wink. “Making money always pleases me. Only I’m wondering, if old Ulan knows the cargo you carry, why does he let your ships anywhere near his fai’thast, eh?”

A Zengat with a scar across the bridge of his nose leaned in and whispered, “That is because of the agreement.”

“What agreement?” Thero asked, speaking up at last.

Notis and the others went silent and suddenly all eyes were on Thero, and not looking too friendly.

“That’s a Skalan you’re with,” Notis growled.

“Him?” Micum jerked a thumb at Thero. “Don’t mind him. I met him on the ship coming over and he’s been buying the drinks. What do you say, Thorwin? You too proud to earn your living?”

It took Thero only a second to realize that he was Thorwin, and that a great deal rode on the proper response. “Since my father cast me out, I’ve made my own way just fine,” he shot back, trying to match the coarse, off-hand way Micum had been speaking. “One country’s silver spends the same as another’s, in my experience.”

The others stared at him a moment, then they all burst out laughing, and Micum with them.

Notis slapped Micum on the shoulder, rocking on the bench. “You got you a fine companion, friend. He talks like a priest, all stiff like a dead fish.” He stood and locked his arms at his sides, shuffling drunkenly from foot to foot, much to the amusement of his friends.

Why am I always compared to fish? Thero wondered, nonetheless relieved by this reaction.

“What sorts of things do you bring back over the water?” Micum asked, giving Thero a wink.

“Iron, copper, spirits mostly. This time we also bring back some ’faie.”