"Aye." Varandros Dyre looked at his younger daughter, so pale, dark hollows hooding her eyes. Her mother had looked just so, when the fever'd begun… "I'll hire a carriage."

She winced. "If it's all the same to you, Father, I'd rather walk."

It was past full dawn as Lark hurried down the street. She was late for work two days running, and Master Dyre wasn't one to dismiss that.

Her misadventure with Beldar Roaringhorn had kept her from her duties for too long, yesterday; by the time she'd reached the Dyres' it was locked and empty. Her employers must have been making their worksite rounds, and with the fire out and no food ready to hand, they'd likely take their evening meal out, perhaps even at the Notch.

So she'd gone to serve there at her appointed time, planning to arrive at the Dyres' very early the next morn, but her cheek was so bruised from Lord Roaringhorn's blow that she looked frightful. She'd lingered too long at her mirror trying to cover the damage with tinted unguent lent by a sympathetic highcoin lass at the rooming house.

Her face felt stiff and strange under the unfamiliar paint, but she strode through the Dyres' kitchen garden with her usual swift step. To her surprise, the buttery door was still locked. The kitchen door, the front entrance: locked tight, all. No smoke rose from the chimney, and no sounds came from within.

A strong hand descended on her shoulder and spun her around to face Her grim-faced master, with tearful Faendra at his side, her gaze fixed on the chimney.

Lark's heart sank. Every morning, Naoni rose before dawn to stoke the kitchen fire. By now she'd have a pot of broth or spiced cider simmering, and morningfeast would be bubbling and sizzling. The cold chimney proclaimed all too loudly that the mistress of hearth was absent.

Master Dyre's eyes were flint-hard. "Where's Naoni?"

Lark shook her head, swallowing. "I know not. The house's locked up tighter than a Calishite harem."

The rattle of an approaching coach rose behind them, and the hooves of its horses were slowing. Everyone turned.

They were in time to see Lord Korvaun Helmfast leap out, even before the coach had quite stopped.

Varandros Dyre stared in disbelief. The noble's blue gemcloak was gone, and his fine clothes were stiff with dried blood. As the horses snorted and pawed, Korvaun reached up to help someone alight from the coach-and Naoni Dyre's slender form and bright head suddenly filled its door.

Varandros Dyre growled something wordless and took a step forward, but by then Faendra had flung herself past him with a cry and thrown her arms around her sister, bursting into tears.

Naoni soothed her, murmuring reassurances and stroking her sister's hair as they rocked together in Faendra's tight embrace.

As Lord Taeros Hawkwinter emerged from the coach, Korvaun bowed to the glowering guildmaster. "Your daughter's unharmed, Master Dyre. I apologize for my rough appearance. We shared the misfortune of being locked inside the City of the Dead at nightfall, along with scores of others."

Varandros Dyre swallowed, swayed, went pale, and then blazed crimson again, all in a single breath. "She was locked in the Deadrest all night? With the likes of you?"

Korvaun's lips thinned, but his voice stayed calm, even respectful. "Something turned the usual crowd of mourners into a slaying mob; so fierce was the fighting that it threatened to spill out into the streets. Even the Guard and Watch together lacked time and swords enough to quell the fray before nightfall and… were forced into a hard decision. Many folk didn't survive; we're among the fortunate few."

Naoni gently slipped out of Faendra's arms and went to her father, who was now staring at her as if she were one of the Deadrest ghosts.

"Lord Helmfast came to my rescue," she told him, "saving me first from a man who tried to…" Her voice failed, but she drew in a deep breath and went on. "Then he fought for me against a band of armed men who attacked us in their madness. We… took refuge in one of the tombs. Korv-Lord Helmfast had a blessed talisman that kept the roaming spirits safely from us throughout the night. And he gave me this."

She pulled a fine dagger from her belt and held it up. Its sharp, clean blade glinted in the morning light.

"Lord Helmfast bade me use it if I felt he in any way threatened my honor. As you can see, I had no cause."

Varandros Dyre looked at Naoni's fierce face, at the bright-bladed dagger, and then back at the young noble. "It would seem," he said slowly, "I must again thank you for protecting my daughter."

Korvaun bowed again. "It was my pleasure as well as my duty, goodsir," he said quietly. "If it please you, might your daughters and I have a few private words with your maidservant? We're concerned about a friend of mine and believe she may know something helpful."

"Aye, that's always the way of it when trouble befalls. All the day long, folk'll be seeking each other out." Dyre seemed to shake himself and added briskly, "I should be off to see how many workmen remain to me."

Faendra caught at his sleeve. "Should we stay here, Father? Or go back to the inn?"

The guildmaster sighed heavily. "There's no truly safe place in this world, lass, and I'd rather have you both home than tossed about by mobs and spirits. I'll have some of my men bring your things back here." He started to stride off down the street, and then turned and gave Korvaun a nod that was almost a bow.

Leaving Lark facing several cool, measuring gazes.

She turned to Korvaun. "If your friend's named Roaringhorn, I'm not the one to guide you."

"Who better?" Faendra snapped. "Yestermorn, you and Lord Roaringhorn lingered in the club after we left. Since you didn't return here to see to highsunfeast and the cheesemaking, as you'd said you would, I'm thinking you might indeed have some notion of what befell him."

"None whatsoever. We exchanged words, yes, and that delayed me. When I got here, you'd all left already-for an inn, apparently."

Naoni frowned. "We should have left a note, but Father was in such a hurry…"

"Another building fell," Faendra explained. "The worksite on Redcloak Lane."

Lark winced, seeing quite well why Master Dyre had hauled away his daughters with such haste.

"You know nothing of Beldar?" pressed Taeros Hawkwinter. "We've not seen him since we departed the club."

Lark didn't have to feign anger. "I know not where he is, nor do I care!"

Plucking forth her ready-cloth from its belt pouch, she swiped most of the unguent from her cheek. Lifting her chin, she stared defiantly at Taeros and let him read what he would from her bruised face.

His expression grew grim. "Beldar?"

Lark nodded.

"Are you… otherwise unharmed?"

"I am, though I think you'll find your friend somewhat the worse for wear."

Korvaun sighed. "Beldar's not been himself of late. We're all grieving over Malark, but…"

"When it seemed you went off with him…" Naoni murmured.

"After all that talk about Elaith Craulnober," Faendra added tearfully, and then threw her arms around the maid. "Oh, Lark, I'm so sorry!"

"It… matters not," Lark replied, patting her younger mistress awkwardly on the back before disentangling herself from the embrace. "You were right to be cautious. I take no offense, and only hope your minds are at ease."

Faendra nodded happily, but Naoni… glowed.

Lark looked at that smiling face. Then her elder mistress moved her hand, and Lark saw the glint of gold on one finger.

Gods above! No good can come of this. She glanced at Korvaun, and what she saw there did not put her mind at ease.

"One matter remains unresolved," Korvaun said carefully. "It appears Lord Hawkwinter here has lost a silver charm on a neck-chain. Lark, know you anything of this?"