“Leyawiin?” the Emperor muttered. “They are still restless under our rule.”

“Maybe it’s not someone restless under your rule, majesty. Maybe it’s someone who would prefer someone else inherit the throne.”

“My brother?” He massaged his head. “It’s not impossible. I do not like to think it.”

“Sire,” Vel said, “your brother did not hatch this plot. He is more than adequately surveiled.”

“He is perhaps more clever than you think,” Mede replied. “But lay that aside. If we find my son, we find our enemy. So I want him found.” He frowned and stroked his upper lip. “Captain Gulan was among the dead?”

“He was,” Vel replied.

“Is there any question regarding his identity?”

“No, sire,” Vel said. “He was killed by arrowshot, and his head was not taken. Sire, I know it isn’t easy to accept, but we must consider the possibility that the body we have is that of the prince, the inspector’s opinion notwithstanding. It is the right size and shape—”

“My son had a birthmark on his right side, just where the ribs end. I have seen the corpse; that portion of it is charred while other parts are not. Like the inspector, I find that too convenient. And it does not feel like Attrebus. So—I believe him alive. Someone has him. I want him found. Inspector, is there any indication of where the attackers went?”

“They broke into smaller parties and left in different directions. But I would look south for Attrebus, your highness.”

“And why is that, Inspector?”

“Because it is the only direction in which there were no tracks whatsoever, sire.”

The Emperor grunted and nodded. “Inspector, Intendant, Administrator,” he said, addressing the three, and left.

Vel waited a moment and followed him, shooting Colin an unpleasant look.

“That wasn’t the brightest thing you could have done,” Marall said.

“The Emperor asked my opinion,” Colin said. “Isn’t it my duty to give it?”

Marall sighed. “The Emperor doesn’t care if you get assigned to sewer cases for the rest of your life—or worse, sent to spy on Nords. It’s better if these things go up the chain of command. Now, Vel appears to be less well-informed than his most junior inspector.”

“I fully intended to follow that chain,” Colin said. “I came here believing Administrator Vel was going to hear my report. It isn’t my fault that the Emperor was present.”

Marall nodded. “You’re right, of course. It’s just your inexperience showing. You shouldn’t have so bluntly disagreed with a superior. There are more subtle ways to go about things.”

How subtle is a knife? Colin angrily thought, but then pushed that away.

“I’m still learning, sir.”

“If Attrebus is alive, and they find him on your counsel, you will gain the Emperor’s favor, and that will be a good thing for you. But if they do not find him, or if that body is him, then the Emperor will not think of you again. I advise you to keep as quiet as possible now, and find some way to come to Vel’s attention in a more positive way.”

“In that case,” Colin said, “I wonder if I could be reassigned?”

“Oh, I can guarantee that,” the intendant said. “Vel will put you under a rock. The only question is for how long.”

When he emerged from the palace, night had fallen and the sky blazed down upon the Imperial City. He was tired, but he wanted a walk and a pint. He needed to think.

He was missing something. He had an idea what it might be, and that went well with the stroll and the ale.

In Anvil, where he was born, darkness brought quiet to the city; people went home or to the pubs and taverns, but the streets were pretty empty.

Not so here, at least not in the Market District, which was his destination. The streets were crowded with trinket vendors and soothsayers, self-styled prophets of any daedra or Divine imaginable. Women, mostly comely ones, stood outside of alehouses, flirting to attract business, and there were others of both genders and all races flirting to sell somewhat different wares. Beggars choked the edges of walkways, and little stalls were turning out the enticing smell of roasted oysters, fried cheese, bread, skewered meats, and burnt sugarcane.

People wandered in crowds, as if afraid the city would swallow them up if they found themselves alone for long.

The Crown’s Hammer was off the main thoroughfare, around a corner and almost hidden in an alley. It was a half-timbered building, very old. He pushed his way in the front door.

The barkeep was a withered old fellow who favored Colin with a nod.

“You’re having?” he asked as he cleaned a mug with a rag that looked slightly dirtier than the container it was wiping out.

“Ale,” Colin said.

The man nodded, held the glass under the tap of a wooden keg and filled it with a rich, dark red liquid.

Colin paid for the drink and then found a table in a corner. He took a seat where he could see the door, and sipped at the ale. It was strong, sweet, and had just a taste of juniper, a Colovian Highland style now popular throughout western Cyrodiil, but hard to find here in the East.

The place was nearly empty when he came in, but it was starting to fill up now, because the patrol and the soldiers were changing shifts. The Hammer catered to Colovians, and Colovians in this part of the world were mostly military.

So he wasn’t surprised when Nial Sextius walked in, noticed him, and grinned.

“Colin, lad,” he said. “It’s been an age.”

“It’s good to see you, Nial,” he replied. “I was hoping you would be in tonight. Have a seat—let me buy you a drink.”

“Well, fine, if I can have the next round.”

When they were both looking over foam, Nial cracked his knuckles and settled his elbows on the table. He was a big man, thick in every dimension, with a ruddy, wind-worn complexion that made him look older, although he and Colin were of an age.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked. “It’s almost two years. I thought you’d left town.”

“No, just very busy,” Colin said.

Nial wagged a finger at him. “Come to think of it, you were a little thin on why you’re all the way over here last time we talked. Distracted me with that story about my sister.”

“Yah,” Colin said, taking a drink. “I—ah, work in the palace.”

Nial’s eyes widened. “And don’t I, too?” he asked. “So why haven’t I seen trace of you?”

“I’m in a different part of the palace, I guess. In the tower.”

“Doing what? Making ladies’ dresses?”

“Studying,” he said. “In school, as it were.”

“In school? But that—” He stopped, rolled his eyes and took a drink. Then he lowered his voice. “Ah, Colin, you’re one of them—you’re a specter, aren’t you?”

“I serve the Empire, same as you,” Colin said.

“Not the same as me,” Nial disagreed. “Col, why?”

“They offered me a way up, Nial. A way so my mam doesn’t have to work herself to death. I’m sorry if that doesn’t make sense to you.”

“Now, don’t get your back up, scruff,” Nial said. “I’m just surprised, is all. I don’t fancy most of your fellows, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

“I don’t fancy some of my fellows,” Colin said. “But I don’t fancy being judged either. If the Emperor didn’t think we mattered, we wouldn’t exist.”

“Fine, like I said,” Nial said. His voice dropped even lower. “So, see here,” he said. “Maybe you’d know, then. Is all this true about Prince Attrebus?”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard.”

“Heard he finally got himself—and all of his guard—murdered.”

“It looks like that,” Colin said. “Did you know any of them?”

“Yeah, a few. I thought about applying a few years back, but I didn’t think I could handle it, you know?”

“The danger, you mean?”

Nial grunted out a laugh. “That’s funny,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“You mean you’re a specter, and you don’t know about the prince?”