Perhaps guessing his mood, Josey asked, "What do we do now?"

The foggy street stretched before them into the gloom. "Back to Low Town."

"The brothel again?"

The note of indignation in her voice made him smile despite the fierce throbbing in his side. Already acting the part of a princess.

"Not yet. I want to stop by my place first and pick up some things, a change of clothes."

"Wait." She stopped, which forced him to halt as well or leave her behind, something he wasn't willing to do.

"I need your help." She straightened her shoulders and faced him. "I want you to help me track down those responsible for the death of my father… and my real family. I need you to help me punish them."

Determination burned in her gaze. So much like his own, it gave him pause.

"You mean kill them."

"I mean do whatever it takes. Whoever is behind this has taken everything from me. My father. My home. My whole life. I want them dead. Help me, and all I have is yours."

He forced a laugh, although it came out as more of a croak. "You're wearing borrowed clothes under a borrowed jacket. Any wealth your father possessed has probably been seized by the city. You're poorer than me."

"What do you want?"

He stepped closer. A look of uncertainty crept into her highborn features, but she held her ground. His mouth remembered the taste of her kiss. "How about a full pardon?"

Her smile returned. "We can negotiate that."

"It's negotiable?"

She took his arm as he steered her toward Low Town. "Everything's negotiable, Caim. But you know what this means, right?"

"What?" he asked, suddenly wary.

"It means you're fighting for a cause."

Caim didn't reply, but let those words drift inside his skull for a while. Neither of them spoke on the long walk out of High Town. He figured they both had enough to occupy their minds. Gods knew he did. The thing in the cellar prowled through his mind like a bad dream. What the hell was it, and why did it keep appearing to him? More important, how could he get rid of it? The questions dogged him all the way back across the Processional.

Caim smelled trouble before they reached the Gutters. It smelled like smoke, and blood. A commotion stirred in the streets ahead. He pushed ahead of Josey as a throng of men poured out of a side street. Brandishing lanterns and makeshift weapons, they vanished down another lane. Their shouts echoed off the house fronts and rose into the night.

"Death to the prelate!"

"Swords rise for freedom!"

The crowd took up the chant as they marched off into the night. Caim started forward, but Josey dragged him to a stop. "What if we went to the palace instead?"

"Are you crazy?"

"If I announce myself, who I am, the people may rally behind my claim. A lot of bloodshed could be avoided."

"Or you might be seized and bundled away before anyone hears your claim. It's suicide. Look, you said it yourself. The ones in power don't play by any rules but their own. We've got to be smart about this. I don't know much about politics, but even if the prelate and the Elector Council vanish overnight, someone else will seize the reins. And they aren't likely to hand them over to anyone without a fight."

She tapped her chin with a chipped fingernail, but didn't argue. For that, he was infinitely thankful. He didn't have the energy for any more fighting tonight. He just wanted to get home and crash in his own bed for a few hours. Everything would look different in the morning.

They turned off Hooper Street and halted in their tracks. The end of the block was engulfed in an inferno. Towering flames licked at the night sky and cast off swarms of burning cinders. Maybe they had come down the wrong street. He searched for landmarks. No, this was it.

"Is that…?" Josey asked.

"Yes."

His apartment building was burning down.

A crowd of people milled about in front and watched the conflagration. Some sobbed; others stood enraptured as the towering flames licked at the underbelly of the night sky. A firefighting brigade was on the scene, but their efforts, though valiant, were useless. Unable to stop the blaze, they concentrated on keeping the fire contained.

Calm's fists quivered. This wasn't an accident. Even though the rickety building had been a disaster waiting to happen, the timing was too convenient. This was a message aimed at him. We know where you live, and we can reach you any time we want.

He wanted to stab someone, to fight something tangible. Instead, he stood with the rest and watched the immolation of the place he had called home for the past three years. He glanced at the faces reflected in the firelight. It had been a mistake to come here. Just like the mansion. Their enemies were a step ahead of them, looming at the end of every path they took. He had to do something unexpected, change his patterns. Otherwise, sooner or later, he was going to get them both killed.

Then he saw her.

The little girl sat at the edge of the crowd, her thin legs drawn up under her tattered smock of a dress. Tears carved pale lines down the mask of soot and grime plastering her delicate features. By her feet, a heap of charred corpses were stacked under a grubby tarp like so much cordwood.

A man stumbled out of the crowd. Unshaven, bloated, bleary-eyed, he staggered over to the girl. With a snarl, he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her upright. Her father, her uncle, her mother's pimp-it didn't matter. Something unhinged inside Caim. He crossed the distance in three strides. An open-handed blow to the wrist broke the man's grip on the child; a clout above the ear with a knife pommel put him down. Some people in the crowd turned to watch, but Caim didn't care. Ignoring the pain in his side, he bent over the fallen man and put the point of the blade to his throat.

The hand holding the knife quivered, just a little, but to Caim it was like the tremor of an earthquake. His emotions were raging out of control. He wanted to kill so badly he could do it without thinking, without caring.

A pair of small arms tugged at his leg. Caim looked down into a pair of wide brown eyes, and he remembered the night, long ago, when he had watched his father die.

Go ahead, hero. Destroy her world, too.

He put away his knives and picked her up. She squirmed for a moment, but then buried her face into his shoulder with a shudder.

"Shhhh," he whispered. "It's over."

Josey waited for him at the end of the lot. She didn't say anything as he carried the child away from the burning building. Together they walked the narrow streets of Low Town, three ghosts alone in the night.

CHAPTER TWENTY

aim drew the suete blade across the smooth river stone. Steel whispered along the grains of the stone, turned over, and came back in the opposite direction. When the edge shimmered like foxfire over the moors on a cool summer evening, he put it away and started on the other knife.

The girl's name was Angela. She sat at a table in Madam Sanya's kitchen, fast asleep beside a half-empty bowl of apple slices and clotted cream. Cleaned up and wearing a fresh smock, she looked a damned sight better than the waif they had found outside his ruined apartment building.

Madam Sanya crossed the kitchen in her nightgown to hand him a cup of warm tea. "Sure, she's welcome to stay here, Caim. It's no bother. I've had a gaggle of little ones running through this house before, and our business being what it is, I gather I'll see more before they put me in the ground. That is, if I can stay in business."

Caim accept the cup with a nod. "Getting bad?"

"As bad as I've ever seen. Parnipos came by today with news. Seems some citizens tried to stop a band of Flagellants from burning down a tavern on Rye Street. Just everyday folk, but they had the Beaters hemmed in tight until the Brotherhood arrived. Fourteen dead, all told. The bells on Septon's Chapel have been ringing all afternoon, and now there's talk that the holy prelate has died, God rest his soul." She drew a circle over her breast. "We've gotten more people at the door looking for a safe place to hide than actual customers these past few days, but things will look up."