Two others already lay in the mud in front of the younger man. Years of practice against the likes of Seregil and Micum Cavish had made a good swordsman of him, very nearly Seregil’s equal these days. But he was still fighting two at once and being driven back. Beyond them, more men were coming, attracted by the sound of the fight.

“Shit!” Seregil hissed between clenched teeth. “Run!”

And they ran, as fast as the mud allowed. They were both good at this, too. Dodging nimbly between shacks at random, they quickly left their pursuers behind.

“Bilairy’s Balls!” Alec gasped as they took cover in a deserted shanty and collapsed side by side against a wall, panting. Looking Seregil over, he let out a short laugh. “You’re a mess.”

Indeed he was, covered in mud and blood, and Alec wasn’t much better. Seregil wiped his hands on his muddy jerkin in a futile effort to clean off the worst of it. Alec had managed to avoid the mud, but his left shoulder was covered in blood. Blood that was running down to stain the arm of his filthy tunic. Too much of it.

Seregil pulled the oilskin cloak away from Alec’s shoulder and found the sleeve of his tunic cut open just below the seam, along with the flesh underneath. It was a shallow cut, fortunately, but it was still bleeding.

“It’s just a scratch, Seregil.”

“A bleeding scratch. Come on.”

The cleanest thing they had for a bandage was the scarf holding down Seregil’s hat. Somehow that had stayed free of mud. Seregil wrapped it tightly around Alec’s arm and tied it. “That takes care of that, but you’re still a bloody mess.”

“I’m fine,” Alec insisted, standing up. “As long as I keep my cloak on, no one will see. You, on the other hand-”

“Look like I live here now.” Seregil ripped a piece from the tail of his shirt to try to wipe away the worst of it.

They hunted a few hours more, but had no luck. As shadows began to lengthen across the slum they made their way back to the gate and headed for the Stag and Otter.

Ema and Tomin were in the steamy kitchen, helping the girls get the evening meal ready.

“I just scrubbed that floor!” Ema complained as they came in, dripping rain and mud.

“Sorry.” Seregil untied his cloak and tossed it onto the woodpile by the door.

“What happened to-” Tomin broke off, knowing better than to ask any questions. “Do you want the tub filled?”

“The sooner, the better!” Seregil exclaimed wearily, pulling off his sodden, cracked old shoes. “Alec, you stay here and have Tomin look at your arm. I’ll go fetch some clothes.”

Alec’s wound didn’t need stitching, so Tomin cleaned and dressed it with stinging horse salve and wrapped it in clean linen.

Leaving their filthy clothing for Ema to deal with, they washed and went up to their rooms. It was early dark and raining hard again, but the air was still too muggy for a fire. Everything in the room felt damp.

“I’d say it’s pretty clear that the raven people have something to do with the sickness,” said Alec, sitting down in his accustomed chair by the empty hearth to comb the knots from his wet hair.

“Yes, I think we can assume that.” Seregil stretched out on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. Ruetha appeared from under the sofa and curled up between his bare feet, purring as she began to wash. “How they’re causing it is the next

question, and why? It’s not like they’re gaining anything of value for their trades, except to hurt someone else.”

“But the hair? Whoever these raven folk are, they could be using some sort of necromancy on whatever they’ve traded.”

Seregil raised an eyebrow as he considered this. “Or something like it. It’s interesting, this trading. What does that suggest to you?”

“That something stolen won’t work? That it has to be freely given?”

“Exactly. And the fact that the old woman could get close enough to those slum children to trade with them when we couldn’t means that she and whatever other folk of her tribe there are around aren’t seen as threats or outsiders by those they trade with. Our little friend who led us into the ambush pegged us as outsiders, and knew better than to get within arm’s reach of two strange men.”

“But an old woman would seem safe enough. We have to go back! Myrhichia-”

“I know, tali, but there’s nothing more we can do tonight. We’ll start again early tomorrow. And this time as something more harmless in appearance. We need to get our hands on some of those traded items.”

“We can’t just-just relax!” Alec exclaimed. “There must be something we can do tonight. A week at the most. That’s what that drysian woman down below said.”

Seregil sighed and sat up. “Hand me my boots.”

It was not late when they arrived at the Oreska, but they found Thero in his dressing gown.

The wizard frowned as he let them in. “How is it you always know when I’m about to finally get some sleep?”

“The sleeping death has struck in the Ring, and the Street of Lights,” Seregil told him, brushing past. “It’s Myrhichia.”

The wizard sank down on a stool by one of the workbenches. “I’m so sorry!”

“We think we may have found something about the sleeping death. There are strange beggar folk trading with people in the Ring and Lower City,” Alec told him. “People there call them the raven folk.”

“Given their taste in trades,” Seregil explained. “They barter for bits of hair, broken toys, and the like.

Thero raised an eyebrow. “Trades?”

Alec tried to rein in his impatience. “Yes. We’ve seen and heard of several children and some adults stricken with the disease, or magic, or whatever you want to call it. Many of them were known to have made a trade of some sort with the ravens.”

“I understand that. But-”

“We mostly see Reltheus and Malthus during the evening,” Alec rushed on. “And we haven’t heard from Elani in days. We may have fallen out of favor already.”

“I doubt that. But why are you here? Shouldn’t you be talking to Valerius?”

“He knows. He sent us into the Ring.”

“You’re working for him? Seregil-”

“We’ll keep up with our social life and any spying you need done by night, and look for the raven folk by day.”

“Prince Korathan wants this,” Alec added. “It’s a matter of-of-”

“Civic security,” Seregil finished for him. “If there’s a panic and this is a disease of some sort, then people will flee in droves, carrying it out to spread across the countryside. We have Kepi watching Reltheus for now.”

Thero rubbed a hand wearily across his eyes. “I don’t like this, especially now that they appear to be killing each other off.”

“There’s been another death?”

“Yes. Countess Alarhichia.”

“Her name hasn’t come up,” said Alec.

“No, but she’s a known friend of Duke Reltheus, and another member of the court. Considering the suddenness of her death, I think we should at least consider it another act of retribution. In the meantime, various nobles are retreating to their country estates.”

“Any of our conspirators?” asked Seregil.

“Marquise Lania and Earl Stenmir.”

“Do you think Korathan will send Elani away?” asked Alec.

“Not yet. I’m sure he knows that would start a full-blown panic. You must hurry.”

“I know, Thero, but we can’t abandon Eirual and Myrhichia, either, and we won’t,” said Seregil. “We’ll manage. Neither side seems to be doing anything very dangerous at the moment, anyway. I wonder if Korathan sending General Sarien away has had a chilling effect?”

“Possibly.” Thero seemed to be about to say something as they rose to go, but instead just shook his head. “Get hold of one of those traded items and bring it to me. I’ll see if I can make out anything from it.”

“Thank you,” said Seregil. “We mean to do just that.”

“What now?” Alec asked as they made their way down through the atrium.

“We’d better go see Eirual. Then we’ve got to catch a raven and see if we can make it talk.”