“Trouble to home, is that it, sir?” he asked.

“Guess you could say that.” I leaned on the counter and lowered my voice to a whisper. The room went as silent as a tomb, as two dozen ears strained to hear something that wasn’t a bit of their business.

“How much for a room for the wife and son, for, let’s say, a week?”

“Might be cheaper to just rent one permanent-like for your mother.”

Laughter rippled through the lobby. The old man cackled.

“Have a heart. How much? I can’t move Mother now. She’s taken to her bed. What am I supposed to do?”

He cackled and named a price. It was a quarter again too much, but I didn’t haggle.

I did tell him my name was Smith, which touched off another round of laughter, and that I’d also want to purchase extra meals for the boy and laundry service for the wife. More coins changed hands. My next sigh was very real.

But it had worked. Anyone sniffing around for word of a single young woman who kept to herself and never left her rooms would be greeted with shrugs and shakes of the head. Tamar was an angry pregnant wife with a son in tow and a milksop for a husband.

And that, my friends, is the right way to hide a woman in plain sight.

I left my curiously estranged wife and headed for Granny Knot’s humble abode. Granny has a shack off Elfways-not on the trendy shops and eateries end, but on the old end, well removed from the last stop on the high-priced curio and ornate hat trail.

Granny wasn’t home. You’d think finding an aged spook doctor during the day would be simple, but most of the times I’ve knocked at Granny’s door I’ve knocked in vain. I gave up after a time and settled in the shade of her porch and watched her ne’er-do-well neighbors sneak by. Crows cawed and pecked and hopped in the cemetery next door. I didn’t care to know what it was that they worried. Sometimes the gravediggers don’t bother to go the full six feet.

My meeting with Lethway would commence in a few hours. I listened to the crows and planned my wardrobe. I’d don my new tan britches, my good white shirt and the shiny black shoes Darla got me for Armistice Day.

I would have to leave Toadsticker in the carriage. Swords simply aren’t worn in places like the Banner. I could probably get away with a dagger in my boot and brass knuckles in my pocket, but that would be the extent of my weaponry. Of course the whole point of surprising Lethway at the Banner with his mistress was to avoid a fight, but when tempers flare there’s no predicting how events might unfold.

I wondered if Pratt would stay away, and decided he probably wouldn’t. He might keep out of sight, but I was betting he’d be nearby. Since seeing Fields use his magic secret door and returning with the head of the walking stick that had killed Tamar’s would-be kidnapper, I’d realized Pratt was playing his own games. I hoped I wasn’t being used as a stepping-stone to further his own agenda.

A pair of street kids hopped up on Granny’s porch and gave me a pair of underfed hard looks.

“Whatcha doin’, mister?” asked one.

“Got any money?” inquired the other.

Combined, they weighed maybe fifty pounds, with ten of that being dirt, but they took another couple of steps forward. The dirtiest one slipped a hand in a pocket.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “Beat it.”

“He asked you a question, mister.”

“I said do you have any money?”

I cussed and stood up and whipped Toadsticker out. They were off the porch and well into the street before my knees stopped popping.

Granny Knot herself startled me by cackling.

“I seen you, Bobby Doris,” she shrieked. “I knows where your granny walks.”

The urchins doubled their speed. Granny cackled again, shifted her paper-wrapped parcel in her hand, and fumbled for her keys.

“Wonderful to see you, Mr. Markhat,” she whispered with a wink. “I trust you are well?”

I grinned and nodded and put out my hands. Helping old ladies with bags is just another of my many sterling qualities.

“Don’t you be steppin’ on them bees,” she shouted for the benefit of a couple walking past. “I got ham in all my hats. Ham and windows, so the ghosts can see out.”

We stepped inside, and she slammed the door behind her.

“Ham? Hats with windows?”

Granny shrugged. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to babble inanities all day long, Mr. Markhat? I was rather proud of that one. It was both original and intriguing.”

She walked into her cramped kitchen as she spoke, so I followed.

“You’ve come for word from Mama, I presume.”

“I have. Is there any?”

She shoved a bag of salt into a cupboard and nodded. “On the counter. I’ll brew up some coffee, if you like.”

“Thanks.” I spotted the tiny cylinder of tightly wrapped paper on the counter and pulled up a wobbly chair and read.

Boy, it began. I done poked a stick in a hornet’s nest, like I had a mind to, and you ain’t never seen the likes of the buzzin’ and the flyin’ about.

This here hex-master ain’t a local boy. I hears he showed up last year and took to lurking around the inns and the taverns, braggin’ about his hex-craft and showin’ off with lights and haints and so on. Damn fools hereabouts ate it up. ’Fore long, he was doin’ regular work, and askin’ dear for it too.

Well, I done put a stop to all that. I told it that he ate up souls and children besides, and when they said about the fever last Yule that took all them babies I said well there you go. The word of a Hog still has some weight hereabouts, I reckon, ‘cause before midnight I had a dozen callers to my door, all itchin’ to tell what they knowed about this here hex-caster.

He come from Prince, jest like I suspicioned. Still wears them Army doggers what you used to favor. He hides whenever wagon trains and stagecoaches stop in town, so I reckon he ain’t keen on meeting up with nobody from Rannit nor Prince neither, make of that what ye will.

He’s done told it around that he’s comin’ after me. I reckon he’s got to now, or hightail it somewhere else, cause I done put the word out on him. I’ll be waitin’, boy, and he’s gonna regret ever hearin’ the Hog name spoke before I’m done.

And there it ended. I bit back a curse. Mama had been long on drama but short on minor details such as names or descriptions or dates.

Granny pulled up a chair across from me and shoved a plate of sugar cookies my way.

“I take it Mama was less than informative?”

I sought out a cookie. Badmouthing Mama to her best friend didn’t seem like the ideal way to pass the time.

Granny chuckled. “She does enjoy the odd bit of obfuscation. But I daresay she will tell all, when the matter is settled.”

“She may be going up against a former army sorcerer,” I said. “I hope the matter winds up settled in Mama’s favor.”

“You will find Mama equal to her task. The coffee is ready. You take yours black, I believe?”

All the sugar in the world wasn’t going to take the bitter out of Granny’s brew, which resembled tar in both flavor and consistency.

“I do. These are good cookies.”

She smiled and poured. I thought about Mama facing down one of the horrors we troops used to avoid even though they were on our side and a literal shiver ran down my spine.

“Samuel, leave the gentleman alone, this instant.”

Granny glared at the empty air above me until I felt the faintest of breezes and the icy fingers running down my spine departed.

I stood.

“Oh, sit back down. That was only Samuel, out for a bit of mischief.”

I sat, but only with difficulty. Sometimes I forget what Granny does for a living.

“Now then.” Granny put a cup in front of me. It steamed and smelled of chicory. “Mama tells me you’ll be getting married soon.”