The mention of assassination brought Leesil immediate thoughts of Sgaile, the elven anmaglahk sent after him in Bela. He was about to ask if any elves had been sighted in the city and then thought better of it. It was unlikely anyone would see a member of this caste of assassins, as silent and undetected as Sgaile had been.

"Thank you, but we can take care of ourselves," Magiere replied.

With a troubled nod, the guard stepped back and let them in.

On impulse, Leesil called out, "Sir, what is your name?"

"Captain Marjus of the Varanj."

Port and Imp pulled the wagon into the market area. Most booths were closed, but a few people were visible among those tables and carts conducting business. There were also soldiers in red surcoats, like the captain's, patrolling the fringe of the area. Leesil spotted men in light yellow surcoats, as well, who kept their distance from Marjus's cohorts.

"Now what?" he asked. "This is bad luck. An audience at the castle is next to impossible, since mere's no one there to hold one."

Magiere watched the soldiers and didn't answer.

"We are most likely going to be here a day or two," Wynn said. "We should find a respectable inn, a stable for the horses, and something warm to eat while we consider what to do."

Leesil smiled. "A capital plan. Magiere?"

"Yes. I see a stable ahead on south side of the market."

It took little time to find a nearby inn, a place called Jendu Stezhar, the "Acorn Oak," which looked clean and respectable. They soon settled to spooning in mouthfuls of milky potato soup in its common room. The innkeeper was a good-natured gray-haired man who wasn't offended when Leesil requested an extra bowl for Chap.

Since the vision of his dead mother, each time Leesil ate warm food or succumbed to the smallest comfort, he wondered if she had suffered… was suffering. Then he looked at Magiere's pale face. He couldn't force her to turn away until she knew what she was and how she had come to exist, or she had exhausted all hope of finding these answers.

He spooned another mouthful of soup, ready to discuss matters at hand, when he gave more notice to a tall middle-aged soldier in a yellow surcoat sitting near them. The soldier had short-cropped brown hair and a thick scar down his left cheekbone, and he was on his third tankard of ale since their arrival.

Leesil was uncertain how much should be said in close proximity to any of the Keonsk soldiers… of any house. He saw Magiere glance in the man's direction.

Innocent Wynn blurted out the first question before Leesil could stop her. "So how do we acquire permission to search records at the castle?"

The scarred soldier looked up from his ale. "Girl, the grounds have been locked down tighter than a cask of autumn wine."

He answered her in Belaskian, and his voice was sad rather than angry. Wynn turned sideways in her chair to see him better.

"What do you mean 'locked down'?"

Leesil tensed. "Wynn, let's not bother the-"

"I mean the house of Varanj has locked the gates. Until my prince returns, no one but a redcoat gets anywhere near the castle. That swine Buscan is dead, may his spirit rot in the earth along with his corpse."

Wynn had spilled their intentions, and there was little they could do to wash their presence from this captain's awareness. It appeared factions within the houses were at odds, as well as the contentions between houses Marjus had mentioned at the city gate. This Antes captain gulping his ale didn't care for the grand prince's own counselor.

Leesil held out his hand to the man. "I'm Leesil. These are my companions Magiere and Wynn. We've come looking for the names of nobles who held fiefs in west Droevinka long ago. Surely, the Varanj guards will not object to such a simple request."

The soldier laughed but without humor. When he saw Leesil's outstretched hand, he gripped it in greeting. "Apologies. I am Captain Simu of the Antes cavalry. I don't mean to interrupt your supper, but you may as well go home when you're done."

"We're not leaving," Magiere said.

Simu looked at her and sighed. "Do you understand that Baron Cezar Buscan was assassinated last night? The city's protector-curse him-is dead! Those Varanj mongrel watchdogs haven't the wit to see we're better off."

Magiere leaned closer. "A captain from a nearby fief told us that Buscan has been replacing Antes nobles as fief holders without giving any reason. Is this true?"

Simu's ale-weary eyes cleared, and he pushed his tankard away.

"Why else do you think he'd be judged a traitor by those. of us in the ranks? It is difficult enough to gain note in a noble house. What good does it do when rewards are handed off to the undeserving, simply because they hold favor with the prime counselor?"

The captain hung his head then glanced about the common room before continuing in a lowered voice.

"I'd swear by my ancestors, that temptress with the red curls he took as consort bewitched him. Maybe she's the one who knifed him in the back. Either way, he's dead. Soon as Prince Rodek returns, I'm taking my men onto the royal grounds until a new protector is selected-and the Varanj be hanged!" Simu stood up and delivered them a curt bow of parting. "Perhaps then I can help you, but for now, no one but a redcoat gets inside the castle wall. Good night and safe passage to you."

As Simu walked out the inn's door, Leesil pondered his words, rubbing his chin with one hand.

"What's in that head of yours?" Magiere asked.

"It'll take a little while to prepare. You and Wynn stay here. Chap, come with me. " He dumped his pack out and slung its empty bulk over his shoulder. "Can you put my things in the chest for now?"

"Stop right there," Magiere said. "What are you up to?"

'Trust me," he answered, and started to get up.

"Oh, no," she said, and grabbed the bottom of his empty pack, jerking it hard. "Every time you say that, things end up in a mess."

Leesil pulled on his pack, but Magiere's grip held firm.

"No, they don't-not every time," he shot back. "Magiere, let go!"

"We've enough people-and other things-coming at us in the dark. You're not going anywhere until you tell me."

"What you don't know, you can't get blamed for… if it doesn't work. Will you just let me handle this?"

Leesil pulled on the pack again. Magiere held on, and they jerked back and forth, until empty soup bowls jostled precariously across the table. Wynn leaned forward and threw her arms over the empty pack, pinning it to the tabletop.

"Could you two attract any more attention?" she whispered. "Leesil, tell us what-"

A cavernous belch filled the common room.

It drowned out even the murmur and chatter among the patrons of the Acorn Oak. Leesil and Magiere ceased tugging on the pack. Splayed across the table, Wynn looked to Leesil's left, and he followed her gaze.

Several elderly men, pipes clenched between their teeth, sat around a table. The nearest one still had his hand in the air, fingers poised downward as if he'd held something in them but a moment ago. No one watched the battle over the empty pack, for all eyes were on the creature squatting below the old pipe-biter's fingers.

Chap yawned, smacked his jowls, and let out a second burp. He looked up at Leesil, Magiere, and Wynn, and licked his nose at them.

Leesil could have sworn Chap's expression mimicked his own feigned innocence whenever he was caught in something unseemly.

Magiere shook her head in disbelief, and Wynn wrinkled her nose in disgust. The distraction was enough, and Leesil jerked the pack free before either could stop him.

He rushed for the inn's door, and Chap slipped out behind him.

[

br] Magiere sat with Wynn in a room upstairs at the Acorn Oak, fuming inwardly at Leesil. Of all the stupid things he'd ever done, she had a feeling this one was going to be near the top of the list. Darkness had come, and still he hadn't returned.