She walked up to a table in front of a small cottage. Through one shutterless window she saw the clay ovens and realized it was an actual bakery.

"A loaf of black forest and a loaf of rye," she said to a balding, plump man in an apron.

The man hesitated, and Magiere felt immediately conscious of the way she must look, armored and armed. There was an awkward silence.

"Do you have any sweet rolls?" Leesil grinned at the baker, stepping up to the table and examining everything. "I'm hungry enough to clean you out."

The man's eyes widened a bit at Leesil's high eyebrows and blunt-point ears peeking through sliver-yellow hair, but Leesil's smile inevitably proved infectious. He could come across as the most carefree, harmless creature. Magiere knew better. She also knew when not to disturb Leesil's influence on people.

"I have some cream pastries inside," the man suggested.

"Cream pastries?" Leesil let out an ecstatic gasp. "Fetch me three before I drop right here at your feet!"

The baker both scowled and smiled at Leesil's dramatics and disappeared through the bakery door with a throaty chuckle.

"You'd be lost without me," Leesil whispered to his partner, clearly pleased with himself.

"You just keep on believing that," Magiere muttered, but she was secretly relieved.

Upon the baker's return, Leesil fussed sufficiently over the pastries and then tossed one to Chap, who swallowed it whole with hardly a snap of his jaws. When the baker's face went flat with indignant shock, Leesil realized his mistake and covered it with a politely dismissive manner.

"Oh, he's one of the family. Loves cream, and"-Leesil gave the baker a quick conspiratorial wink-"I only give him the best. Say, do you know where we could find Constable Ellinwood, the town bailiff?"

"Constable Ellinwood?" the man asked, wiping his hands on his apron with an expression of worry. "Is there trouble?"

"Trouble?" Leesil pitched his voice to sound surprised. "No, we've purchased a tavern here in town, down near the docks. We just need to present the deed and find our property."

"A tavern… by the docks? Oh, you bought the old Dunction place. Why didn't you say so?" The plump baker called out to a clean-faced boy chopping wood at the bakery's far corner. "Geoffry, run and fetch the constable. He'll be eating his midday meal with Martha about now. Tell him the folks who bought the Dunction place are here." Then he turned back to Leesil. "Come, come," he motioned with one thick hand. "I'm Karlin. I've some tables around the side, so you can sit and finish your pastries. The constable will be right along."

Feeling simultaneously embarrassed and relieved at how well Leesil was managing, Magiere followed along silently. She would rather have gone to find the tavern herself and looked it over in private before tending to formalities, but things were proceeding smoothly enough. And she found herself hungrier than expected when faced with fresh bread-and something more comfortable to sit on than dirt. Moments later, she sat with Leesil, tearing off hunks of rye bread to dip in a bowl of honey the baker had brought, and waiting for the proper authorities to come directly to her. Apprehension faded just a little, now that they were out of the main street and away from so many curious eyes.

"I don't think this town sees many strangers come in by the road," she commented.

Leesil nodded. "You should have stowed that falchion."

Magiere glared back at him but said nothing. He was probably armed to the teeth with his little knives, which were easier to conceal in his clothing.

Despite her nervousness, Magiere did like the look of constant business around her. These people seemed to live with more purpose than guarding against their own superstitions. They had affairs to tend to, with family and friends around them who didn't watch each other with a suspicious eye, waiting for some curse to pop up from their own imaginations. She might not get to know any of them, but they would be her customers, and she was determined not to despise them.

That determination wavered when young Geoffry, the baker's son, came running back, followed by a behemoth of a man, who strode among the townspeople as if each was his personal servant. At the sight of him, distaste settled in Magiere's stomach. She put down the pinch of bread she was about to dip in the honey. She'd seen his kind before.

Dressed in a purple brocade tunic and forest-green sash, he'd garnished his matching purple cap with a white feather. Although his attire must have cost what Magiere earned in three village jobs, the sash only accented the size of his protruding belly rather than helping him appear distinguished. He looked like a grape ripened too long on the vine. His face was filled with the overly forced sternness common to those who took their position-but not their duties-too seriously. This would be Constable Ellinwood.

Karlin the baker respectfully ushered the constable to her table, and Magiere's distaste grew. Constable Ellinwood possessed a dour, fleshy countenance, and small, piglike eyes that suggested he thought daily free tankards of ale and fleecing the townsfolk at every opportunity were his rightful due. She doubted he had bought that expensive double-felt tunic with his own wages, from what Magiere knew of the pay for such positions.

Inwardly, she realized the hypocrisy of her contempt. But although she and Leesil had probably done worse in their time, at least they struck a village once and moved on immediately. They didn't remain to drain the townspeople like some bloated leech.

Karlin, on the other hand, seemed pleased with the constable's presence and began introductions.

"These are the folks," Karlin said, and Magiere noticed how the baker's skin glowed with health next to the pasty rolls of Ellinwood's flesh.

"You bought the Dunction place?" Ellinwood asked Leesil, repeating what he'd been told.

"I don't know who owned it previously," Magiere interrupted. "But I have a deed for a tavern near the docks." She unfolded a worn sheet of paper.

Leesil leaned back quietly, comfortable enough with the change of roles now that he was stuffing himself and washing mouthfuls down with an occasional sip from his wine sack. Turning his attention to Magiere, Constable Ellinwood's fingers reached down to grip the deed, exposing two heavy, etched-gold rings on his fingers.

"I'll show you where the place is," he said, after a cursory read, "but I can't stay to get you settled." Even his voice sounded thick and sluggish to Magiere. He puffed up importantly. "One of the local girls was found dead this morning, and I'm beginning an investigation."

"Who?" Karlin gasped.

"Young Eliza, Brenden's sister. Found in her own yard."

"Oh no, not another…" Karlin trailed off as he glanced toward Leesil and Magiere.

"Not another what?" Magiere asked, looking not at Karlin but at the constable.

"Nothing to concern yourself about," Ellinwood said, puffing up even more. "Now, if you want to see the tavern, follow me."

Magiere withheld any further comment. If Ellinwood really considered the dead girl none of their business, he wouldn't have announced it so blatantly. And Karlin knew the victim, though that was not a great surprise. Miiska was a healthy-size town, but not so big that most people wouldn't know each other, at least casually. Magiere's mild distaste for the constable turned to revulsion.

Down near the docks, the ocean scent blew stronger, filling Magiere's lungs with salt-laden comfort. The view of the ocean's horizon with its thin trailing clouds was breathtaking. A small, treed peninsula shot out south of the town, and to the north the shoreline hooked seaward briefly before heading up the coast. The dark blue of the water in the small bay told her the drop-off was steep and a perfect place for a small port town to crop up, offering commerce and a safe stopover for barges and smaller ships traversing the coastline.