Everything was left where it had fallen the night before with two exceptions. Caleb had taken Beth-rae's body to the kitchen and had not come out again. And then there was Ratboy's thin-bladed dagger.

Leesil hadn't even remembered it until he'd stepped around to the back of the bar to put away the crossbow, and found it lying on the floor. He quietly picked up the blade out of Magiere's sight.

Ratboy must have used it to trip the latch on the common-room window. The blade was wide and unusually flat, making it thin enough to slip between shutters or into a doorjamb, and the width would provide strength when pushed against any metal hook or latching mechanism. Inspecting the blade, he found it well tended and sharpened, but with an odd shape to its tip. It wasn't overt, and perhaps anyone else wouldn't have noticed, but Leesil had slipped through enough windows in his life to know what he saw.

Near the tip, the edges were no longer straight, but indented slightly. Long use as a tool had worn down the metal and frequent resharpening had produced a slight inward curve in the edge on each side. Ratboy was not a common thief, whatever else he might be, but Leesil could see the beggar boy was practiced at unseen entry. A blade like this was a personal choice, sometimes specially made, and certainly a well-cared-for possession. And yet, Ratboy had obviously not entered the inn to steal anything, and his manner was not that of an assassin-the little creature might be cunning and stealthy to a point, but he had no finesse.

Leesil had serious doubts Ellinwood could even understand such things without them being pointed out blatantly and then explained. And he wasn't even sure how it connected to the more unusual details of last night. If necessary, he'd show the dagger, but for now he rucked it under the back of his shirt. Magiere might not agree with this action, but he would handle that if and when it came up. He stepped around the bar into the open room, surveying the ruins of broken tables and chairs, fresh scars in the bar top, and dried pools of blood.

Magiere's words made sense-everything needed to be left as it was to make Ellinwood believe what had happened, but he hated the thought of doing nothing. The bloodstained floor kept drawing his attention. Why hadn't he initially held his ground and reloaded the crossbow? Why hadn't he rushed the creature as soon as Beth-rae threw the garlic water? The scene played over and over in his mind as he examined every move he could have made differently. Scenarios taught long ago by his mother and father crept back into his conscious thoughts from places where he'd hidden them. He'd made so many mistakes, and now Caleb was a widower and little Rose had no grandmother.

Chap's chest was almost healed, which in itself seemed too much for Leesil to think about, in addition to everything else that made no sense in their lives of late. Magiere's facial wound looked days instead of hours old. Whenever Chap or Magiere fought these strange attackers, they healed with an unnatural quickness. Or had they always been quick to mend? It occurred to him that in their years together he'd never before been in such situations with either of them, so there was no way to be sure. He didn't want to talk about any of it, but how much were they going to tell the constable?

"Magiere?"

"What?"

"Last night… your teeth," he began. "Do you know what happened?"

She walked closer to him, her black hair still a tangled mess of long waves and strands around her face. Scant light that filtered in through the windows hit her from behind, and the highlights in her hair turned their usual red, almost a blood red, and that comparison made Leesil uneasy. Her expression was earnest, as if she wanted-had been waiting, even-for some reason or moment or encouragement to tell him something.

"I don't know. Not really," she answered. Her eyes closed tight and she shook her head slowly.

Leesil noted her jaw shift, perhaps as she checked her teeth with her tongue yet again for the return of what he'd seen there. Her voice dropped low, near a whisper, though there was no one else nearby to hear her.

"I was so angry, worse than I've ever felt in my life. I couldn't think of anything but killing him. I hated him so-"

A knock on the inn's door interrupted her. She frowned in a mix of frustration and distaste, letting out a sigh.

"That must be Ellinwood. Let's get this over with."

With a quick glance and nod to Magiere, Leesil went to open the door, but to his surprise it was not Constable Ellinwood on the other side but Brenden.

"What are you doing here?" Magiere demanded.

"I told him he could come by," Leesil interjected, having actually forgotten about it until this moment.

"I heard what happened," the blacksmith said sadly. "I came to help."

Leesil had never seen anyone with such vivid red hair as Brenden, and with his matching beard, he seemed like a broad head of fire in the doorway. His black leather vest was oddly clean for someone who worked with iron and horses all day. Magiere just looked at the blacksmith as if she honestly didn't care whether he stayed or not.

"Ellinwood's useless," Brenden went on in the same sad voice. "If you tell him what really happened, he'll bury the case and never discuss it unless you force him to. Nothing will be done."

"Fine," Magiere said, turning away. "Stay if you like, go if you like. We aren't expecting any assistance from the constable anyway. Beth-rae was murdered last night, and the law requires us to inform the authorities."

Leesil remained quiet through this exchange in the hope that Brenden and Magiere might actually speak to each other, see one another as individuals. The blacksmith was one of the few people in town they'd met so far who was willing to speak about anything related to the attack on the road or what had happened last night. The result of his presence wasn't all Leesil had hoped for, but at least Magiere hadn't ordered him off the premises. Leesil stepped back and urged him inside.

"I'll make us some tea," he said.

"How's Caleb?" Brenden asked, staring at the bloodstained floor by the bar.

"I don't know. We haven't seen him since just after…"

The tavern suddenly felt cold, and the half-elf busied himself by making a fire and boiling water for tea. He could have done it in the kitchen, but he didn't want to leave Magiere. And Caleb was in the kitchen with Beth-rae's body, which Leesil could not bring himself to look at right now.

Somehow the three of them managed to make small talk. Brenden seemed hesitant to question too much concerning the night's events, likely not wanting to wear out his welcome now that he'd regained some acceptance. Magiere avoided giving any complete answers to the few questions asked. Enough of that would be covered all over again once Ellinwood arrived. With Magiere running out of evasive answers and Brenden short on acceptable questions, the room became oppressively quiet until another knock sounded.

"That will be him," Magiere said with distaste. "Leesil, can you get the door?"

This time the visitor was indeed Constable Ellinwood, clearing his throat in place of a greeting and looking somewhat put upon in fulfilling his duty. His vast, colorful form filled the doorway like that of an emerald giant gone soft through years of idleness.

"I hear you had some trouble," he said, his tone that of someone wishing to take command, yet preferring to be somewhere else. Dark circles under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept well, and his fleshy jowls appeared even looser than usual.

"You could say that," Leesil answered coldly. He turned away without even a gesture for the constable to enter. "Beth-rae is dead. Some lunatic tore out her throat with his fingernails."

Ellinwood, entering behind him, sputtered at the bluntness of Leesil's statement. Then he spotted the dark stain on the floor at the bar's far end.