"Then how do you explain my healed throat?" Magiere asked, not really wanting an answer. "My weapon? The amulets? The things that happen to me when I'm fighting Rashed?"

"Well, we can't believe everything Welstiel says," Leesil put in. "He called Chap a majay-hi, and I know that's ridiculous."

"Why? What does it mean?" Brenden asked.

"I know little of the elven tongue, but I've been thinking about it. I think it means something like 'magic hound. Well, probably more like 'fay hound. But the fay and nature spirits I've read of weren't exactly pleasant creatures. No, Welstiel may know more than we do, and he may be useful in some ways, but he's either mad or just as superstitious as the villagers of Stravina."

"You can't deny there's something special about Chap."

Magiere whispered. "He's different, like me, whenever he fights one of those…" She trailed off.

Leesil grew thoughtful. "I've been wondering about that. My mother said something to me once about Chap being bred to protect. Perhaps undeads were more plentiful in the distant past, and my mother's people tried to breed a line of hounds capable of fighting such monsters."

Magiere looked up at him, and blinked in surprise. It had been a long time since Leesil had said anything of his past, and he never spoke of his family.

"Did you know your mother?"

He stiffened. "Yes."

A knock sounded at the door.

"Oh, for the love of drunkards," Leesil exclaimed. "Brenden, if Ellinwood is still trying to arrest us, I give you permission to kill him."

Brenden got up with a scowl and went to open the door, but it was not Ellinwood who waited outside. On the other side of the door stood a teenage girl Magiere didn't know and a boy who looked vaguely familiar.

"Geoffry?" Leesil said. "What are you doing here?"

Then Magiere placed the young man. He was the son of Karlin, the baker.

"Hello, Brenden," the girl said, holding out a green pouch. "We brought payment for the hunter."

The girl was perhaps fifteen, with large eyes, a pleasant face, and one missing front tooth. She had an odd manner of speech Magiere had never heard.

"I heard you was with "em," she added. "I always thought you was brave."

"This is Aria," Brenden said by way of introduction. "Her family moved here from the east a few years back. She was a friend of Eliza's."

Aria stepped into the common room and looked around. Geoffry followed.

"My father collected payment," he said, "and he sent us here."

At first, Magiere didn't understand. Then she studied the pouch Aria handed to her, and her stomach lurched. They were paying her for killing Miiska's undead.

"Take it, Miss," Geoffry prompted. "It's real money, not just trinkets or food. We know you don't work cheap. The constable may be a fool, but lots of folks here are thankful."

"This is a nice place," Aria said, touching the oak bar. "I never been in here."

Magiere tried to stand up, but couldn't. She dropped the pouch on the table and pushed it quickly across toward Aria.

"Take those coins and give them back to everyone who contributed. We didn't do any of this for money."

Aria and Geoffry stared at her in confusion, even disappointment. Perhaps they had asked for the honor of bringing the hunter her fee. Magiere could imagine where the money had come from. Visions of bakers and fishmongers and now out-of-work warehouse laborers pooling their last pennies rushed into her mind.

She felt sick and her breakfast threatened to come up. This was like a nightmare from which she couldn't awaken. The past kept tracking her down to repeat itself over and over.

Brenden politely rushed the young visitors out. Magiere heard phrases and bits of kind words like "appreciate" and "thank your father" and "the hunter is tired." But once Aria and Geoffry had been bundled off down the street, he turned to her in puzzlement.

"They were just trying to thank you. And it isn't as if such gratitude is unfamiliar. You and Leesil have destroyed undeads and taken payment many times before."

Magiere turned away from him. She couldn't help it, and she looked to her partner for some kind of response, any kind. Leesil drained his teacup, walked behind the bar and filled it with red wine.

"Of course," he said. "Many times."

Chapter Sixteen

At a loss for what to do, Ellinwood left The Sea Lion and hurried home to The Velvet Rose. He needed to think, and he thought best at home.

Once safely ensconced inside his plush rooms with the door closed, he allowed panic to set in. What was he going to do? His first thought was to sell the lovely furnishings all around him. But then he remembered that he did not own them. It was all property of The Velvet Rose. He owned little besides the expensive clothes on his body, the clothing in his wardrobe, a sword that he'd never actually used, and a few personal items such as silver combs and crystal cologne bottles.

Rashed was gone, and there would be no more profits coming in from the warehouse trade.

The constable's own image stared back at him from the oval, silver-framed mirror, and a portion of the panic faded. He cut a fine figure in his green velvet. Of course, some people thought him too large, but the thin were always intimidated by men of stature. He had dominated Miiska for years. He could weather this current situation.

Walking over to the cherry wood wardrobe, he unlocked the top drawer and looked inside. Rashed had not left him coinless, and he had not spent all of his profits. Indeed, if he rationed money for his opiate and spiced whiskey slightly, he could keep himself in comfort for perhaps half a year.

Then a thought struck him. His arrangement with Rashed was not so unique. After all, as Miiska's constable, he knew many things. He had recently discovered that the wife of Miiska's leading merchant was betraying him with a caravan master who came through town six times a year. How much would she be willing to pay to keep her secret? And Devon, one of the council members, had used a large sum of the town's community funds from taxes to pay off a gambling debt not long ago.

Ellinwood's mind began to race. There was no need for fear. When powerful people had secrets, they would pay handsomely for silence. He knew exactly what to do.

But not yet.

First he would change tactics in this Magiere situation and praise her. He would offer her his full support, now that there was nothing left to do, and win back the trust and loyalty of his guards. At the moment, his position was somewhat tenuous. He would become the ideal constable for several months-before taking any action toward quiet extortion. In the end, very little would have to change in his game besides the names of the players.

Feeling safer and more content, he opened the bottom drawer of his wardrobe and removed the opiate and spiced whiskey. He'd never indulged in the morning before, but today was special. He needed comfort.

Soon his crystal-stemmed goblet was filled, and he sat comfortably in his chair to sip.

The entire day passed quickly.

Teesha stirred first that night and sat up with an odd sense of disorientation. Then visions from the night before flooded her mind, and she remembered Rashed settling her in the belly of the old ship.

He lay asleep on the floor next to her. She touched his shoulder.

"Rashed, wake up."

His transparent eyes opened. Just a brief flicker of confusion passed across his perfect features, so quickly she almost didn't notice, and then he, too, sat up, looking like a competent commander again. She'd done well to choose him as the champion of her small family. But he could be so strong-willed. How ironic that such a trait was his only true weakness. Now she faced the difficult task of manipulating him into flight again. It hadn't been easy the first time.