The scope of events was changing, and it did little to ease Magiere's mind. This young scholar was open and unbiased, and appeared to have no hidden agenda. It might pay to keep her around.

"Tell your domin we'd be glad to talk," Magiere said, and then turned to Leesil. "We should sleep awhile and then have a visit with Lanjov at his bank."

Leesil nodded and got up to open the door for Wynn.

Magiere waited for the young sage to leave before discussing anything further with Leesil. She caught Wynn Hygeorht glancing back as the door closed. At first Magiere felt another tinge of ire, thinking the glance was for Leesil, but instead the woman's eyes dropped briefly toward the bed and the sleeping dog.

After too brief a rest, Leesil found their plans changed slightly. A note for Magiere from Captain Chetnik had been left with the innkeeper. It simply read. I need to speak with you about the incident at the Rowanwood.

They both decided to put off that meeting as long as possible. Leesil was anxious to check on the progress with his new weapons, but Magiere wanted to stop at the sage's guild to provide Wynn with as much information as possible regarding the type of dwelling to search for. Stone constructions with cellars would be foremost. To Leesil, Magiere seemed a bit too relieved by the young sage's apparent willingness to help. The girl could prove useful, but they knew nothing about these supposed scholars from across the ocean.

He agreed to meet Magiere at Lanjov's bank by noon, and then he headed out for Balgavfs smithy, Chap trotting at his side. As they approached the smith's shop, Chap slipped in ahead toward the scent of burning forges and the noisy clang of metal.

The sudden hiss of steam from the forge room filled Leesil's ears upon entering the outer stall. To his surprise, he found Chap dancing along a row of weapons on the west wall. An assortment of spears and swords and even metal quarrels hung in plain view, and the dog was determined to sniff every one of them. The bear-sized smith in his leather apron looked up to see Leesil and the prancing hound, but instead of showing annoyance, Balgavi grinned.

"He yours? A hunter breed?"

"Something like that," Leesil answered. "Chap! Leave those alone and come here."

"Knows his weapons," the smith said. "Keeps coming back to that boar spear. Could skewer a full-grown bull with that."

"Come here, Chap," Leesil insisted.

There were times Chap's presence was a blessing. At other times, the dog's behavior was embarrassing. Chap bounced over, but sniffed everything along the way. He looked up at the smith and wagged his tail.

"Fine animal, rather tall," the smith said. "I've never seen fur like that. My father kept wolfhounds, but their coats turn coarse as they grow up. What breed is he?"

"I don't know. He was a gift," Leesil answered coldly. "Are my weapons finished?"

Balgavi was slightly taken back by his tone. "One's done. Still working on the other."

"You told me you'd have them done in a matter of days," Leesil snapped. "That stiletto I traded is worth ten times the amount of two punching blades."

The smith's face, shiny with steam, clouded over, and he turned on his heel. Walking to the blackened worktable, he picked up an odd spadelike shape in a matching sheath.

"I took two journeymen off paying work to get this done for you. If you can find better than this in two days, take your stiletto back and be my guest."

Pulling the blade from its sheath, Balgavi held it out.

Leesil took it from the smith's hands, examining it carefully. The forward end was shaped like a flattened spade, though slightly elongated to the tip. At its base was a crosswise, oval opening, allowing the blade to be gripped by the backside for punching. The oval's base was the handle, painstakingly wrapped in woven leather for the grip. When held, the blade's outside edge continued in a gradual curve that extended the full length of Leesil's forearm, ending just past his elbow.

Gripping it, Leesil swung his arm slowly.

It was heavier than he'd expected, and he'd have to compensate for loss of speed. It wouldn't be the same as infighting with short blades, but it was exactly what he'd envisioned.

Chap wagged his tail and barked, staring up at Leesil. Balgavi watched them both curiously, his annoyance slipping away.

"What do you plan to fight with that thing?"

Leesil realized he was being a difficult patron and changed his manner.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, but this is everything I'd hoped for. How long on the second one?"

"Another two days, perhaps. You mentioned staying at the Burdock? Vatz passes by often enough, so I'll have him bring you word when it's ready."

Leesil nodded. "My thanks."

He feinted forward again, punching straight outward at an imagined pale-skinned throat.

Magiere paced in front of the bank. It was no surprise that Leesil was late, as his sense of time was annoyingly flexible. Her frustration nearly had the better of her when a small coach pulled up, and out hopped Leesil with Chap at his side, tail in the air with a cheerful countenance.

"Sorry," Leesil offered. "One of my weapons was finished, and I stopped by the inn to store it. I'd rather not wear it, as we already make Lanjov nervous enough."

Passersby cast them an occasional wary glance, and Magiere realized that Lanjov wasn't the only one they made nervous. Leesil had a dark red scarf tied around his head.

"I thought you weren't going to bother with that anymore," Magiere said.

Leesil just shrugged. "Habit. The eyes are obvious, but my ears and hair are a dead giveaway from a distance."

Magiere turned toward the bank doors. "We don't exactly fit in this part of town. We could put a scarf over your face, and people would still stare at us. I miss Miiska."

"We'll be headed home soon enough," he said, but his words brought Magiere no comfort.

The bank's interior wasn't as lavish as the council hall, but the floor was polished speckled granite, and two narrow pillars of the same stone framed the large entryway, more as ornament than support. A few uniformed, armed men in gray tabards stood along the sidewalls. To the right was a row of clerks upon a long raised platform lined with a polished cherrywood counter. All were busy with parchments and quills. On the left was a matching wood partition rising chest-high, and to Magiere's surprise, Doviak, the foppish council secretary, sat at a desk in the walled-off space.

As Lanjov's main occupation was running his bank, serving on the council being only proper for a gentleman of his station, Doviak must serve as secretary for both the council and Lanjov's business.

The wispy little man looked up and locked eyes with Magiere, and disbelief turned to dismay. He scurried around the partition's far end with his shoes clicking upon the floor like a cricket.

"Mistress Magiere… I… how… may I assist you?"

Magiere wavered at the poorly hidden distaste in his voice. In the council hall, she'd been summoned as "the dhampir," assuming her familiar role of convincing village or town elders that she was their only salvation. In this place, amidst a faltering investigation, she was as lost as a peasant among old-blood nobility. She remembered the hatred and distrust from her home village and suddenly felt swallowed by uncertainty. She blinked and summoned her mask-her dhampir persona-once an illusion but now a reality.

As if sensing her struggle, Leesil stepped forward.

"We've come to speak with Councilman Lanjov."

Doviak's lips parted slightly, and his perfectly curled hair swayed forward as he pretended to check the appointment log he carried.

"Oh, he does have a full schedule. Perhaps if you make an appointment for another day, he can fit-"