“Thank you, sir, for not calling on the Old Sailor,” she said softly, stroking her daughter’s hair.

Astellus the Sailor—in addition to being the patron of those who fished and sailed—also ferried the dead to Bilairy’s gate. Seregil guessed Alec had invoked Dalna instead out of kindness.

Seregil left her there and drew the drysian out of the room. “Have you seen any others like this?”

“No, my lord, this is the first one that’s been brought to me. It’s the Lower City plague, isn’t it? The sleeping death?”

“Most likely. Please, Brother, will you send word to me when she dies?”

“Of course, my lord.”

Seregil gave him their address and they took their leave.

“Do you think it’s poison?” Alec asked as they headed back to Wheel Street. “She did give the girl something to eat.”

“But from what Kepi said, it wasn’t usually something to eat. I wish the mother could have told us what else the woman had hanging from her belt. You’d think if there had been hanks of hair she’d have noticed.”

“We have to go look, Seregil! It’s been two days already for Myrhichia. I think it’s time we considered magic again, too. And if it is magic, then how long before it spreads to the rest of the city?”

“I know. But in daylight.”

* * *

The villa in Wheel Street was closer to the Sea Market than the Stag and Otter, but they never worked out of there in disguise. Instead they returned to their rooms at the inn and spent the night there.

By morning the rain had turned to a muggy drizzle. Dressed in ragged clothes—Alec in his one-eyed beggar gear, Seregil in his broken-brimmed traveler’s hat held on with a ragged scarf and a rag wrapped around his left hand to cover the lissik-dyed dragon bite there—and patched oilskin capes, they made their way through the morning bustle to the great marketplace, managing to catch a ride in the back of a fishmonger’s cart most of the way. Once there, they talked their way past the guards; it was far easier getting into that part of the Ring than getting back out again.

Once through, they began a leisurely stroll up and down the winding, muddy paths that passed for streets here between the pitiful hovels.