“I’m fine,” Alec insisted, standing up. “As long as I keep my cloak on, no one will see. You, on the other hand—”

“Look like I live here now.” Seregil ripped a piece from the tail of his shirt to try to wipe away the worst of it.

They hunted a few hours more, but had no luck. As shadows began to lengthen across the slum they made their way back to the gate and headed for the Stag and Otter.

Ema and Tomin were in the steamy kitchen, helping the girls get the evening meal ready.

“I just scrubbed that floor!” Ema complained as they came in, dripping rain and mud.

“Sorry.” Seregil untied his cloak and tossed it onto the woodpile by the door.

“What happened to—” Tomin broke off, knowing better than to ask any questions. “Do you want the tub filled?”

“The sooner, the better!” Seregil exclaimed wearily, pulling off his sodden, cracked old shoes. “Alec, you stay here and have Tomin look at your arm. I’ll go fetch some clothes.”

Alec’s wound didn’t need stitching, so Tomin cleaned and dressed it with stinging horse salve and wrapped it in clean linen.

Leaving their filthy clothing for Ema to deal with, they washed and went up to their rooms. It was early dark and raining hard again, but the air was still too muggy for a fire. Everything in the room felt damp.

“I’d say it’s pretty clear that the raven people have something to do with the sickness,” said Alec, sitting down in his accustomed chair by the empty hearth to comb the knots from his wet hair.

“Yes, I think we can assume that.” Seregil stretched out on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. Ruetha appeared from under the sofa and curled up between his bare feet, purring as she began to wash. “How they’re causing it is the next question, and why? It’s not like they’re gaining anything of value for their trades, except to hurt someone else.”

“But the hair? Whoever these raven folk are, they could be using some sort of necromancy on whatever they’ve traded.”

Seregil raised an eyebrow as he considered this. “Or something like it. It’s interesting, this trading. What does that suggest to you?”

“That something stolen won’t work? That it has to be freely given?”

“Exactly. And the fact that the old woman could get close enough to those slum children to trade with them when we couldn’t means that she and whatever other folk of her tribe there are around aren’t seen as threats or outsiders by those they trade with. Our little friend who led us into the ambush pegged us as outsiders, and knew better than to get within arm’s reach of two strange men.”

“But an old woman would seem safe enough. We have to go back! Myrhichia—”