It wasn’t Alec’s favorite form of disguise; he felt uneasy with his legs hampered by long skirts, and although Seregil had gone to great pains to teach him how to make his voice lighter and more feminine, Alec always felt a bit silly speaking that way. For this job, however, even he had to admit it was a good choice. They attracted much less attention than they had yesterday.

“Let’s see if we can avoid any more fights,” Seregil murmured, keeping a sharp eye out for danger as they wended their way into a section of the slum they hadn’t been in before.

They did manage to stay out of trouble, but had little luck until it was nearly dark. They were on their way back to the gate, not wanting to get caught here after dark, when Seregil glanced down a side path and saw a stoop-shouldered, bowlegged old man speaking with a young boy and holding something out to him. The man must have been tall in his day, and had a head of wild grey hair that hung to his shoulders, a bulbous nose, and a patch over one eye. His unruly grey beard was stained with something dark at the corners of his mouth.

Seregil caught Alec by the arm and nodded in their direction, whispering, “The one-eyed old man.”

As they watched, the boy took whatever it was and handed the old fellow something back. The man patted him on the head, then stumped away deeper into the shantytown.

“There’s a bit of luck!” Seregil exclaimed softly.

“He doesn’t have anything hanging from his belt.”

“But he made a trade, all the same. You take the boy. I’ll see where the old fellow is headed. If you don’t catch up, I’ll meet you by the fountain in the Sea Market in an hour’s time.”

Leaving Alec to his work, Seregil set off after the old man.

The boy was walking away, looking at something in his hand.

Alec sidled up behind him. “What you got there?” he asked, doing his best to speak with a woman’s voice.

The child whirled around and drew a short dagger. He had a thin, ugly face and a wen on his cheek the size of a sparrow’s egg. “What’s that to you?”

Alec held up his hands, showing that he meant no harm. “Nothin’, except I been looking for one of those raven people and I thought that might have been one you was talkin’ to.”

The boy regarded him shrewdly for a moment, still wary, then said, “What do you want with ’em?”

“I hear they make trades. I was lookin’ to make one myself, maybe. So, was that old man one of ’em?”

The boy’s mouth slanted in a taunting grin. “What’s it worth to you to know?”