“Maybe he’s a nightrunner, too.”

Seregil let out what started as a derisive snort but turned into a sneeze.

“What happened to your shawl?” asked Alec.

“Spoil of war.”

Alec untied his own and draped it over Seregil’s shoulders. Seregil didn’t argue; the woolen shawl was soaked, but still held in some warmth. He was chilled to the bone and depressed now that the excitement was over. Walking wasn’t quite enough to keep him warm.

Alec patted the stone in his wallet. “At least we have this to show Valerius and Thero. Maybe they can get something from it.”

“Hopefully.” As they splashed along, Seregil found himself thinking more of the tall man than the old one; something niggled at the back of his mind, but he wasn’t quite sure yet what it meant.

Atre crouched in the shadows inside a derelict shanty, stripping off the fake whiskers, wig, and putty nose. Using a clean corner of his sodden cloak, he rubbed at his face to get off the last of the cosmetics. He was nearly done when Brader stepped inside and pulled the mask from the lower portion of his face.

“What was that all about?” Atre whispered.

“You had an admirer,” Brader replied, looking more dour than usual.

“That old beggar woman?”

“Not so old, and no beggar. I saw her take down a man twice her size in the blink of an eye and nearly cut his throat. I’m not completely certain it was even a woman.” He sat down on a box and kept watch while Atre stripped off his beggar’s clothing to the plain garb underneath and wadded the whole disguise into a sack.

“Oh, don’t glower so. You’ve always liked this part of our arrangement,” Atre wheedled.

After a moment Brader said, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but it’s happening again. You’re taking too many risks and someone is taking notice.”

“Your raggedy lady friend?”

“Listen to me for once, cousin!” Brader growled. “That was no beggar woman.”

“Well, that’s why I have you, isn’t it?” Atre said with a grin. “The next time you catch someone suspicious, just kill them like you usually do. You haven’t bloodied your blade more than once or twice since we’ve been here.”

Brader let out an exasperated snort. “Because you were being careful, until that night you got yourself stabbed in that rat-hole tavern. It’s going to be just like before—”

“No, it isn’t,” Atre assured him with that dark, hungry smile. “It’s going to be much, much better.”

Back at the Stag and Otter, Seregil sent word to Valerius to meet them at Thero’s tower. Washed and changed into dry, nondescript clothing, they set off for the Orëska House through the relentless downpour.