“Think it was money well spent?” asked Alec as they walked on.

Seregil smiled. “At least a few of them were telling the truth. We know about the old man and old woman. And I’ve heard rumors of younger ones.”

“If your wizard woman was right, then shouldn’t the ravens be Zengati?” asked Micum. “A ‘blond-headed feller’ doesn’t sound right. And chances are at least some of the children would have seen a Zengati trader or two to know the difference.”

“You probably don’t have to be Zengati to practice Zengati magic, though,” said Alec. “So, where to first?”

“Let’s split up for a while,” Seregil replied. “I’ll go over by the Ring wall. Micum, you check out the nail maker. Alec, try the marketplace a few streets over.” He glanced up at the sinking sun. “If you find one, just follow them. I’ll meet you back here when the sun touches the rooftops. If you don’t come back, I’ll find you.”

But either all the children had been lying, or the ravens had already moved on again, for Seregil found the other two waiting for him at the appointed time, equally empty-handed.

* * *

They set off again early the following day, picking up a few hopeful reports of sightings and trades over the course of the morning, but not finding their quarry.

At noon they stopped to rest in the shade and eat their meager meal of sausage and bread. They were nearly finished when Seregil halted mid-bite, looking intent as a hound who’d gotten a scent. A tall, dark-haired swordsman was crossing the street near the end of the block.

“That’s him!” Seregil murmured. “He got a good look at me in this getup, though. You two take the lead and I’ll keep out of sight until you need me.”

As they started off to track the tall swordsman, Micum gave Alec his arm as he had Seregil, so as to attract less attention. Strolling along, they mingled in the afternoon crowd and stayed just close enough to keep their mark in sight. Presently the man paused at a small knot of people, children mostly, all clamoring around a stooped old woman with a long nose and stringy grey hair. She wore a shapeless tunic over a striped skirt, and a belt from which hung the sort of things Kepi and the Mycenian woman had noted.

“That’s got to be her,” whispered Alec, looking around for the swordsman. He stood a little way off, seemingly paying no attention to the commotion.