“Something like that,” Seregil murmured, tamping down his growing horror. “Did either of you actually see any of these beggars?”

“I did,” Nala replied. “I watched one of them, an old woman, trade my little boy a pretty stone for some toy. It’s been so long, I don’t even remember what it was. But I remember her and that stone!”

“Was it a yellow crystal?” asked Alec.

Nala shook her head. Reaching into the neck of her dress, she pulled out a red jasper pebble with a hole through it, which she wore on a thin silver chain. “After my poor boy died, I hoped this would kill me, too. Now I have it as a keepsake.” She wiped her cheek. “I remember that old woman like she’s standing here before me!”

“What did she look like?” Alec asked, and Seregil felt a stab of the same unsettled excitement along their talímenios bond.

“Dirty! Dirty kerchief around her head, dirty hands, dirty dress, and a belt with things strung from it—”

“Do you remember what?” asked Seregil.

“Foolish things. A bird skull, a harness ring, more stones—I remember those because she untied the pebble she gave my Ressi from a string of others … That’s all I remember, but it was just trash.”

“I see.” Seregil would have liked to have bought the stone from her to show to Thero, but chances were any magic that might have been on it had long since leached away—and he doubted she’d part with the treasured relic of her child.

“Are they here in Rhíminee, the strange beggars?” asked Elren.

“Yes, old father,” Seregil replied.

“I hope they catch them this time, and hang them all!” he wheezed. “I hope I live to see the day!”

Micum gave the woman a handful of silver. “For your troubles, Mistress Nala, and the Maker’s Mercy.”

“Bless you,” she quavered. “Bless you all, kind folk! May the Old Sailor carry your sister gently.”

Seregil refused to speak until they were safely in their rooms at the Stag and Otter. Kari and Elsbet were in the front room and stood as soon as the others came in.

“Well?” asked Kari, hands clutched over her heart.

“What’s wrong, you two?” asked Micum. “You both look like you’ve eaten a mess of bad mussels.”

“We’ve been blind as moles is what’s wrong!” Seregil growled, stalking over to the table where the map was spread.

Alec followed. “You really think it could be them?”

“Who, damn it?” Micum demanded.

“Atre and his company. They could be our ravens, and plague bearers,” Seregil replied grimly.

“The actor at Alec’s party?” asked Elsbet.

“Yes,” Alec replied. “Atre told us of his travels. They’d been everywhere the old man spoke of. He never said when, though.”

“Those Mycenians didn’t say anything about actors, though,” Micum pointed out.