His words tapered off as he felt the emptiness of the chambers. He could not have explained it to anyone. He simply knew that she was not there and had not been there since he had left. He stepped to the table and ran his fingertips lightly across a jidzin centerpiece there. The Elderling metal responded to his touch by bursting into life, giving off a ghost light, bluish but penetrating. He lifted it and it lit the room. Malta was not there. Cold flowed through him. He heard himself speak in a deceptively calm voice.

“Something’s wrong. She isn’t here, and it doesn’t look as if she’s been here.”

The hearth for the small chambers was not much more than a clay platter. He found a few embers still burning and coaxed them back to life and lit the lamp again. The stronger light only confirmed what he already knew. She had not come back from the meeting. Everything was exactly as they had left it when they hurried out of the door.

Leftrin and Skelly stood in the open door. He had no time to spend on courtesies. “I’m sorry. I have to go look for her. She was tired when I left her, but she promised she’d come straight back here. She . . . her back was hurting her. The baby . . . she is so heavy . . .”

The girl spoke. “We’ll go with you. Where did you last see her?”

“Right outside the Traders’ Concourse.”

“Then that is where we’ll begin.”

He’d brought her to his room. A labor pain had taken her just as they’d reached the threshold of the brothel. She’d doubled over at the door, wanting only to crouch down and be still until it passed. Instead, he had seized her by the arm and dragged her through a small empty sitting room and into a very untidy bedchamber. It smelled of male sweat and old food. A chair was buried under a burden of discarded clothing. The bedding on the narrow bed was rucked up on a stained mattress. There was a chipped platter on the floor near the door. Ants clustered on the crust of bread on it and explored the overturned flagon and sticky cutlery next to it. The only light came from a nearly extinct fire on a pottery hearth. Several baskets huddled near the door held his personal possessions. She caught sight of a boot and a sock stiffened with damp. Then he pushed her again.

Malta staggered, caught herself on the side of a low table, and sank down beside it. “Get a woman,” she told him fiercely. “Someone who knows about childbirth. NOW!”

He stared at her. Then, “You’ll be safe here. I’ll be right back,” he said and left.

When he shut the door, the room was plunged into dimness. Not far away, a woman laughed and a man gave a shout of drunken surprise.