His frown faded as he pulled on his shirt. “I’m not angry at them. Viridor has been more than generous. He’d like to have us stay as guests for as long as we wish. I know you want to get to Havery as soon as possible, love, but I do think it wise for us to recover from our arduous journey before we go on. Just a week or two.”

“Yes, of course we must stay. We need to find a tailor’s shop.”

“That’s already arranged.” He buttoned up his much-abused jacket. “After breakfast and the schoolroom, Viridor and the lads and I will be going down to Cutters Row. That’s what they call the tailors’ district here. Viridor offered to see that I have decent clothes to wear.”

I managed not to burst out laughing. “That’s exceedingly generous, especially since he can have no conception of what you mean by ‘decent.’ But I meant that we need to find a particular tailor’s shop, one that’s opposite a troll-owned shop called Queedle and Clutch.” I explained about Bee’s dream.“I’m hoping it might be her I’m meant to meet. Just as she dreamed she and I would meet at Nance’s that night in Expedition after the areito.”

He smiled as if our fierce misunderstanding at Nance’s had attained the glamour of a fond memory, for he was the sort of person for whom an unconditional triumph quite eradicates any troubling defeats. “Well then, my sweet Catherine, I shall insist we patronize whichever tailor shop sits opposite Queedle and Clutch. Come here. I don’t have to leave quite yet.”

White Bow House’s hospitality could not be faulted. With plenty of food and a comfortable bed we regained our strength quickly. The hypocaust system built under the well-appointed house made it easy to weather a short but ferocious cold snap that would have killed us had we been caught out on the road.

Yet fourteen days passed, the weather warmed up, and still there was no sign of Bee. I busied myself earning a little money by writing pamphlets for a troll-owned printer. Vai took for granted that the mage House would provide for all our needs, but I wanted funds of my own in my purse.

On a cloudy afternoon I trudged through sleet along Printers Lane with a sheaf of papers tucked in a satchel. Magister Vinda accompanied me together with two male attendants as guards and two young women to hold umbrellas over our heads. I was sure the four servants were slaves in all but name, clientage-born as Vai had been. But since they were country-born youth who could not speak anything but the garbled rural dialect, I had been unable to hold extended conversations with them.