Every doorway could hide Baburn. Every alley, darkened as they were with wet clothes strung high up between buildings, could be the place where this could end. Maybe the boy had not even found his uncle and was hiding in the streets, sheltering in an empty house or trying to find work at the small docks. In a town of tens of thousands, finding him would not be an easy task, however aware or unaware he may be of his burgeoning powers. Time was not on the Red Monks’ side, and Lucien knew this only too well. He would not sleep. He would not stop looking or questioning, and if needs must, he would move past questioning, start using some more direct methods of interrogation. Someone here knew of Vance Baburn.

He paused in front of another tavern, rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and went inside.

IN THE END, Vance Baburn came to Lucien.

“I’ve been looking for you!” a voice hissed behind the Monk.

Lucien had strayed from the main streets and found an area of holding pens for sheebok, goats and a couple of chained and spiked tumblers. The cages were heavy and thick, and he wondered just what else they had been designed to hold. The air stank of stale shit. There were a few people milling around—feeding the animals, clearing out stalls, nervously teasing the tumblers—but not many. Lucien had asked his question and was about to leave when he felt the point of a knife in his back, heard the whisper in his ear.

“You’re not hard to find, you know. Dressed like you are. Like blood-colored shit.”

“I’ve been looking for you too,” Lucien said. The knife was pressed harder into his back and he felt the skin part, the cool metal sliding half a finger-length into his flesh. It did not hurt straightaway, but it stirred his blood. He felt his face flushing with rage, the sword twitching at his belt, and yet he did not turn around. He knew that he could use this movement to his advantage; he simply had to reign in his fury for a few heartbeats more.

“Where’s the boy?” the voice hissed.

“I don’t know, I’m looking for him myself.”

“What have you done to him? Killed him like you killed my brother and his wife? Butcher! What possible reason—”

“That was one of my brethren,” Lucien said, “and he did it—”

“I don’t care for your reasons! If you’re in with that murderer, I should kill you right here.”