A tentative sniff told her that he and the boy at least were accustomed to bathing, though there was a medicinal, bitter smell about him that had nothing to do with a lack of cleanliness.

And there was a crow on his shoulder. It was definitely a live bird. It looked at her and cawed derisively.

“Don’t be rude, they have money,” Korlak scolded. He turned back to them and looked them up and down. “Ten coppers for your initial consultation,” he said.

Stev started to fumble out coppers. Abi slapped three silver on the counter. Korlak’s eyes bulged.

“Ah, ah,” she cautioned, as he reached for them. “First you tell us if you can do what we want. And what we want is for you to look at the place where the fake Valdemarans brought down the city wall and tell us more about the magic that did it than just the fact that three spells were used. If you can do that, you can have those. If you lie to me, we’ll know, and you’ll get nothing.”

He pulled back his hand, and he and the crow eyed her with about the same expression, or lack of it. “The wall was wrecked by magic?”

“Not initially,” Stev corrected. “The initial crack was caused by soil instability under it. The fake Valdemarans used magic to break the entire wall down.”

“You should probably go ask Albemarle,” Korlak sighed. “As you’ve probably guessed, I’m not the best Mage in the city.”

“Albemarle kept yelling at me about love potions,” Stev said flatly. “And the smith is who told Abi that there were three spells in the first place. We need more information and we need it now.”

“If you’re willing to wait, Albemarle usually comes out of those fits in two or three days and has about a day of being lucid—”

“No,” Stev and Abi said together, interrupting him. They looked at each other. “We’re under some time pressure,” Abi said. “The Artificers want to get out of this city as soon as we’ve got a footing set for the wall repair. Let’s just say they aren’t happy about conditions here.”

“I see you’re getting the benefit of our mayor’s notion of hospitality,” Korlak said dryly. “All right. We’ll do what we can. But no guarantees. Magic is sometimes unpredictable, and mine in particular is unreliable.” He glanced at the counter, and the little bags lined up in neat rows. “I can offer you each a potion by way of compensation if I don’t come up with anything.”

“Do they work?” asked Stev.

“The bellyache tea does,” the boy behind the counter spoke at last.