“Mosca, this is Mistress Nokes.” A woman in a primrose-yellow cottager’s gown and cap tripped forward, her face wearing a vague smile, as if she had just heard the punch line to a joke and was waiting to understand it. “Mistress Nokes, Mosca and this delightful goose of hers will be taking that room of yours on the second floor. Can we have the key?”

Mistress Nokes had to spell out the keys on her chatelaine one by one with great care, and she finally held up the right one with an air of mute surprise and triumph. Kohlrabi folded her hand carefully around a few coins, and held her fingers in place a moment to make sure she did not drop them.

“Mistress Nokes is not one for talking,” Kohlrabi explained as he led Mosca up the stairs, “but she’s an excellent cook. Ah! Here we are. How is this, Mosca? Do you think you can survive here for a few days until things calm down?”

The room had a proper bed, with chocolate-brown curtains and embroidered pillows. There was a dressing table with, Mosca noted in amazement, a mirror two spans high. There were three candlesticks—good, long ones. There was a little hollow in one wall for visitors to place a pocket idol while they were staying. There was a stand for a wig, and a little bone comb. And . . .

“It’s got wallpaper,” Mosca said in awe.

Kohlrabi reached for the purse at his belt. “You will be safe here, providing you stay in this room and don’t open the door to anyone but myself or Mistress Nokes. Here’s a few coins to tide you over. Mistress Nokes will bring you meals, but if you need anything else, ask her to go out and get it for you, and give her the money.”

Mosca did not answer. In reaching for his purse, Kohlrabi had carelessly pushed aside his cloak, and suddenly she knew exactly why the children of the Floating School had run from him.

Kohlrabi’s eyes dropped to discover the object of Mosca’s fascinated gaze. “Oh, that.” He pulled the cloak back to conceal the pistol strapped to his flank. “There is danger on the streets,” he admitted. “Danger on the highways as well, or I might have tried to spirit you out of Mandelion. Some villagers have turned to banditry, they say.”

“There’s going to be a war, isn’t there?” Everything seemed to be unraveling.

“In Mandelion?” Kohlrabi seemed to be considering the question seriously. “Perhaps a little one, but only a little one. Mosca, things will get worse before they get better, but believe me when I tell you that everything will happen for the best.” He studied her features with a worried smile-frown.