The three men on the jetty watched stony-faced as the little rowing boat glided up to nudge the hanging sedan. The sculler stood up and put out his hands to steady Caveat, who opened a door and gingerly lowered one foot into the boat. Then, without warning, the young man gave the Stationer a vigorous push in the chest. As Caveat fell sprawling backward into the sedan, the oarsman pushed away with his paddle.

“Sorry, old love.” The youth waved a farewell with the rolled-up papers that his long, gloved fingers had tweaked from Caveat’s pocket. “Can’t take passengers, can I? Watermen’s rules.” He tossed the papers and Caveat’s purse to the men waiting on the bank, grabbed his sculls, and plied them. The laughter of the four men faded with their footsteps, and Caveat was left rocking in darkness amid the laughter of the wind, his face in his hands.

Eponymous Clent’s report gave a detailed, florid, and in some instances even accurate account of Mosca’s discovery of the Floating School and her attempts to follow Pertellis. Aramai Goshawk, the new leader of the Mandelion Locksmiths, read and reread it, turning the pages carefully with his tiny, perfect hands.

Goshawk’s “offices” were never in the same place twice, and today he was holding court in the domain of the gulls. The cathedral roof offered a splendid view of the city, unequaled even by the spires. The great pitted dome shielded his desk and chair from the worst of the wind, and all around him the gulls eddied and perched, angel-wing white in the sun. He was pleased by their cruel raucousness, their symphony of selfishness.

The man who stood before Goshawk twisting his cap seemed less happy. His knees trembled with the height, and he flinched from the gape of the gulls’ beaks.

“So”—Goshawk raised colorless eyes to look at him—“which part of the city does your gang control? Point it out to me.”

“Over there, between the river and Cockle Street.” The young thief’s face furrowed as he realized how small his territory looked from Goshawk’s vantage.

As far as Goshawk was concerned, people were greedy, frightened, or both, and that was all you needed to know about them. He preferred them frightened. Greed had probably brought this young criminal to Goshawk to offer his gang’s services, but fear would later prevent him changing allegiance. In time, fear would bring a parade of thieves, swindlers, blackmailers, fences, nook gazers, murderers, magistrates, and courtiers, all desperate to make terms with the Locksmiths. Secretly, Goshawk thanked the Birdcatchers for filling the Realm with broken, frightened people. The old anthems to freedom were dead. Nowadays everybody wanted safety, and the Locksmiths offered safety—for a price.