The station’s were the only burning lights in an otherwise respectable cul-de-sac, the kind of place Izza wouldn’t have dared visit even in daylight. Far above her comfort level on the risk-value curve. People around here had souls, but they didn’t come free or easy. You could grab a drunk’s or gambler’s soulstuff no problem: their spirits flowed outside their skin. Artists were the same way, and musicians, and priests. Three months back and a lifetime ago she’d skimmed ten thaums off a Kosite who’d stopped to watch two kids fight over a pineapple in the mud. Conditions like that made for great graft: empathy roused the mark’s soul, easy to nab a corner without their noticing. That’s why she set up the fight in the first place. Ivy and Nick got a cut, of course, to make up for their bruises and dirty clothes. They all split the pineapple after.

Margot walked beside her with the quick high step of a man getting away with something. She walked faster when she saw that, because if the cops did, they’d give chase. Her savior, it seemed, was not used to this kind of thing.

They cleared a few blocks from the station, and turned downhill toward shore. The street shrank, and packed earth replaced cobblestones; white plaster buildings sprouted awnings, decks, and tables barricaded by citronella torches. Far enough. She slowed. So did he.

“You’re not mute,” he said. “Are you?”

She reached into her mouth, and produced a thin gold disk from beneath her tongue. “No. Just hiding.” She held the disk out for his inspection, firmly gripped between thumb and forefinger.

He touched the disk, and his eyes widened. “A lot of soul here.”

“People put more of themselves in the things they own than they think.” She vanished the coin into a hidden pocket. “Memories.” She touched the sleeve of his jacket. “I could get a few thaums out of this, I bet.”

“They said you stole a woman’s purse. You stole…” He groped in the air in front of him, actually groped for the word with his fingers. She’d never seen a person do that before. “You stole the idea of her purse. Her connection to her purse.” He laughed. The laugh was the only part of him that didn’t sound nervous. Big bellied, joyful. She looked up and down the street, wondering who might be listening. The laugh ended, and he wiped tears from his eyes. This too she’d never seen. Most people she knew had little use for tears. Especially the kids.

“Who are you? How did you find me? And what do you want?”

He removed his spectacles and polished them on the lapel of his coat.

“If you get weird,” she said, “I’ll leave.”

He replaced his spectacles. “May I ask you a question?”

“No.”