“This is not good,” Essa whispered. “Rownie, get ready to do something. I’m not sure what, but something. Probably grab Thomas and toss him in the back, so we can ride as fast as we can in some random direction.”

Thomas drew himself up to his full height. The top of his hat almost reached the boy’s shoulder. “Go on and wake the dead beneath you, if it pleases you to do so, but argue with me no further. My companions and I are weary and in grief.”

Jansin marched up to the wagon and pounded on the side with one hand. “You’ve got masks painted here,” he said. “So you’re players, then. Goblin players. Put on a show for us.”

The other smaller children cheered. “A show, a show!”

“We will not,” Thomas said. “We are weary, and we have far to go tonight.”

The boy tossed a coin to the ground. It was a large coin, and it looked to be silver.

Thomas stood over the silver, but he did not pick it up.

“Are you a merchant’s boy?” he asked. “No. You could not be. No one from a merchant’s household would throw wealth around so carelessly.”

“My family owns the biggest coalmaker shops in the city,” Jansin said. He said it with challenge, as though daring anyone to tell him that coalmaking was a dirty business.

“Ah,” said Thomas. “A buyer and seller of hearts. One who believes that any heart can therefore be bought or sold. Well, coal-boy, we do play for coin, and almost any coin—but not for yours.” He used the tip of his walking cane to flick the silver away. It rolled and wobbled back to Jansin. The boy scooped it up off the ground, flush-faced and angry. He threw it, hard, and knocked the hat from Thomas’s head.

“Oh, this is bad,” Essa said. “This is very bad.” She tightened her grip on the reins. “I wonder if Horace could jump over that tree? He’s never jumped before, but we could try it.”

Rownie climbed down from the wagon on the opposite side, out of sight. He ditched his hat and gloves and circled around behind the crowd of children. Their attention was elsewhere. No one saw him in the dusk light. No one noticed Rownie standing behind them, just barely among them. No one noticed that he was unfamiliar.

Thomas, meanwhile, picked up his own huge hat, dusted it carefully, and set it back on his head. Then he unsheathed a thin sword from the length of his cane and held it such that the tip of the blade almost touched the tip of Jansin’s nose.

“I will have an apology from you,” Thomas said. His voice was calm, quiet, and cold.

Jansin glared, clearly afraid, clearly unwilling to take a step backward. The old goblin held his sword steady.

Everyone waited to see what would happen next.