The ragpicker shrugged. “He did me a great favor once, something of a personal nature, something I don’t talk about with anyone. But I never had a chance to thank him. It took me until now to find enough coin and courage to come looking for him.” He smiled ruefully. “I waited too long.”

The woman nodded. “Would you like some tea?”

The ragpicker nodded. “That would be nice.”

She did not invite him inside, but left him waiting on her front stoop while she fetched the tea. While she was gone, he gave thought to what this new information would do to his plans.

“Green tea for a cool morning,” she announced, handing him a mug. She sat down beside him. “How long ago was it that you met Sider?”

“Oh, several years. Too long to make excuses.” He sipped at the tea. “This is quite good. I can’t remember when I’ve had better.” He sipped some more. “I was wondering. When I met him—Sider Ament—he was carrying a black staff carved with symbols. Quite striking. Do you know what became of it?”

For a second time, her green eyes fixed on him, and this time there was no mistake—he had crossed a line that revealed him. She smiled, reached out, and took the mug of tea out of his hand.

“I can’t imagine,” she said conversationally, “what difference it would make to you, an itinerant ragpicker who met Sider Ament the one time only, what became of the black staff.”

He tried a reassuring smile. “It doesn’t make a difference so much as it satisfies my curiosity.”

She stood up. “I rather doubt that. Just as I am beginning to doubt that you are anything of what you say you are. It was nice meeting you, but I think you had better leave.”

He stood up with her but made no move to depart. “You are a perceptive lady. Perhaps you have discerned I seldom leave without gaining possession of what I came for. In this case, it was only information. If I am denied, I might choose to come back for something more.”

She gave him a chilly smile. “Others have made the mistake of thinking that way. You can visit their remains in the woods.”

She was only a woman holding two mugs of tea and lacking any weapons at all. But there was something about the way she said it that gave him pause.

By then, it was too late.

“Good morning, Brickey,” she called to someone behind him.