Petronio didn’t give a twig for fusty superstition. In one swift movement, he twisted around on the woodway to face his attacker. As the claws stretched out to rip into skin and bone, he snatched the g-gun 100 from his doublet, flicked the safety catch, and squeezed the trigger. The bird didn’t even get a warning, as the tiny splinter of keen glass almost silently found its target. It traversed the air in a split second, burrowed through feathers, pierced skin, and smashed its way around several internal organs before exiting the bird’s body.

The raven screeched. It was already dead, even though its brain had not yet received the message. The wings flapped out in an ungainly manner, all flight gone as the corpse plummeted toward the forest canopy.

Petronio heard sounds of cracking, several thumps. Then silence. He stared at the g-gun in his hand, marveling that a machine so small could dispense death on such a magnificent scale. Oh yes. The Empire of Maw had much to offer.

“Come on, then!” he shouted up at the sky where the other raven circled uncertainly. “I’ll take the lot of you!”

The bird chose wisdom rather than death, wheeling away from the monster with blazing eyes and deadly treasure in its hands.

The boy laughed out loud. With the simple pressing of one finger, Petronio Grasp had killed a raven and made history. The tables were turning.

He stowed the g-gun, his mood immeasurably better. Who was lord of the forest now? The sun shone down in agreement as he strolled the autumnal byways, finally sneaking into the back entrance of what no longer felt like home.

He had no desire to bump into his father. The man would only scowl. Petronio headed for the dungeons.

“Halt? Who goes there?”

“Why are you squeaking, Alnus?”

Alnus coughed, wondering if he’d ever recover from Mucum’s well-aimed kick between his legs. “I’m not. You can’t go farther, Master Grasp.” If the boy or his father found out that Mucum had escaped, Alnus would be shortly walking the plank.

Petronio hadn’t been called Master for a while, even though the words were tinged with sarcasm. “Why?”

“Err. The little girl and the boy. Ill. Very, very ill. Might be a bad case of color!”

“You mean cholera?”

“That’s the one. They’re under kworro … kworry …”

“Quarantine. Let’s hope they don’t die, eh?”

Alnus almost fainted with relief. The lie had saved him and Salix, for now.

Petronio was rather pleased. With Ark dead, and his troublemaker mate sick, what could go wrong? “I’ve something for you.” He pulled the purse out of his pocket and as Alnus leaned forward, he loosened the tie. He neglected to mention that the purse was not as heavy as when Fenestra had entrusted it to him.

“What’s this for?” Alnus sniffed suspiciously as if gold had its own perfume.