“We’ve taken care of the farmers.” His voice had a snarl in it. Marit’s skin prickled; it was like being close to a lightning strike, wondering where the next bolt would burst free.

The shopkeeper groveled. “The blacksmith left town. Thought he’d walk to Toskala. Hoped to be safe there.”

“He didn’t get far.”

“Eh, hah, sure it is you’d not let such a valuable man walk out on you in your year of need.”

“He’s working where he can’t argue so much, it’s true. You’ve told me nothing I don’t already know, excepting for the bit about the leatherworker hiding goods from us. I know you have a daughter as well as the lad. I need more than this in payment, ver.” His tone was sly and nasty, drunk as much with the power he held as with the wine he’d been drinking.

Marit wanted to grab the slimy weasel and slam him against the counter until he begged for mercy and returned all that had been stolen, but of course this village had clearly lost far more than could ever be restored now. Anyway she had no weapon except the old knife, whose wooden handle was coming loose, and her walking staff, hard to use effectively in a crowded shop. She hated herself for what she could not do.

“A reeve came through,” said the man reluctantly.

“Sheh! You know it’s forbidden for you folk to talk or tithe to reeves.”

“I know it, I know it,” he gabbled. “But the reeve wore the Star of Life, like you folk do. He said he was flying down to Argent Hall, where a marshal was to be elected or murdered or some such. That’s what he said. How can we stop a reeve from flying in, when all’s said and done? Eh? Eh?” He was whining. “There’s nothing we can do when folk do walk into town on their own feet. We can’t stop them.”

“Maybe so.” The news had distracted the captain. Marit heard him scratching in the stubble at his chin. “Argent Hall, eh? Wish they’d made their move at Gold Hall, to get those cursed reeves up there off our backs, but there it is. The lord knows his business, just like you know yours, eh? The reeve halls will topple soon enough. What else? You’ve got that look about you, ver, like you’re hiding somewhat from me.”

“Neh, neh, nothing at all. Just a word I overheard the other day, a passing comment, you can’t trust chance-heard conversation, can you? Anyone can talk and say anything they please, can’t they? How can a poor soul know what’s true and what is just sky-spinning?”

The captain’s silence made the shop seem abruptly warmer, stuffy and hard to breathe. From the street came calls and cries, so remote they might as well have been meaningless: a woman sobbing, a man’s triumphant giggling as with a fit of cruelty, a spasm of coughing and spewing. Marit heard, from the back of the shop, a murmuring like mice rustling below the floorboards, words exchanged between two people in hiding: