“Ugly, but serviceable,” Seregil remarked, tossing his cloak aside.

“It’s not so bad,” Alec said, though he guessed that anything Plenimaran would be ugly in Seregil’s eyes.

A servant came to the door. “I’m Marten, my lords. Lady Zella has assigned me as your personal servant. I’m to guide you to the bathhouse whenever you are ready—”

“I’ve been ready since we got off the boat,” Seregil said with a chuckle.

“Your baggage has not yet arrived, but will be here quite soon. I can provide you with robes in the meantime.”

“Excellent. When our trunks arrive, please bring down clothing suitable for tonight’s feast.”

Marten led them back the way they’d come, and down a covered walkway behind the house to a pleasant bathhouse. The men’s chamber was a bit primitive by Aurënfaie standards, just a hot room with individual tubs and a few attendants. Micum, Mika, and Thero were already there, soaking happily.

“I can’t believe I got here sooner than an Aurënfaie,” Micum remarked; the ’faie were famous for their love of bathing, and Seregil was no exception.

“I wonder if it’s quite up to your standards,” Thero remarked as he washed his face. “No scented oils or flowers in the water.”

“It’s warm and it’s clean. That’s all I care about at the moment.” Seregil stripped off his traveling clothes and sank into the tub beside Thero’s with a long sigh of satisfaction.

“You have a lot of scars!” said Mika. “Were you in the war?”

Seregil smiled. “No, but I’ve had an interesting life. I’ll tell you stories sometime.”

Alec took the tub by Micum’s. Unbinding his hair, he sank under the water for a moment to wet it. Some helpful servant had left a jar of soft soap on a stand by the side of the tub. “I hope we talk to the man who saw the ghost soon,” he noted as he lathered up. “I’d like to know one way or the other what we’re dealing with.”

“It certainly sounds as if something shook him deeply,” said Seregil.

“And there’s the guard in the madhouse.”

Micum shook his head. “I don’t want to bet my life on the words of a frightened man or a lunatic. Do you?”

“They’re all we have to work with,” Seregil said with a shrug. “We’ll speak with them both before we go up to Menosi.”

“Can I go, Master Thero?” asked Mika. “I’ve never met a mad person before.”

“I don’t think that would further your education at this point,” Thero told him. “And don’t forget to wash your ears.”

“But I can come to Menosi, right?”

“Yes.”

“I want to see a ghost!”

“Perhaps you will, but you must be patient and careful. Ghosts are nothing to be taken lightly.”

The feast that night was an intimate affair, just Klia and her party, Lady Zella, Master Hasen, the mayor of Deep Water, and his wife Loena. Both Hasen and Loena were native islanders, with the dark eyes and fair skin that spoke of generations of mingled heritage. Kouros had changed hands many times, seen Skalan and Plenimaran settlers come and go, but the islanders themselves persisted, making do as best they could.