Skif turned his head to peer between bushes nearby, thinking he heard something. Some zealous Watchman, perhaps? If so, he’d better be prepared with a story about why he was here.

He had heard something, but it wasn’t a member of the Watch.

There was a horse wandering loose around the park, taking nibbles out of the grass, sampling the flowers. It was a handsome creature, white as snow, and still wore a saddle and bridle. Reins dangled from the bridle—no, it was a bitless hackamore, he saw. No one would leave reins dangling like that—your horse could all too easily catch a leg in them, stumble, fall and perhaps break a leg.

But if you didn’t tie the reins off properly when you left a horse waiting, the horse could jerk them loose and wander off, leaving them dangling just like these were.

For one wild moment, Skif thought—Is that a Companion?

But no—if it had been a Companion, there would certainly be a Herald somewhere about. And besides, the saddle and hackamore were old, very plain, well-worn. Everyone knew that Companions went about in elaborate blue-and-silver tack, with silver bridle bells and embroidered barding. There were plenty of white horses around that weren’t Companions. It was something of an affectation in some fashionable sets to ride white horses, or have a carriage drawn by matched teams of them.

No, some idiot hadn’t tied his horse properly. Or, far more likely given the worn state of the tack, some groom had taken his master ’s mare out for some exercise and had combined the chore with some errand of his own. He hadn’t tied the horse up, and she’d pulled her reins loose and wandered away. That groom would be in a lot of trouble—but since there wasn’t anyone combing the park looking for this beast, evidently he hadn’t missed her yet.

Well, his loss was Skif’s gain.

Working at the Priory had given him a lot more familiarity with horses than he’d had before. He’d even learned to ride. And faced with this opportunity for profit on four legs, he grinned broadly.

You’re mine! he told the grazing mare. Lessee; horse fair’s runnin’ over on the east side. Or I kin take her out of the walls altogether an’ sell her. Or I kin take her t’Priory an’ collect th’ reward when she shows up missin’. . . .

The last option wasn’t a bad notion, though the first was the real money maker.

The horse moved around the bushes and out of his sight; knowing that she was probably some high-strung well-bred beast, he got up slowly and began to stalk her. If he, a stranger, was going to catch her rather than spooking her, he’d have to catch her by surprise.