“Mop up your drips with the towel you used, and wipe out the tub, then drop the towel down that chute over there. Send your old clothing after it.” Teren nodded toward a square opening in the wall between two basins, and Skif finished dressing, then obeyed him. How long had he been there? Had he left while Skif was filling the tub? It bothered him that he couldn’t remember.

I always know where people are. Am I losing my edge?

Teren waited for him by the door, but held out a hand to stop him before he went back through it. “Hold still a moment, would you?” he asked, and put a single finger under Skif’s chin, turning his face back into the light from the windows. “I thought most of that was dirt,” he said contritely. “I beg your pardon, Skif. Before I take you to Elcarth, I’d like you to see a Healer for that nose and eye.”

Another moment of mixed reaction—a little resentment that the man would think he was so slovenly that he’d have that much dirt on his face, and small wonder that the Housekeeper had been so abrupt! But that was mingled with more astonishment. A Healer? For a broken nose?

But within moments, he found himself sitting across from a green-clad Healer, a fairly nondescript fellow, who examined him briskly, said “This will only hurt for a moment,” and grabbed his nose and pulled.

It certainly did hurt, quite as much as when he’d hit Cymry’s neck in the first place. It hurt badly enough he couldn’t even gasp. But the Healer had spoken the truth; it only hurt for a moment, and in the very next moment, it not only stopped hurting, it stopped hurting.

He opened his eyes—and both of them opened properly now—and stared into the Healer’s grin. “You’ll still look like a masked ferret,” the fellow said cheerfully, “but you should be fine now.”

“How did you do that anyway?” Teren asked, as they made their way back to Herald’s Collegium and Skif’s interview with Herald Elcarth.

“Cymry jumped a wagon, an’ I hit ’er neck with my face,” he replied ruefully, and found himself describing the entire wild ride in some detail as they walked.

“She made you think you’d stolen her?” Teren said at last, smothering laughter. “Forgive me, but—”

“Oh, it’s pretty funny—now,” Skif admitted. “An’ I s’ppose it’ll be funnier in a moon, or a season, or a year. Last night, I c’n tell you, it weren’t funny at all.”