‘We can conduct our own inspection, good master merchant.’ She cocked her head slightly ‘Was that the step of a customer I heard from below?’

The shopkeeper blinked and then he bolted downstairs.

‘Can you see the house up the street from the window?’ Sephrenia asked.

‘The panes are dirty’ Sparhawk lifted the hem of his grey cloak to wipe away the dust and grime

‘Don’t,’ she said sharply ‘Styric eyes are very sharp.’

‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll look through the dust. Elene eyes are just as sharp.’ He looked at her ‘Does that happen every time you go out?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Common Elenes are not much smarter than common Styrics. Frankly I’d rather have a conversation with a toad than with either breed.’

‘Toads can talk?’ He was a little surprised at that.

‘If you know what you’re listening for, yes. They’re not very stimulating conversationalists, though.’

The house at the end of the street was not impressive The lower floor was constructed of field-stone, crudely mortared together, and the second storey was of roughly squared-off timbers. It seemed somehow set off from the houses around it as if drawing in a kind of isolated separateness. As they watched, a Styric wearing the poorly woven woollen smock which was the characteristic garb of his race moved up the street towards the house. He looked around furtively before he entered.

‘Well?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘It’s hard to say,’ Sephrenia replied. ‘It’s the same as with that one we saw in the street. He’s either simple or very skilled.’

This could take a while.’

‘Only until dark if I’m right,’ she said as she drew a chair up to the window

In the next several hours, a fair number of Styrics entered the house, and, as the sun sank into a dense, dirty-looking cloud bank on the western horizon, others began to arrive. A Cammorian in a bright yellow silk robe went furtively up the cul-de-sac and was immediately admitted. A booted Lamork in a polished steel cuirass and accompanied by two crossbow-bearing men-at-arms marched arrogantly up to the doors of the house and gained entry just as quickly. Then, as the chill winter twilight began to settle over Chyrellos, a lady in a deep purple robe and attended by a huge manservant in bullhide armour such as that commonly worn by Pelosians went up the centre of the short street, moving with a stiff-legged, abstracted pace. Her eyes seemed vacant and her movements jerky Her face, however, bore an expression of ineffable ecstasy

‘Strange visitors to a Styric house,’ Sephrenia commented.

Sparhawk nodded and looked around the darkening room. ‘Do you want some light?’ he asked her.