“You cannot keep him safe enough,” she threw at Sir Corc. “You cannot run forever. One day, you will have no choice but to give him over.”

Sir Corc said nothing as he made for her, but before he was within reach the woman fled into the narrow passage and was lost from sight. Sir Corc made a slow turn, looking to all sides, then turned to Pocket.

“Come,” he said. “We must away.”

They went back up the street where Bantam Flyn stood over the corpse of the creature that had once been Old Lochlann. In death, it resembled nothing close to human. The limbs had elongated and shriveled to emaciated stalks, the flesh almost black. The belly was horribly distended, bloating out from beneath the tunic. One hand was a shrunken pig’s hoof and the feet had burst the bindings of their shoes, emerging in misshapen lumps covered in scales. But it was the face that Pocket struggled to look upon. The skin had stretched and split over a protruding snout, lips peeled back over a choking mass of thick teeth. A small antler sprouted from under the lank hair and while one eye retained its human appearance, the other was bulging out of the socket with the slit iris of a predator.

“Gruagach,” Flyn said, looking up at Sir Corc. “How did you know?”

“His cooking had improved,” Sir Corc said, sheathing his sword and striding past the squire without a glance.

Pocket kept to the knight’s heels, his pumping heart competing in a race against his whirling mind. All of those people were changelings? What did they want with him? Pocket had never even met another gurg before, not even in Black Pool, much less a full blooded gruagach. It seemed he always had questions for Sir Corc, but he was not about to risk speaking when the knight seemed so wroth.

Bantam Flyn also followed, his eyes scanning the alleys.

“How did you find me?” Pocket asked before he could stop himself.

“You shot past like a sparrow,” Flyn laughed lightly. “We took a turn and then heard something run down the high street. Something that looked shockingly like you. My watchman friend was not so keen on investigating.”

“Enough talk,” Sir Corc said without looking back.

He led them back the way Pocket had come, but long before they reached the townhouse, the knight turned down a side street and kept making turns until Pocket lost all sense of direction. At last, Sir Corc approached a common green; one of the many little islands of flowers and preened trees that dotted the wealthy districts of Sweynside. It might have been pleasant to look upon during the day, but Pocket saw only dark bushes where unseen eyes could stare out at him hungrily, waiting to pounce. He breathed easier when they came around a hedgerow and found Backbone making a meal out of a flowerbed.