“Hmm. I think you will pass. Don’t brush your hair until we are out of sight, though. It’s too clean to be seen in daylight, from all those marvelous soaps everyone uses on the other side, and we don’t want to attract attention. Humph. So what shall we do today, my lady?”

“Well, I think we’ll start by eating breakfast and paying the nice man.” Nice was not an adjective Miriam would normally use on a hotelier like the one lurking downstairs—back home she’d be more inclined to call the police—but standards of personal service varied wildly in the Gruinmarkt. “Let’s hit the road to Hasleholm. As soon as we’re out of sight, I’m going to vanish. You remembered your pistol?”

Brill nodded.

“Okay, then you’re set up. It should just be a quiet day’s walk for you. If you run into trouble, first try to get off the road, then shoot—I don’t want you taking any chances, even if there isn’t much of a bandit problem around these parts in winter. Luckily you’re more heavily armed than anyone you could possibly meet except a Clan caravan.”

“Right.” Brill nodded uncertainly. “You’re sure that strange contraption will work?”

Miriam nodded. “Trust me.”

Breakfast below consisted of two chipped wooden bowls of oatmeal porridge, salted, eaten in the kitchen under the watchful (if squinting) eyes of the publican’s wife—which made it harder for Miriam to palm her pills. She made a song and dance of reciting some kind of grace prayer over the bowls. Miriam waited patiently, moving her lips randomly—her mute and incomprehending condition explained by Brill, in her capacity as long-suffering daughter.

Barely half an hour later, Miriam and Brill were on the road again, heading toward the coast, breath steaming in the frigid morning air. It was bitterly dry, like an icy desert. A heavy frost had fallen overnight, but not much snow. Miriam hunched beneath a heavy canvas knapsack that held her bicycle and extra supplies. Brill, too, bore a heavy bag, for Miriam had made two trips through to cache essential supplies before they began this trip. Although they’d come only two miles from Paulette’s house, they were centuries away in the most important way imaginable. Out here, even a minor injury such as a twisted ankle could be a disaster. But they had certain advantages that normally only the Clan and its constituent families would have—from their modern hiking boots to the hefty automatic pistol Brill carried in a holster concealed beneath her Thinsulate-lined cloak.

“This had better work.” Miriam’s teeth chattered slighly as she spoke.

“I’m going to feel really stupid if it turns out that this locket doesn’t work here, either.”

Brill said pragmatically, “my mother said you could tell if they’re dead. Have you looked at it since we came through?”