Marcus supposed that one did not upbraid the Queen of Vordan for being nosy. “Yes. We call him the Preacher, though not to his face. But it’s not like him to be so circumspect.” The Preacher had more sense than, say, Give-Em-Hell, but a man who spent his life around cannon was unlikely to make subtlety his watchword.

“Are you sure it’s from him?”

“It’s definitely his handwriting,” Marcus said, feeling another burst of paranoia. He examined the seal, which bore the imprint of the Royal Artillery, and didn’t show visible tampering. “I can’t imagine anyone forcing him to write it.”

“Maybe he was worried who else might read it.”

“Maybe. As far as I know, all he’s doing is training new artillery officers.”

Raesinia hummed thoughtfully. “Are you going to go?”

“I should.” He looked down at her and sighed. “Lieutenant Uhlan, would you please escort Raesinia to Oldtown? I’ll take Hayver and Andy to the University.”

“Of course, sir,” the Mierantai officer said.

“And be careful.” It was just barely possible this was some plot to separate the two of them, though that was stretching suspicion a bit far. “Make sure you aren’t followed.”

Uhlan gave him an “I’m not an idiot” look, but forbore to comment. Marcus watched him and three more Mierantai riflemen follow Raesinia outside, then went in search of the two rankers.

“I didn’t know you were friends with Captain Vahkerson, sir,” Hayver said as the carriage rattled along Second Avenue toward the Dregs.

Andy gave him a withering look. “They were captains together in the Khandarai campaign under Janus.”

“And for years beforehand, under Colonel Warus,” Marcus said, only half paying attention to the conversation. He peered out the carriage window, searching the street behind them for some sign of a tail. It was futile, not just because Marcus’ knowledge of espionage was minimal, but given that their carriage was one of the only horse-drawn vehicles still on the road, a blind man could follow their trail.

Most of the traffic was pedestrian, but not all. The citizens of Vordan’s South Bank, ever resourceful, had begun hitching themselves to light carts and offering rides to the affluent Northsiders. Marcus watched several of these strange vehicles go past, and shook his head. Human adaptability never failed to surprise him; enough time could make even the strangest situation routine. Just look at us in Khandar, before the Redeemers turned everything upside down and the Steel Ghost started raising hell.

He shook his head and looked back at Hayver. “How do you know the Preacher, anyway? Were you in artillery training?”

The boy shook his head. “After the battle, some of the wounded were transferred to the University hospital. Captain Vahkerson would come around to read to us from the Wisdoms.”