“Unless they’re keeping it quiet,” he said. “Did you see the Patriot Guard arresting anybody?”

“No,” she admitted. “But we left in a hurry.”

Marcus sighed. The more he thought about what had happened at the University, the less he liked it. It was possible that the Patriot Guard had retreated in the face of the mob from cowardice, or bureaucratic error, or even because their commander thought he was in danger of being overwhelmed. But the timing—just after Marcus himself had arrived—was a fairly startling coincidence. He hadn’t made much of a secret of his visit, and he had a nasty feeling that he’d been the cause of what had happened. Maurisk must know by now that we were poking around in Exchange Central. If he’s not confident enough to have me arrested outright, getting me involved in a riot would be just the thing.

That felt like paranoia. For that matter, what he was doing now felt like paranoia, treating a meeting between two old school friends like a cloak-and-dagger rendezvous from a penny opera. But he was starting to think a bit of paranoia was justified.

Enough. His thoughts had been chasing around and around in circles, faster and faster. He felt like a dog that had worn itself out in pursuit of its own tail.

He looked up at Andy, who was drinking the not-coffee with every sign of enjoyment. One side of her face was a single massive bruise, fading now to a slightly alarming shade of yellow and green.

“How do you feel?” he said.

“I’ll live,” she said. “The coffee’s not that bad.”

Marcus grinned and tapped the side of his face.

“Oh.” Andy shrugged. “It hurts a bit. But like I said, I’ve had worse.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. When I was nine I was in a fight and ended up with a broken arm and three cracked ribs.”

“I’d hate to see what happened to the other fellow.”

“There were three of them, and yes, it wasn’t pretty.” She drained the cup and set it down. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. You certainly know your way around a broken broom handle. I was just thinking I’d never had a soldier under my command . . . quite like you.”

Andy barked a laugh. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“How did you get involved in all this?”

She cocked her head. “You mean, why am I not at home sewing and making babies like a proper young lady?”

“I . . .” Marcus felt himself reddening under his beard. “I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”

“It’s all right. I guess it goes back to Mad Jane. You know her?”