“Ferkin’s is gone!” she moaned. “They used to make the best sweet cakes. ’Course it was old Ferkin that give me to the bluejackets when I first took to the streets. I couldn’t have been but three or four year. I got badged then and been badged ever since.” She held up her hands, displaying the thief marks on the backs. “Still, he didn’t deserve to be burned out.”

Nerves always made Cat run on like an overwound clock.

The market was gone, a smoldering, soggy ruin. Taz Mackney’s old shop—where Han had confronted Lord Bayar, had stabbed him and won his lifelong enmity—was collapsed in on itself, only a few timbers and heaps of stones signifying where Han had once done so much business.

Here were the ruins of the butcher shop where last summer Han had soaked rags in blood, faking his own death to get the bluejackets off his back. He could still tell where Cobble Street had been because of the cobbled pavement, but the ramshackle wooden structures that lined it were gone. He kicked at the ruins of the blacksmith forge where he’d once hid the Waterlow amulet.

Bayar finished the job he started, Han thought. It’s as if I never existed. He’s rubbed me right out, like a black mark.

Fine, he thought. Now I can be whoever or whatever I want.

Ahead was Pilfer Alley, where Han’s crib and Dancer’s metal shop had stood. To Han’s amazement, the alley was nearly intact, running between two devastated blocks. He rubbed his eyes, scarcely believing what he was seeing. “How could Pilfer Alley have survived?” he muttered.

Cat touched Han’s shoulder, searching his face. “When Dancer and I came by here on our way to the river, we saw that the fire took a turn around the warehouse. We guessed you’d put up a magical fence around it, something to turn the flames.”

Han shook his head, bewildered. “Wasn’t me.” Who would have done that? He couldn’t think of any wizard who would come down into Ragmarket to save something that belonged to Han Alister.

The truth slammed into Han like a runaway cart. The buildings of Pilfer Alley stood out like an accusing finger amidst ruin. He recalled Micah’s words. I’m not taking the blame for it.

He didn’t know exactly how, but the Bayars meant to blame the fire on him. Which meant they must know about his hideout. Once again, he felt the jaws of the law closing in on him, and there was no place left to go.

Well, he couldn’t worry about that now. He walked past Pilfer Alley toward the temple square.