“What did Mother Elena say?” Raisa asked, nearly trotting to keep up with Amon’s long legs. “Will she be able to send one of the traders to meet with us?”

“She said she’d see what she could do,” Amon said. “She wouldn’t promise more than that.”

I can’t do this on my own, Raisa thought. It was hard enough to sneak out this one time.

There was little of twilight in the Vale. Once the sun extinguished itself behind Westgate, darkness ran in rivulets through the streets, quickly flooding the entire city. Close to Fellsmarch Castle, the lamplighters circulated, igniting the magical lanterns that lined the Way. But as they proceeded south, even on the Way, there were fewer street lanterns, and many of them appeared to be broken or disabled or simply not attended to.

Near to the castle, garbage was picked up and stowed away. But here, people pushed it out their doors, and it sat on the sidewalks, stinking.

At first there were people all around them, but the others peeled away in twos and threes into side streets and alleys, and soon Raisa and Amon were walking alone. Every block or two, a tavern spilled light and music onto the street, and patrons huddled in the doorways, talking loudly, spitting into the gutter, clutching mugs of ale.

Sometimes girls stood on the porches, watching them pass by. They wore flashy clothes and lots of paint, but Raisa guessed that some were younger than her. They looked at Amon appraisingly but did not speak to him with Raisa on his arm.

“Are those fancy girls?” she asked Amon.

He only grunted in reply. Raisa tried to imagine walking this street by herself, and shuddered. She shifted her carry bag on her shoulder, acutely conscious of its valuable contents and feeling more and more like a target.

The houses seemed to be buttoned up tight, shades drawn, as if unwilling to draw attention to themselves by leaking light into the streets.

A fine rain began to fall. Amon ignored it, but Raisa shivered, pulling her cloak more closely around her. “Where is everyone? It’s not late. There should be people on their way home.”

“Most people are too smart to be out in this neighborhood after dark,” Amon said, sliding her a significant sideways look.

“How do people get around, then?” Raisa asked.

“They don’t.” Amon was in one of his monosyllabic moods.

“What about the Guard?” Raisa asked.

“The Guard can’t be everywhere,” Amon said. “And in Ragmarket, some say the Guard’s been bought off.”

“Bought off?” Raisa frowned. “By whom?”