At least she wasn’t actively fighting him anymore, but trotted obediently beside him as he led her deeper into Ragmarket, twisting down streets and alleys so she’d never find her way back on her own. He found his way by the map in his head. It was dead dark away from the main street, so it wouldn’t have done the girlie much good to have the blindfold off. Still, he could tell from the way she cocked her head and counted under her breath at each turning that she was trying to keep track. She’d be looking for another chance to escape.

There was something about the girl that intrigued him. She was dressed like a blueblood servant in overlarge clothes, carried a heavy purse, and had the manners of a duchess. So sure of herself. Entitled, even.

Where does that come from, he wondered. The idea that you deserve to take more than your share from the world?

The Queen’s Guard doesn’t torture anybody, she’d proclaimed, like she was some kind of expert. You’ll receive a fair trial.

Sorry, girlie, he thought. I’m the expert on that, and I’m not buying what you’re selling.

He pondered what he knew about her. She’d been closeted up with Jemson and a clan trader who might be Averill Lightfoot Demonai, Patriarch of Demonai Camp. It had been three years since he’d seen him—Han’s visits to Marisa Pines had been sporadic these last three years on the streets, and Lord Demonai rarely visited Marisa Pines. But his wasn’t a face you forgot.

That tall, dark, intense boy—the one who’d recognized him—he was that Corporal Byrne who’d been with the bluejackets that had grabbed him outside The Keg and Crown. Plus there were those other baby bluejackets who’d come running when Byrne had called. What were they all doing there, out of uniform? Jemson wasn’t in the habit of entertaining the Guard.

’Course, it could be just his usual bad luck. That, at least, was consistent.

Corporal Byrne—was he the girlie’s sweetheart? He’d guess so, the way he’d acted. Han had another thought: maybe they’d come there to be married, with his mates as witnesses. The speakers did marriages all the time.

Han pushed that idea away. He didn’t like it.

The girlie was beginning to wear out—breathing hard, lagging behind so he had to tug her along. He needed a place to hide for a little while. He felt cut loose and vulnerable, having lost the shelter of the temple. He’d probably ruined whatever chance he had of solving the mystery of the murders.