“You’ll comb Ragmarket and Southbridge. You’ll use all your contacts. You’ll talk up the reward in taverns and inns. After all, you know the streets, and you know Raisa, and you can identify Cuffs, and that’s important when most members of the Guard have never seen the princess in the flesh.”

Over the next two days, Amon walked the streets around the clock, mostly in Ragmarket, since that was Ragger turf and Cuffs was seen crossing the bridge with Raisa immediately after the confrontation in the study. Amon threw money around in taverns, but never drank himself. He interviewed countless people, asking after “Rebecca Morley,” describing her in detail, showing a secret sketch of Raisa that his sister, Lydia, had done for him.

Amon pushed himself so he wouldn’t have to think. When he did think, guilt washed over him.

He was the one responsible for Cuffs’s escape in the first place, that day they’d collared him outside of The Keg and Crown. And by going along with Raisa’s plan to go to Southbridge Temple, he’d put her in Jemson’s study when Cuffs barged through the door.

And finally, his decision to confront Cuffs then and there, in the temple, had resulted in his taking of Raisa.

Of course, there was a chance that by now Raisa had already told the streetlord who she was. Amon could picture that conversation, but he couldn’t picture what would happen next, except sometimes in nightmares. So he did his best not to sleep.

Consequently, Amon was less than alert in the days after Raisa’s disappearance as he walked the narrow streets and alleys of Ragmarket, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He’d arranged to meet the Wolfpack at the bridge at noon to see if anyone had news. He was not optimistic. He was nearing the river, walking a narrow alley, when someone behind him called his name.

“Corporal Byrne.”

He swung around. It was Cuffs Alister, in a side courtyard, on the wrong side of a wrought-iron grillwork. A half dozen other Raggers stood in a cluster behind him. No Raisa.

Amon lunged toward Cuffs and came up against the grillwork, which was too fine to insinuate even his hand through. Still, Cuffs skipped back a step, as if he thought Amon might somehow manage it.

“Where is she?” Amon demanded, looking for some way over or around the fence. “What have you done with her? If you’ve touched her, I swear I’ll—”

“Rebecca, you mean?” Cuffs frowned as if confused.

“Right. Rebecca.” Amon’s mind stumbled to a conclusion. So the streetlord still didn’t know Raisa’s true identity. “Who else would I be looking for, you murdering, thieving…”

“She’s in Southbridge Guardhouse,” Cuffs said, cocking his head right, toward the river.

“Southbridge?” Amon struggled to control his voice. “What’s she doing in there?”