“It’s all right, Mam,” Han said. “Willo doesn’t mind. And it’s my own fault I have to leave.”

Mari was crying too, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You can’t go away again,” she said. “You only just came back.”

Han attempted a smile and ruffled her hair. “I’ll be back before you know it. And I’ll expect you to read to me when I come back.”

“I can read to you now,” Mari said, grabbing up her book and extending it toward him. “Stay and I’ll show you.”

He shook his head. “I’ve got to go.”

And there was nothing else to be said, so he left.

By now it was dead dark, so he wound his way through backstreets, alert for Guard patrols and other inquisitive folk. Once or twice he thought he saw movement in the spaces between buildings, or heard soft footfalls behind him. But each time he turned around, there was nobody there.

It had begun to rain, a cold constant drizzle that sucked up the light and added to his misery. Two blocks over from home he stopped in at Burnet’s Meats. Out in back of the butcher shop, a long trough carried blood and offal into the gutters. Han soaked his spare breeches and shirt and neck scarf in the blood.

He came at the river a mile east of the bridge, where there’d be less traffic. Scrambling down the bank, he arranged his bloody clothes at the edge of the river, finishing with his gang scarf. He wrote “CUFFS—DUBL CROSSR” in the mud with a stick. It was crude, but it might fool the Guard anyway.

The bells in Southbridge Temple tower were sounding two as he trotted across the bridge, keeping close to the wall. Over the temple’s side entrance hung a new banner, proclaiming, THE BRIAR ROSE MINISTRY. And, in smaller letters, BY THE GRACE OF HER HIGHNESS, PRINCESS RAISA ANA’MARIANNA.

Huh, Han thought. Seems like Her Worship is everywhere.

He kept in the shadow of the temple for two long blocks, thinking of Jemson, somewhere within its walls, probably sleeping.

“Sorry, Jemson,” Han whispered. “Sorry I let you down. Don’t let it keep you from believing in somebody else.”

Tears came to his eyes, and he scrubbed them away, feeling sorry for himself.

The streets were deserted, unusually quiet, save for the Guard. They were thick. Twice he ducked into a doorway as a triple of guardsmen passed. Fortunately, they were loud as barroom brawlers and easy to avoid. So he turned east, away from the temple, meaning to travel through Southbridge on backstreets. He’d cut back to the Way as it exited the Vale and hope patrols were less frequent up that way. Once or twice he thought he heard footsteps behind him, but when he swung around, no one was there.