By the time that was all done and delivered, it was near dawn. Mari took some clean water and willow bark and barley soup, though she complained she wasn’t hungry. After that she looked better and slept more peacefully, and he told himself the color in her cheeks wasn’t only fever, and the improvement wasn’t just the lull before the fever roared back.

So here it was. More bad luck, worse than he’d ever had before. It had to be the bloody amulet. He had to get rid of it before somebody died.

He needed money. Mam and Mari needed money—for a healer and for everything else. He couldn’t expect them to keep hanging on by their fingernails while he lived in relative comfort at Marisa Pines, or wherever else he went. The Guard wasn’t looking for him now, but that would change once they spotted his formerly drowned corpse all lively and walking the streets.

Leaving Mam and Mari sleeping, he descended the stairs, murmuring to the horses he’d ignored on his way in. Under cover of darkness, he slipped back to the stone forge in the stable yard and wrestled the stone out of its niche. The leather-wrapped bundle still lay where he’d left it. He could feel the heat emanating from it before he lifted it out.

Carefully, he pulled away the wrapping, revealing the serpent amulet. It flared up, excruciatingly bright, illuminating the yard as if it meant to betray the thief who’d stolen it. He hurriedly rewrapped it, glancing around to make sure no one had noticed.

He slid the amulet into his carry bag and slung it over his shoulder, pulled his cap down over his face, and headed for Southbridge Market. When he reached the bridge, he nodded to the sleepy bluejackets, once again passing between the temple and the guardhouse, wondering what Jemson would think of his former student, and who Mac Gillen was beating these days.

The butcher was just cranking open his awning. He had one of the few permanent structures at the market. The mushroom man was setting baskets of morels and chicken-head fungus out in front of his shop. Han walked past them without speaking and without making eye contact. Han’s home market was Ragmarket. He didn’t know most of the vendors at Southbridge, which was a good thing on this particular day.

Taz Mackney was another prosperous vendor at the market. His shop was larger than most, filled with exotic fabrics, seductive fragrances, rare artwork, and precious stones—loose and set into jewelry. What most people didn’t know was that much of Taz’s prosperity derived from his side business in magical pieces, many of them stolen or, at least, of questionable provenance. The Nǽming might forbid the buying and selling of talismans and amulets made before the Breaking, but for the right price, Taz could find most anything for a discreet client.