Dancer’s blue eyes glinted with amusement. “Now say, ‘Copperheads are little more than leeches on the body of society—a necessary evil.’”

Han laughed. “I don’t think I can manage. Guess I’m not cut out for this.”

Dancer shrugged. “How long will this class take? Cat’s in another recital tonight, over at the Temple School. I’m going over. Want to come?”

Han shook his head. “Can’t. I’ve been jammed with work.” He held up his copy of Faulk’s Heraldry—a doorstop of a book. How many masters did he have: Crow, Abelard, and now Rebecca? And the new term hadn’t even begun.

Dancer marked his place with a finger and sighed. He watched Han for a few minutes, then said, “I’m worried about Cat.”

“What? Why?” Han tried to recall the last time he’d seen her. It had been a while. It was almost like she was avoiding him. Or maybe it was just that he was never around.

“It seemed like she really liked it here, was getting on at the Temple School and all,” Dancer said. “But all of a sudden she seems unhappy again. I wondered if she’d said anything to you.”

“No,” Han said. “Do you think her marks came in low?”

He and Dancer had just received their marks for fall term. Even Gryphon had given them both passing grades, though the master had scrawled a note on Han’s report: Newling Alister should make an effort to arrive to class promptly and prepared, and thereafter should endeavor to stay awake.

Dancer shook his head. “I don’t think that’s it. I’ve only heard good things about Cat’s classes, and she’s a brilliant musician. That’s why I hoped you could come along. She might be more likely to talk to you about whatever’s bothering her.”

“I wish I could. But I promise, I’ll try to talk with her soon.”

The Mystwerk Tower bells bonged once for the quarter hour. “Blood and bones, I got to go,” Han said in a sudden panic. “I’m late. Tell Cat I’m sorry to miss her recital.” As he charged down the stairs, he heard Blevins shout, “You keep that up, you’re going to fall down them steps again!”

The taproom of The Turtle and Fish was lightly filled. The bartender was slumped over the bar, looking like he’d over-sampled his own wares. He raised his head when Han walked in, eyeing his finery with yellowed eyes. “The girlie’s up there waiting for you,” he said, trying to wink but blinking both eyes instead. “She din’t want to stay down here.”

Heads turned all over the room. Han loped up the stairs, his book under his arm.