Evidence of the Briar Rose Ministry was everywhere—in the banners proclaiming free meals, and temple criers promising free books and healers for the sick. The speakers drew them in with food and medicine and safe shelter. They kept them there with classes for lytlings and grown-ups in trades and the arts, in religion and reading and mathematics.

Despite the warming weather, the river seemed to stink less than before. During one of those interminable palace meetings, Raisa had launched a project to move the flatland refugees away from the river’s edge into tent camps to the east of the city. Under the direction of the army, adults had been put to work digging pit toilets and building permanent houses, in exchange for medical care and a reliable food supply.

Some put their backs into it, tired of idleness and starvation, and recognizing the benefit of what they were doing. Others elected to return home, to take their chances in the flatlands, where the work was easier and food more plentiful, even in wartime.

Either way, they weren’t dumping their scummer into the river anymore.

Han threaded his way confidently through the tangled streets, heading for his old crib. Along the way, he detoured up over roofs and through taverns crowded with evening trade. He slid into doorways, waiting and watching to see if he’d shaken the tails that had followed him from the palace. Next time, he’d have a chat with them, but now he had other priorities.

By the time he reached Pilfer Alley, he was clear of them. The entry was marked with his flash-and-staff gang sign—a warning to stay away.

Han went in through the warehouse, dropping through a trapdoor in the roof onto a catwalk. Using his first month’s stipend from the queen, Han had quietly bought title to the building under an assumed name. Property in Ragmarket was cheap, and he didn’t need a landlord snooping into his business.

Looking three stories down, he saw Dancer, his head bent over his long worktable, wearing the peaked pallor he took on whenever he was in the city. He’d set up a metalworking furnace on the first floor, built of clay tiles and vented all the way to the roof.

Three other people waited for Han on the ground level of the warehouse. Cat, whom he’d expected. And Sarie and Flinn, whom he’d never expected to see again.

Han froze momentarily, torn between relief, delight, and alarm that Cat had brought them here without his approval.

When she heard him overhead, Cat came to her feet, a knife in each hand. Seeing it was Han, she returned her blades to their hiding places and stood waiting, hands on hips, chin up like she was ready to do battle with him.