"Deal," Goblin said, and he did not mean cards. That fortress, which the Company took from the Rebel years ago, loomed ahead. The road meanders beneath its scowling walls. I was troubled, as always I was when our path neared an imperial bastion. But there was no need this time. The Lady was so confident of Forsberg that the great fortress stood abandoned. In fact, close up, it looked ragged. Its neighbors were stealing it piece by piece, after the custom of peasants the world over. I expect that is the only return they get on taxes, though they may have to wait generations for the worm to turn.

"Oar tomorrow," I said as we left the wagon outside an inn a few miles past Deal. "And this time there will be no screwups. Hear?"

One-Eye had the grace to look abashed. But Goblin was ready to argue.

"Keep it up," I said. "I'll have Tracker thrash you and tie you up. We aren't playing games."

"Life is a game, Croaker," One-Eye said. "You take it too damned serious." But he behaved himself, both that night and the next day when we entered Oar.

I found a place well outside areas we frequented before. It catered to small-time traders and travelers. We drew no especial attention. Tracker and I kept a watch on Goblin and One-Eye. They did not seem inclined to play the fool again, though.

Next day I went looking for a smith named Sand. Tracker accompanied me. Goblin and One-Eye stayed behind, constrained by the most terrible threats I could invent.

Sand's place was easily found. He was a longtime member of his trade, well-known among his peers. We followed directions. They led me through familiar streets. Here the Company had had some adventures.

I discussed them with Tracker as we walked. I noted, "Been a lot of rebuilding since then. We tore the place up good."

Toadkiller Dog was on point, as often he was of late. He stopped suddenly, looked around suspiciously, took a few tentative steps, sank onto his belly. "Trouble," Tracker said.

"What kind?" There was nothing obvious to the eye.

"I don't know. He can't talk. He's just doing his watch-out-for-trouble act."

"Okay. Don't cost anything to be careful." We turned into a place that sold and repaired harness and tack. Tracker yakked about needing a saddle for a hunter of large beasts. I stood in the doorway watching the street.

I saw nothing unusual. The normal run of people went about their normal business. But after a while I noted that Sand's smithy had no custom. That no smithery sounds came forth. He was supposed to supervise a platoon of apprentices and journeymen.

"Hey. Proprietor. Whatever happened to the smith over there? Last time we were here he did us some work. Place looks empty."