Elen pulled a shutter aside to spill light into the dim interior, revealing coils of rope and three sturdy leather packs half hidden in a shadowy corner. Opening the packs, she discovered two heavy copper ingots in each pack, and, besides that, a small pouch of unpolished gems, a box neatly stuffed with bright feathers from rare hill-country birds that were suitable for decorating fancy hats, and a finely tooled leather pouch incised with the badge of the Griffin Corps.

Xilsi whistled angrily. “The missing pouch.”

Elen unbuckled the flap. “It’s empty.”

Xilsi got right up into the face of the man who had spoken. “Where’d you get this? What happened to the contents?”

Seeing the packs opened, he deflated, losing all his bluster. “It came with the rest we were given to haul, just as it is. We walk things over the gap and onward, that’s all.”

“And steal food intended for the imperial storehouses, for winter rations.” Xilsi gave him a hard shove with her boot. He pitched to one side, the movement jostling the man with the arrow in his shoulder, who whimpered, and then shut up when Xilsi shifted her glare to him.

“To whom do you deliver the goods?” Simo asked.

The man shrugged. “We leave it in a depository. That’s all. We never see who picks it up.”

“I’ll take that,” said the haunt to Elen. She handed him the corps pouch. He, in his turn, gave it to Simo. “Keep it as evidence, Captain.”

Then he went outside, and the wardens followed. Luviara had been trying to get a look inside, but she retreated as the others emerged.

“What do you intend to do with them, Your Highness?” the interlocutor asked him.

“Bandits are a problem for the intendant of this area to solve, not my jurisdiction. Fulmo”—he gestured to the gagast—“don’t you still have that cloudberry brew? If we drug them, they won’t be able to wriggle free before we can alert the nearest authorities to pick up them and their contraband.”

Ipis grinned and nudged Kem.

Xilsi said, “An elegant solution, Your Highness. Worthy of a wineshop poem about the ironies of fortune and the unexpected uses of ordinary gifts.”

The haunt’s gaze slid to touch on Elen’s face, then swiftly away as he addressed the others. “I am a great connoisseur of the ordinary and thus precious gift that may arrive unannounced and unexpected.”

Elen had to turn away, to go stick her head into the other empty cottages, so forlorn and slowly collapsing, the fading traces of lives once lived here. Restless, she walked onward, knowing the others would come after her. Past the ruined village stood rows of quince, pear, and apple trees that could have used pruning but were still bearing fruit. Once she got beyond the orchard, she saw the road.