The hall, with its tables, storage drawers, and desks, had been abandoned in haste: an ink pot uncapped, a chart book left open with a pair of polished stones holding down its thick pages, a stack of message scrolls awaiting delivery spilled onto the floor and one crushed from being stepped on. The morning tea service, just poured into a selection of tea bowls, sat with the liquid cooling. She grabbed a bowl and gulped down the spicy brew, then drained a second, glad of the burn in her dry throat. She’d killed Spore before, but for some reason the tiny, leering faces snarling at her from the sedge kept flashing in her mind’s eye, malicious and taunting, as if they knew something she did not. But Spore wasn’t intelligent, nor was the Pall. It was just a malignant poison.

Past Map Hall, a covered walkway led across an enclosed herb garden. On the other side of the garden stood the rear entrance into the intendant’s official chambers. Normally there was a sentinel posted here, but the sentinel was gone and the door left unlocked. A shocking breach of security at any moment, and worse with a prince about to arrive.

She turned the latch and eased the door open, listening. Footsteps came running. A hand grabbed the door, and it was flung wide. A short sword, point quivering, blocked her way.

“It’s just me, Deputy Courier Elen,” she said, hands raised but body poised to dodge sideways out of range.

The sword’s point was abruptly lowered.

“Elen! Thanks to the Tranquil Heavens it’s you and not someone else! I got left past my break and I had to piss so badly.” The sentinel—Ujin—panted with relief. “We’re a flock of headless chickens! We had no warning. No time to prepare. Did you know the prince-warden was coming?”

She exhaled as she collected herself, arms lowering. “I’ve been gone fourteen days, so this is news to me. I’ve got to see the intendant. Right now.”

“He’s making ready for the imperial visit.” Ujin waved to indicate the length of a dim corridor whose thick earth walls had no windows. He gave her a look, wise to expression and tone. “You’ve got bad news.”

She had one breath to make a decision, but she was used to making up her mind fast. People had to know, because everyone was at risk. “I killed a small irruption of Spore inside the bone pile on Lancer’s Ridge. It was fresh, only a single cap. It hadn’t spread. Get the word out. The captain should increase the number and frequency of surveyor patrols into the Moonrise Hills.”

“Oh, by the Pale Blight, I’d begun to hope we were clear of infestations.”