As he walked back toward town, he saw that several of the houses were gone. No, the standing chimneys, the blackened stubs of walls, the collapsed and charred roofs showed that they had burned down.

Closer in, several of the tradesmen’s shops were boarded up, or stood empty and hollow walled. Glass windows had been ­broken out. Shutters had been torn off and lay on the ground.

Yet others seemed to be prosperous enough. Clearly, there was more to be learned here than whether Loaf and Leaky succeeded in conceiving a child.

Umbo saw that the shop of a garrulous old cabinet maker seemed still to be in trade. He heard the sound of a saw being drawn across wood. Inside the shop it took a moment for Umbo’s eyes to adjust, but yes, there was the old man, methodically pulling a miter saw at an exact angle across a slice of fine hardwood.

The man would not know Umbo, though he might remember seeing him. Umbo was not one to linger in a workingman’s shop, not if he had no business. Now his business was information, and he was reasonably sure the man would have it.

“I see that hard times haven’t taken you out of business, sir,” said Umbo.

The man looked up slowly. “Heard you coming. I’m not deaf.”

Since Umbo hadn’t been talking particularly loudly, he had no idea why the man had thought that Umbo might have thought that he was deaf.

“Hard times,” said the man contemptuously.

“Shops standing empty,” said Umbo. “What else am I to think?”

“Times are no harder here than anywhere.”

“Then why are those shops out of trade?” asked Umbo.

The man spat on the floor. “Think you can trap me into saying what I shouldn’t?”

“I have no trap in mind, sir. I’ve been in the forests beyond Upsheer, and kept to myself downriver.”

“You didn’t come down the river, you came along the road.”

So apparently the carpenter had not been sawing the whole time Umbo approached, since the road was not visible from the workbench.

“I walked the last bit,” said Umbo. “I’m young and my legs are quick enough. I saved myself a ping at least, which I hope to spend on my supper tonight.”

“I don’t serve food,” said the carpenter. He started to saw again.

“I didn’t think you would,” said Umbo. “I plan to eat at Leaky’s roadhouse.”

“Oh, do you?” asked the man. “Good luck with that.”

“Why?” asked Umbo, dread coming upon him. “Are they out of business, too?”

“You might say so,” said the carpenter. “Most customers prefer not to be waited on by the dead, or spend the night in the murder house.”

“Dead,” said Umbo softly.

“Then you really have been away a long time,” said the old carpenter. “Happened late last fall. Near six months ago.”

“Sickness?”