Then, headachy and ill, she set off down the road, the fur wrap Mara Devret had lent her pulled tight around her small shoulders, Mara’s shoes on her feet. Mara was a tall woman, so the wrap was far too big and the shoes almost comical. Ferla looked like a tiny, unbalanced clown.

The fox had a way to exit the house through a crack between rotting stones in the cellar. He snuck out after Ferla, intensely curious. He had a sense of what she was up to, but her thoughts had been a little jumbled since her head injury, harder to read.

First she went to a faraway amble near the harbor that the fox had never heard of or visited, where the smells were wondrous, fish of every kind, breaded, fried, grilled, stewed, raw, rotting. It was a paradise! In a narrow, smelly street, Ferla tapped on a door until a pale woman opened it. Ferla spoke to the woman urgently. The woman, who had a closed mind with no cracks, like a heavy steel ball—like a Monsean—seemed offended, indignant. Ferla handed her money. The woman hesitated. Then she went inside, coming out again with her coat, which was the color of the moon, swinging around her shoulders like a cape.

Ferla led her all the way back to Flag Hill, then to the gate that stood before her own burnt and decimated house. She brought the woman right up to the edge of the house’s stone foundations, then gestured across the pile of scorched rubble.

“Careful,” Ferla said. “There’s glass, nails, who knows what else.”

“This is as close as I’m getting,” said the woman. “You might’ve brought a lamp.”

“The streetlamps will pick up anything sharp,” said Ferla impatiently. “Now, will you look?”

“I need more details about what you’re trying to find.”

“Human remains,” said Ferla. “No matter how small.”

“Whose remains?” said the woman. “Keepish? Some other nationality? Male? Female? Young? Old? Where in the house are they most likely to be?”

“Can’t you look everywhere?”

“Certainly, for more money.”

“You’re a vulture,” said Ferla, sharp and disgusted. “You know perfectly well my own daughter is believed to have died in this fire.”

“Am I looking for your daughter’s remains, then? Knowing so will help my work.”

“Why does it matter?” said Ferla. “Why must you make me talk about it? Is it necessary to be so heartless?”

“Given your reluctance to answer my simple question,” said the woman, “I’m beginning to think you want me to look for the remains of someone other than your daughter.”