It was interesting to watch Ferla make a mess of something. She had a painful and nauseating headache, which was obscuring her judgment and her ability to pretend to be heartbroken over a daughter she knew wasn’t actually dead. Also, she was used to people doing what she told them to do. This foreign woman in the pale yellow coat was different. She wasn’t scared of Ferla.

She spoke into Ferla’s cold silence. “Well? Am I looking for someone else’s remains?”

“Whose remains do you imagine you’d find here?” asked Ferla, her voice rising with outrage.

“I would vastly prefer to find no one’s,” said the woman in distaste.

“Listen,” said Ferla. “I want to be sure no one was hurt. What if one of my children or a staff member had a visitor I was unaware of? My daughter was always sneaking around the house with lovers. I intend to pay you handsomely for your time.” Then she stood with her palm to her throbbing head, sick and slightly swaying, while the woman, hard-mouthed, closed her eyes and raised her hands. She looked like she was trying to feel the parts of the air. She looked quite silly, actually, and Ferla lost patience with her long before she was done. Ferla also lost her dinner, staggering away and vomiting onto the base of a tree. Then she gave her own vomit a wide berth and timidly sat herself upon the ground. She put her head in her hands, because it hurt and because she couldn’t bear the sight of the ravaged house. This too was a whole new Ferla, emotional, unwell.

The woman dropped her hands and turned. “I’ve found no remains,” she said.

Inside her heart, Ferla cursed this news. “You’re certain?”

The woman let out a short sigh. “Why don’t you tell me whose body I’m looking for, President Cavenda? Then I could really help you.”

Ferla raised her chin and looked into the woman’s face. “Tell me,” she said. “Is it true what they say, that you’re the escaped property of the government of Estill?”

The woman cocked her head and studied Ferla. Her face was tired, her shoulders slumped, but her voice came out hard. “Why did you bring me here in the dead of the night to search for a body,” she said, “and why are you disappointed I didn’t find one?”

Ferla reached into her pockets, pulled out some money, and threw it on the ground between them. “I trust you’ll find that satisfactory,” she said. It was her chilliest voice. The fox, who recognized that voice, shivered.

The woman did something amazing. She picked a path carefully away from the house, walked toward Ferla, then stopped. For a moment, the woman’s feelings were bright and visible to the fox: Anger. Discouragement. Shame.

Then, not even touching the money, she turned and walked out through the gate.