Two barbers, two men in the chairs, two more waiting, several just lingering, as happened. Thierry leaned against a wall, spoke a little to be friendly, mostly listened. He didn’t mind the wait for a chair. There was a morning fire, Jad be thanked, and people were talking.

He learned things, while reminding himself that none of this was more than men sharing what they’d heard—or claimed to have heard. Only men here, no women. He liked the presence of women, was vulnerable to them. One had almost gotten him killed. He was thinking a great deal about death just now, it seemed.

Unsurprising.

It appeared that one of the two barbers had been sleeping in the shop, not at home. A small room, the fire kept it a little warmer. The shop was probably closer to his last tavern of the night than his home, too, Thierry thought. The barber said he had heard noises in the night (said it often, as men came and went and the sun rose). He’d taken a lantern to the window at the front—just as a dozen (or ten? or fifteen?) horsemen came clattering by in the darkness.

“We’re the night watch!” one had screamed at him. “Put out your light or we’ll kill you!”

As if. As if the night watch in Orane did that. Said that. Screamed that, the barber declared. As if they even had horses. Then, after they’d raced by, riding east, he’d boldly stepped outside—and found a caltrop in the street! Almost stepped on it! Could have lost a foot, he exclaimed. He pointed to the caltrop on a shelf beside his chair.

“Lucky indeed that you didn’t!” Villar said. “Jad was guarding you! Did you see what they were wearing?”

“Too dark, they went too fast. But…”

The man paused, he clearly liked having an audience.

“But?” Villar asked, obligingly.

“But I don’t think they were wearing livery. Even if they were serving nobility.”

“Who else would assassinate a duke with so many men?” the man he was shaving said.

“Keep still,” the barber murmured, his blade at the other’s neck. “But yes, who else indeed, my friends? And keeping their identity secret! Pretending to be the watch!” He paused, lifted the blade, said portentously, “These may be dark days for Orane!”

Villar made a mental note that the provost needed to talk to this man. And any others along the street who might have been awakened by horsemen passing, perhaps seen more.

He had his hair trimmed around his tonsure and let the barber neaten his beard. Declined the scent the man wanted to apply. Didn’t learn anything more that seemed to matter. The caltrop on its shelf told a tale, he thought. And the absence of livery, if it was a true thing, was worth relaying. He reminded himself, paying, to get money from the provost.