But there I found my di­lemma. A few weeks ago, I would simply have slipped in and done my best to plant a knife in Regal’s chest, and damn the con­se­quences. But now I not only had Ver­ity’s Skill-com­mand eat­ing at me, but also the know­ledge that if I sur­vived, I had a wo­man and child await­ing me. I was no longer will­ing to trade my life for Regal’s. This time, I needed a plan.

  Night­fall found me on the roof of the inn. It was a ce­dar-shake roof, sharply peaked, and very slip­pery with frost. There were sev­eral wings to the inn, and I lay in the junc­ture of the pitched roofs between two of them, wait­ing. I was grate­ful to Regal for hav­ing chosen the largest and finest inn. I was up well above the level of the neigh­bour­ing build­ings. No one was go­ing to see me with a cas­ual glance; they’d have to be look­ing for me. Even so, I waited till full dark be­fore I half slid and half clambered down to the edge of the eaves. I lay there a time, calm­ing my heart. There was noth­ing to hold on to. The roof had a gen­er­ous eave, to shield the bal­cony be­low it. I would have to slide down, catch the eave with my hands in passing, and swing my­self in if I was to land on the bal­cony. Oth­er­wise, it was a three-storey drop to the street. I prayed I would not land upon the bal­cony’s dec­or­at­ively spiked rail­ing.

  I had planned well. I knew which rooms were Regal’s bed­cham­ber and sit­ting room, I knew the hour at which he would be at din­ner with his guests. I had stud­ied the door and win­dow latches on sev­eral build­ings in Blue Lake. I found noth­ing I was un­fa­mil­iar with. I had se­cured some small tools and a length of light line would provide my exit. I would enter and leave without a trace. My pois­ons waited in my belt pouch.

  Two awls taken from a cob­bler’s shop earlier in the day provided my hand grips as I worked my way down the roof. I thrust them, not into the tough shakes, but between them so they caught on the over­lap­ping shakes be­low. I was most nervous for the mo­ments when part of my body dangled off the roof, with no clear view of what was hap­pen­ing be­low. At the cru­cial mo­ment, I swung my legs a few times for im­petus, and braced my­self to let go.

  Trap-trap.

  I froze where I was, my legs curled un­der the eave of the roof while I clung to the two awls sunk between the shakes. I did not even breathe. It was not Nighteyes.

  No. Small Fer­ret. Trap-trap. Go away. Trap-trap.

  It’s a trap?

  Trap-trap for Wolf-Fitz. Old Blood knows, Big Fer­ret said, go with, go with, warn Wolf-Fitz. Rolf-Bear knew your smell. Trap-trap. Go away.

  I al­most cried out when a small warm body sud­denly struck my leg and then ran up my clothes. In a mo­ment, a fer­ret poked its whiskery face into mine. Trap-trap, he in­sis­ted. Go away, go away.

  Drag­ging my body back up onto the roof was more dif­fi­cult than lower­ing it down. I had a bad mo­ment when my belt caught on the edge of the eaves. After a bit of wrig­gling, I got loose and slowly slithered back up onto the roof. I lay still a mo­ment, catch­ing my breath, while the fer­ret sat between my shoulders, ex­plain­ing over and over. Trap-trap. A tiny, sav­agely pred­at­ory mind was his, and I sensed a great an­ger in him. I would not have chosen such a bond an­imal for my­self, but someone had. Someone who was no more.

  Big Fer­ret hurt to death. Tells little Fer­ret, go with, go with. Take the smell. Warn Fitz-Wolf. Trap-trap.

  There was so much I wanted to ask. Some­how Black Rolf had in­ter­ceded for me with the Old Blood. Since I had left Trade­ford, I had feared that every Wit­ted one I en­countered would be against me. But someone had sent this small creature to warn me. And he had held to his pur­pose, even though his bond-part­ner was dead. I tried to learn more from him, but there was not much more in that small mind. Great hurt and out­rage at the passing of his bond-part­ner. A de­term­in­a­tion to warn me. I would never learn who Big Fer­ret had been, nor how he had dis­covered this plan nor how his bond-beast had man­aged to con­ceal him­self in Will’s pos­ses­sions. For that was who he showed me wait­ing si­lently in the room be­low. One-eye. The trap-trap.

  Come with me? I offered him. Fierce as he was, he still seemed small and all alone. To touch minds with him was like see­ing what re­mained of an an­imal cloven in two. The pain drove from his mind all save his pur­pose. There was room for only one other thing now.

  No. Go with, go with. Hide in One-Eye’s things. Warn Fitz-Wolf. Go with, go with. Find Old Blood-Hater. Hide-hide. Wait, wait. Old Blood-Hater sleep, Small Fer­ret kill.

  He was a small an­imal, with a small mind. But an im­age of Regal, Old Blood-Hater, was fixed in that simple mind. I wondered how long it had taken Big Fer­ret to im­plant this no­tion firmly enough for him to carry it for weeks. Then I knew. A dy­ing wish. The little creature had been driven all but mad by the death of his bond-hu­man. This had been Big Fer­ret’s last mes­sage to him. It seemed a fu­tile er­rand for so small a beast.

  Come with me, I sug­ges­ted gently. How can Small Fer­ret kill Old Blood-Hater?

  In an eye-blink he was at my throat. I ac­tu­ally felt the sharp teeth grip the vein in my throat. Snip-snip when he sleeps. Drink his blood like a coney. No more Big Fer­ret, no more holes, no more coneys. Only Old Blood-Hater. Snip-snip. He let go of my jug­u­lar and slipped sud­denly in­side my shirt. Warm. His small clawed feet were icy on my skin.

  I had a strip of dried meat in my pocket. I lay on the roof and fed it to my fel­low as­sas­sin. I would have per­suaded him to come with me if I could, but I sensed he could no more change his mind than I could re­fuse to go to Ver­ity. It was all he had left of Big Fer­ret. Pain, and a dream of re­venge. Hide-hide. Go with, go with the One-Eye. Smell the Old Blood-Hater. Wait un­til he sleeps. Then snip-snip. Drink his blood like a coney’s.

  Yes-yes. My hunt. Trap-trap Fitz-Wolf. Go away, go away.

  I took his ad­vice. Someone had given much to send me this cour­ier. I did not wish to face Will in any case. Much as I wanted to kill him, I knew now I was not his equal in the Skill. Nor did I wish to spoil Small Fer­ret’s chance. There is hon­our among as­sas­sins, of a kind. It warmed my heart to know I was not Regal’s only en­emy. Sound­less as the dark, I made my way over the inn roof and then down to the street by the stable.

  I re­turned to my dilap­id­ated inn, paid my cop­per and took a place at a plank table be­side two other men. We ate the inn’s potato and onion main­stay. When a hand fell on my shoulder, I did not startle so much as flinch. I had known there was someone be­hind me; I had not ex­pec­ted him to touch me. My hand went to my belt knife stealth­ily as I turned on my bench to face him. My table-mates went on eat­ing, one nois­ily. No man in this inn pro­fessed an in­terest in any busi­ness save his own.

  I looked up at Starling’s smil­ing face and my guts turned over in­side me. ‘Tom!’ she greeted me jovi­ally, and claimed a seat at the table be­side me. The man next to me gave over the space without a word, scrap­ing his bowl along with him­self over the stained table plank. After a mo­ment I took my hand from my knife and put it back on the table’s edge. Starling gave a small nod to that ges­ture. She wore a black cloak of good thick wool, trimmed with yel­low em­broid­ery. Small sil­ver rings graced her ears now. She was en­tirely too pleased with her­self to suit me. I said noth­ing, but only looked at her. She made a small ges­ture to­ward my bowl.

  ‘Please, go on eat­ing. I didn’t mean to dis­turb your meal. You look as if you could use it. Short ra­tions lately?’

  ‘A bit,’ I said softly. When she said no more, I fin­ished the soup, wip­ing out the wooden bowl with the last two bites of coarse bread that had come with it. By then Starling had at­trac­ted the at­ten­tion of a serving-girl, who brought us two mugs of ale. She took a long draw from hers, made a face, and then set it back on the table. I sipped at mine and found it no worse to the pal­ate than the lake wa­ter that was the al­tern­at­ive.

  ‘Well?’ I said at last when she still had not spoken. ‘What do you want?’

  She smiled af­fably, toy­ing with the handle of her mug. ‘You know what I want. I want a song, one that will live after me.’ She glanced about us, es­pe­cially at the man who was still nois­ily suck­ing down his soup. ‘Have you a room?’ she asked me.

  I shook my head. ‘I’ve a pal­let in the loft. And I’ve no songs for you, Starling.’

  She shrugged her shoulders, a tiny move­ment. ‘I’ve no songs for you right now, but I’ve got tid­ings that would in­terest you. And I’ve a room. At an inn some way from here. Walk there with me, and then we shall talk. There was a fine shoulder of pork roast­ing on the hearth fire when I left. It would likely be cooked by the time we got there.’

  Every sense I had pricked up at the men­tion of meat. I could smell it, I could al­most taste it. ‘I couldn’t af­ford it,’ I told her bluntly.

  ‘I could,’ she offered blandly. ‘Get your things. I’ll share my room as well.’

  ‘And if I de­cline?’ I asked quietly.

  Again she made the tiny shrug­ging mo­tion. ‘It’s your choice.’ She re­turned my gaze lev­elly. I could not de­cide if there was a threat in her small smile or not.

  After a time I rose and went to the loft. When I re­turned, I had my things. Starling was wait­ing for me by the base of the lad­der.

  ‘Nice cloak,’ she ob­served wryly. ‘Haven’t I seen it some­where be­fore?’

  ‘Per­haps you have,’ I said quietly. ‘Would you like to see the knife that goes with it?’

  Starling only smiled more broadly and made a small ward­ing ges­ture with her hands. She turned and walked away, not look­ing back to see if I fol­lowed. Again, there was that curi­ous mix­ture of trust­ing me and chal­len­ging me. I walked be­hind her.

  Out­side it was even­ing. The sharp wind that blew through the streets was full of lake damp. Even though it was not rain­ing, I felt the mois­ture bead­ing on my clothes and skin. My shoulder began to ache im­me­di­ately. There were no street torches still burn­ing; what little light there was es­caped from shut­ters and doorsills. But Starling walked with sure­ness and con­fid­ence, and I fol­lowed, my eyes swiftly ad­just­ing to the dark­ness.

  She led me away from the wa­ter­front, away from the poorer quar­ters of the town, up to the mer­chant streets and the inns that served the trade­folk of the town. It was not so far from the inn where King Regal was not truly stay­ing at all. She opened an inn door that was in­scribed with a tusked boar’s head, and nod­ded to me to pre­cede her. I did, but cau­tiously, glan­cing about well be­fore I entered. Even after I saw no guards­men, I was not sure if I were run­ning my head into a snare or not.

  This inn was bright and warm, with glass as well as shut­ters for its win­dows. The tables were clean, the reeds on the floor al­most fresh, and the smell of roast­ing pork filled the air. A serving-boy walked by us with a tray full of brim­ming mugs, looked at me, then raised an eye­brow to Starling, ob­vi­ously ques­tion­ing her choice of men. Starling replied with a swoop­ing bow, and in the pro­cess swept off her damp cloak. I fol­lowed suit more slowly, and then trailed after her as she led me to a table near the hearth.

  She seated her­self, then looked up at me. She was con­fid­ent she had me now. ‘Let’s eat be­fore we talk, shall we?’ she in­vited me en­ga­gingly, and in­dic­ated the chair op­pos­ite her. I took the offered seat, but turned it so my back was to the wall and I could com­mand a view of the room. A small smile twitched at her mouth and her dark eyes danced. ‘You’ve noth­ing to fear from me, I as­sure you. On the con­trary, it is I who place my­self at risk in seek­ing you out.’

  She glanced about, then called to a boy named Oak that we wished two plat­ters of the roast pork, some fresh bread and but­ter, and apple wine to go with it. He hastened off to fetch it, and served it out on our table with a charm and grace that be­spoke his in­terest in Starling. He ex­changed some small chat­ter with her, but no­ticed me very little, save to make a face of dis­taste as he stepped around my damp carry-bas­ket. An­other pat­ron called him away, and Starling at­tacked her plate with ap­pet­ite. After a mo­ment, I sampled mine. I had not had fresh meat in some days, and the hot crack­ling fat on the pork al­most made me dizzy with its sa­vour. The bread was fra­grant, the but­ter sweet. I had not tasted food this good since Buck­keep. For a second my ap­pet­ite was all I con­sidered. Then the taste of the apple wine put me sud­denly in mind of Rurisk and how he had died of poisoned wine. I set my gob­let care­fully back on the table and re­called my cau­tion. ‘So. You sought me out, you say?’

  Starling nod­ded as she chewed. She swal­lowed, wiped her mouth and ad­ded, ‘And you were not easy to find, for I was not ask­ing folk for news of you. Only look­ing with my own two eyes. I hope you ap­pre­ci­ate that.’

  I gave a half nod. ‘And now that you have found me? What do you want of me? A bribe for your si­lence? If so, you’ll have to con­tent your­self with a few cop­pers.’

  ‘No.’ She took a sip of wine, then cocked her head to look at me. ‘It is as I’ve told you. I want a song. It seems to me I’ve missed one already, not fol­low­ing you when you were … re­moved from our com­pany. Though I hope you’ll fa­vour me with the de­tails of ex­actly how you sur­vived.’ She leaned for­ward, the power of her trained voice drop­ping down to a con­fid­en­tial whis­per. ‘I can’t tell you what a thrill that was for me, when I heard they’d found those six guards­men dead. I had thought I was wrong about you, you see. I truly be­lieved they had dragged off poor old Tom the shep­herd as a scape­goat. Chiv­alry’s son, I told my­self, would never go as quietly as all that. And so I let you go and I didn’t fol­low. But when I heard the news, it put a shiver up my spine as stood every hair on my body on end. “It was him,” I chided my­self. “The Bas­tard was there and I watched him taken away and never stirred a fin­ger.” You can’t ima­gine how I cursed my­self for doubt­ing my in­stincts. But then I de­cided, well, if you sur­vived, you’d still come here. You’re on your way to the Moun­tains, aren’t you?’

  I just looked at her, a flat gaze that would have sent any Buck­keep stable-boy scut­tling, and wiped the grin from the face of a Buck guard. But Starling was a min­strel. Sing­ers of songs are never eas­ily abashed. She went on with her meal, wait­ing for my an­swer. ‘Why would I be go­ing to the Moun­tains?’ I asked her softly.

  She swal­lowed, took a sip of wine, then smiled. ‘I don’t know why. To rally to Kettricken’s aid per­haps? Whatever the reason, I sus­pect there’s a song in it, don’t you?’

  A year ago, her charm and smile might have won me. A year ago I would have wanted to be­lieve this en­ga­ging wo­man, I’d have wanted her to be my friend. Now she only made me tired. She was an en­cum­brance, a con­nec­tion to avoid. I didn’t an­swer her ques­tion. I only said, ‘It’s a fool­ish time to even think of go­ing to the Moun­tains. The winds are against the trip; there will be no barge runs un­til spring; and King Regal has for­bid­den travel or trade between Six Duch­ies and the Moun­tains. No one’s go­ing to the Moun­tains.’

  She nod­ded her agree­ment. ‘I un­der­stand that the King’s Guards pressed two barges and their crews a week ago, and forced them to at­tempt the trip. Bod­ies from at least one barge washed back to shore. Men and horses. No one knows if the other sol­diers made it across or not. But,’ she smiled with sat­is­fac­tion and drew closer to me as she dropped her voice, ‘I do know of one group who are still bound for the Moun­tains.’

  ‘Who?’ I de­man­ded.

  She made me wait a mo­ment.

  ‘Smug­glers.’ She spoke the word very softly.

  ‘Smug­glers?’ I asked cau­tiously. It made sense. The tighter the re­stric­tions on trade, the more prof­it­able for those who man­aged it. There would al­ways be men who would risk their lives for a profit.

  ‘Yes. But that is not truly why I sought you out. Fitz, you must have heard that King Regal has come to Blue Lake. But it’s all a lie, a trap to lure you in. You must not go there.’

  ‘I knew that,’ I told her calmly.

  ‘How?’ she de­man­ded. She spoke quietly, but I could see how an­noyed she was that I had known be­fore she had told me.

  ‘Per­haps a little bird told me,’ I told her loftily. ‘You know how it is, we Wit­ted ones speak the tongues of all the an­im­als.’

  ‘Truly?’ she asked me, gull­ible as a child.

  I raised one eye­brow at her. ‘It would be more in­ter­est­ing to me to know how you knew.’

  ‘They tracked us down to ques­tion us. Every­body they could find from Madge’s cara­van.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And such tales as we told. Ac­cord­ing to Creece, sev­eral sheep were lost along the way, dragged off at night without a sound. And when Tassin told of the night you tried to rape her, she said it was only then she no­ticed that your nails were black like a wolf’s claws, and your eyes glowed in the dark­ness.’