Bram reached the buckled road before he saw the captain. The paving had risen in a long ridge beside the market, forcing a delivery cart against a shutter. Beyond it a creature moved through the dust on six narrow legs, its head turning toward the gutter rather than the people behind the windows. Light ran along the gutter in brief threads. Every time it brightened, the creature changed direction.
Someone caught Bram by the sleeve before he stepped out from cover.
“Not across there.”
The woman wore a defender’s leather over a shop apron. Her spear had been repaired with wire below the head. Bram looked where she pointed and saw the road end in a drop concealed by the tilted cart. A water pipe showed under the broken paving. There might be ground beneath the dust. There might be a cellar.
He stepped back. “Where’s your captain?”
“Here,” said a woman from the recessed doorway behind him. She was studying a sketch pressed against her thigh. Two hunters waited beside her, watching opposite ends of the street. Neither looked as if she could spare one.
Bram gave his name. The defender with the spear became very still.
“I know it.”
