Rell found Iven in the public bath, where it was difficult to look dangerous without standing up.
“Can it wait ten minutes?” Iven asked.
The inspector looked at the water, the folded brown coat and the clean shirt waiting on the bench. “Yes.”
“Good. I’ve paid for them.”
Rell sat beside the doorway and kept his case out of the damp. Iven washed the last gallery dust from his hair. The bruises from the guardian fight had turned an ordinary yellow at the edges. Four days had passed. He had worked, slept, practiced and found that the new routing grew easier when he stopped treating every successful combination as a discovery.
By the time he dressed, Rell had bought them both tea from the attendant.
“Deren’s payment came through a private equipment broker,” he said. “The broker rented storage from a yard behind the old dye house. I have authority to search it.”
“Why do you need me?”
