As Ashlorn dangled from the inn's window, he remembered what Lady Queniveve had said about the Attract Heat spell. It would take almost a minute to transfer the heat needed to ignite wood. But somehow, in the spellchamber, he had set the table alight in only seconds. He hoped he could pull off the same trick now.

       Ashlorn focused on the crossbow’s wooden body and spoke the casting phrase for the first Attract Heat spell he had queued. “Ťúrl kōmśu.”

       As Boggle pulled him up, Ashlorn’s head bumped on the overhanging roof, but he made no move to pull himself up over the eave. He needed to concentrate. As the spell took effect, he could sense the heat transfer from an open fire in the cookhouse below and into the wood of the crossbow.

     The thug lifted her weapon to take a shot. As she smiled, he saw a gap where her front teeth should be.

       The crossbow burst into flames. The stray bolt flew into the overhanging roof, missing Ashlorn by several feet.

       Ashlorn scrambled onto the roof as the thug screamed, “Fire mage!”

       The flaming crossbow tumbled to the ground.

       Ashlorn whooped triumphantly. Fire had been good to him. He and Boggle ran across the roof. Boggle’s fur color had changed to match the clay tiles, and he was nearly invisible in the darkness.

       Ashlorn and Boggle leapt as they reached the edge of the inn’s roof. Ashlorn held his breath as they both flew across the gap between the Bottomfish Inn and the River Queen Tavern.

       Anybody could jump. Landing was the hard part. The tavern roof was a full story down, so they would hit hard. Boggle had taught Ashlorn how to make these landings. The tavern roof was peaked so rolling would not be an option. Ashlorn knew the best way was to leap at a downward angle, landing on his side and moving directly into a slide toward the edge.

       Ashlorn hit the roof too hard. He broke some tiles and bruised his hip. But the slide went well, and he quickly reached the edge of the tavern roof. He had lost sight of Boggle but knew his companion was already safely down. Boggle was the best jumper Ashlorn had ever seen.

       Ashlorn grabbed the eave and dangled from the side. His left hand slipped, due to his fused fingers, and he fell awkwardly, dropping the remaining six feet toward the soft ground in front of the tavern. As he landed, he collapsed his legs and rolled onto his side. He cursed himself for landing on his bruised hip.

       Ashlorn didn't stop to check what was happening back at the inn. He sprinted into the welcoming shadows of a ring of oaks where Emlyn kept her goats penned. Ashlorn couldn’t see the animals, but he crinkled his nose against the musky tang of billy-goat urine.

       He darted behind a tree and peered around it to survey the scene. Two of the thugs were circling the inn, still looking up at its roof. How had they not heard the roof tiles break when he landed atop the tavern?

       Ashlorn startled when Boggle took his hand in the darkness.

       Boggle whispered, “We safe. They never catch us now.”

       Ashlorn nodded, trying to calm his breathing. That had been too close. Who were those awful people, and what did they want?

       He watched in growing trepidation as Locks, Dela, Catcher, and Ox, their hands tied behind them, were marched out the back door of the inn. They were led past the cookhouse, and into the gloom beyond.

       Ashlorn whispered, “They’re headed for the river. We should follow.”

       “We no follow,” Boggle said.

       Maybe Boggle had the right of it. They had suffered more danger in the last week than in the last two years combined. And yet, Ashlorn felt he should act.

       He turned to Boggle. “Our gang, I know they’re not friends, but I’d feel bad if something happened to them. And that would be the end of our spying. And what about Lady Queniveve? Will they throw her out of the castle? Will she stop teaching me magic? Let’s at least follow them and see what’s going on.”

       Boggle growled in a way that meant grudging acceptance.

       Ashlorn's hip ached as he walked in the direction his captured gang had been taken.

       Boggle darted in front of him, changing his fur to a dark gray that made him invisible in the darkness. “Me first. I see better.”

       They trudged through Emlyn's vegetable garden, the ground soft and torn from the recent potato harvest. Ashlorn knew there was a dirt path leading down to the river, a path used by the visiting fisherfolk, but that was not the direction the captives had been taken.

       They walked on, dodging small bunches of butterhead lettuce that still needed a month or two to reach full size. Last Sextilis, Ashlorn had stripped some of the firstling leaves to eat when he was starving. Emlyn would skin him alive if she knew.

       Tall grass began to fill the ground as they neared the river. Ashlorn couldn’t see aught and kept a hand on Boggle’s shoulder.

       They finally reached the sandy soil of the river shore. And they had done it without stumbling into any blackberry hedges. Those would have made a mess of Ashlorn’s legs.

       He knew the Copper River was nearly two miles wide here. He had often watched the copper barges from Northmarch pass by. But now, the darkness and heavy mist had made the water disappear. He could smell the remains of the catfish and pike that formed the bulk of the fisherfolks’ catches.

       Boggle pulled Ashlorn to the ground, and they crawled across the sandy shore. Boggle maneuvered them behind a boulder draped with a torn fishing net. Peeking around the rock, Ashlorn saw a lantern swinging from the stempost of a ship's prow. The vessel was already knifing into the dark water. Though Ashlorn couldn't be certain, it appeared to be a longship with a square white sail.

       Within a minute, the mist had enveloped the ship and swallowed the lanternlight.

       Ashlorn whispered to Boggle, “Can you still see them? Where are they going?”

       “Up the river. They stay close to this side.”

       Ashlorn jumped to his feet. “If they’re headed upstream, we can keep up with them. Come on!”

       Boggle groused, changed his fur to match the color of the sand, and hurried upriver along the shore. Ashlorn kept a hand on Boggle’s shoulder. For the hundredth time, Ashlorn wished he had Boggle’s nighteyes.

***

Ashlorn and Boggle crouched within a line of manicured willow trees, watching the longship moor at a private dock lit by a solitary lantern.

       Ashlorn whispered to Boggle, “You’re certain it’s them?”

       “I certain.”

       “They didn’t go very far,” Ashlorn said. “We’re less than two miles north of Wywick.”

       A large contingent of the cloaked thugs disembarked and walked up a gravel path toward a two-story manor house. The fancy house had glass windows! Lamplight glowed from within. Despite the hour, the people inside were still awake.

       Ashlorn felt a sense of foreboding. “Our gang didn’t leave the boat. We must see if they’re aboard.”

       Boggle shook his head. “I no see them.”

       “But they could be tied up, lying on the deck.”

       “They dead. Bad people throw them in water.”

       Ashlorn frowned. “Don’t say that!”

       “I no see them. No hear them. No smell them.”

       “We must look,” Ashlorn said in a desperate tone.

       “Two bad people still on boat.”

       Ignoring the warning, Ashlorn left the shelter of the willows and followed a steep slope to the waterline. Boggle hissed and reluctantly followed.

       Ashlorn knew the slope would shield them from the light of the manor house. The cloaked figures who had disembarked had taken both the ship's stempost lantern and the lantern from the dock, leaving the vessel in darkness.

       The soft sand muffled the sound of Ashlorn’s approach. Though he couldn't see Boggle, Ashlorn sensed his companion was nearby.

       Ashlorn smelled Iberian tobacco and knew one of the thugs was smoking a pipe. He slowly swam out, circled the dock, and approached the stern of the ship. He pulled himself onto the ship’s steer-board and peeked over the gunwale.

       Two of the cloaked thugs stood at the prow of the ship. One, an older woman, smoked a pipe as she watched a younger woman vomit over the side of the ship.

       The older woman patted the younger one's shoulder. “Chin up, Cyra. You get used to it. You’re just green is all.”

       Cyra shook her head, spitting into the water. “Godshite, Adney, I’m a house guard, not a murderer.”

       Ashlorn realized the boat was empty, and his blood chilled. His gang was dead! His left hand trembled. Though he had a powerful urge to flee, something kept him rooted in place.

       Adney sat on a rowing bench near Cyra. She took a long draw of her pipe and blew the smoke into the night air. “They stole drift from the Harpy. Nobody does that and lives. Thems the rules. We did it clean. No one will ever find the wretches.”

       Cyra curled onto the deck and drew her knees to her chest. “Is she gonna send us back for the fire mage?”

       “Who can say? Hope not. How does a shite-for-brains docker like Locks afford a right scary fire mage? And he’s just a kid. Imagine when he grows up! God’s body, even Harpy don’t have one of those arse-roasters.”

       Adney clamped her pipe between her teeth and hauled Cyra to her feet. “Let’s go inside and get you a proper drink.”

       Cyra groaned in disgust as they disembarked.

       Ashlorn watched as they left the dock and began their walk to the fancy manor house. Alone now, he thought about how badly this ship needed stealing. But neither he nor Boggle were sailors, and he had a mission from Lady Queniveve to complete.

       Ashlorn jerked as he saw Boggle moving inside the ship, only inches away. Boggles were so quiet!

       Boggle extended a hand and spoke as he pulled Ashlorn aboard, “We should take boat.”

       Ashlorn's gaze swept from the furled white sail above to the line of rowing benches below. “We can’t. We need people to work this ship.”

       Boggle glanced at the figures moving within the manor. “Then we leave now, before they come back.”

       Ashlorn sank onto one of the rowing benches. His stomach hurt and he had a foul taste in his mouth. “You were right. Their souls run free.”

       “Yes. Sorry. We go now.”

       Ashlorn's expression hardened. “I should burn down that house.”

       Boggle shook his head vigorously. “Castle lady say no spell.”

       Ashlorn let out a long breath and gazed upward, unable to see the shrouded stars. “You have the right of it. We should probably go back. But I just…can’t.”

       Boggle’s tail twitched apprehensively. “What?”

       “They need a fire mage. I’m gonna see if they’ll let me join. Once I know their secrets, I’ll tell Lady Queniveve and she’ll have them all arrested.”

       Boggle leapt onto the bench and waved a clawed finger in Ashlorn's face. “You crazy boy. Serious. We go now. No more talk of this.”

       “True. I am crazy. And I’m real sorry. It’s best if you stay here.”

       Boggle stomped. “What? No no no. We go together.”

       In the darkness, Ashlorn couldn’t see the color of Boggle’s face, but he knew it was red. Ashlorn didn’t blame him for being angry. He had been dragging Boggle into all kinds of scrapes. He was a rotten friend, he had to allow.

       Ashlorn grasped Boggle's hand. “I’ve had a good think on this. We’ve been running around Wywick for two years, and for what? Now we got a chance to be somebody. Lady Queniveve is a mage, and a noble. We do right by her, and maybe one day we live in Ravenrock. Aren’t you tired of sleeping rough in the Quarter?”

       Boggle’s nose twitched, and he stroked his whiskers. “In castle, can we have tree fortress, with the apricots?”

       Ashlorn hugged him. “Yes! That sounds brilliant.”

       Boggle returned the hug. “Then together we meet the bad people.”

 ***

Ashlorn swallowed hard and shook out his arms to calm his nerves. He reached up for the brass knocker on the manor house’s ironclad door and made three sharp knocks. Boggle crouched behind Ashlorn, peeking out from between his legs.

       After a long moment, the door opened to reveal a house guard with a gherkin in her hand. She frowned down at Ashlorn as she wiped gherkin juice on the wide red belt securing her black tunic. Ashlorn searched his memory of the cloaked thugs from the inn. They had all worn the same black clothing beneath their cloaks, but with black belts instead of red. That made sense. The red belts would identify them. They probably switched back to house livery when they returned from the inn. He didn’t recognize the red and black colors. He guessed this was the house of a rich merchant, because a noble family would have a proper blazon on display.

       Ashlorn nerved himself and spoke to the guard but was disappointed by the sound of his squeaky voice, “I’m the God of Fire. I wanna talk to the Harpy.”

       The guard laughed, exposing the gap where her front teeth should have been. Ashlorn knew then that she was the thug whose crossbow he had burned.

       She squinted hard at Ashlorn and dropped her gherkin. “Bugger me, it’s you!” She clutched for a sword she wasn’t wearing, then managed to draw a dagger from her other hip.

       Ashlorn pointed a finger at her. He waved it in a circle to hide his trembling hand. “Put it away, or I’ll burn you!”

       Boggle whimpered and tightened his grip on Ashlorn’s legs.

       The guard’s eyes widened. She took a step back, sputtering for words. Then she turned and ran.

***

A pair of nervous house guards led Ashlorn and Boggle into the manor's atrium—a circular garden with a sunken pool at its center. Black and red tiles lined the pool's edge. The pool's bottom featured a mosaic of a harpy—a clawed, winged creature with a woman's head.

       Ashlorn smelled the sweet scent of flowers as he approached the pool. And though it was night, he heard birdsong.

       A woman and a girl sat on the far edge of the pool, their bare feet dangling in the water. Both wore short, black gossamer gowns cinched with red belts, their legs bare beneath the diaphanous fabric. As they moved, light from the surrounding lamps enlivened shifting serpents in the silk of their gowns. Ashlorn recognized the fabric. It was live silk from the Celestial Empire, and it must have cost a fortune.

       The woman's short, dark hair was streaked with gray. She studied Ashlorn with shrewd eyes, then flashed a humorless smile that revealed a pair of fangs!

       Ashlorn’s stomach flipped, and he took a quick step back. This had to be Harpy, the householder. Was she a real harpy, like the ones from the fairy tales?

       She crossed her arms and spoke. “Well now, if it isn’t the God of Fire. Pardon us if we don’t rise to greet you. We’d prefer to remain by the pool, where things are a little less…flammable. God of Fire, I am Harpy, and this is my daughter, Medusa.”

       Ashlorn gawked at the pretty teenage girl with tawny skin and wild curls. Her stormy eyes warned him to keep his distance, even as her toe traced an inviting line in the water.

       The Harpy huffed. “Focus, God of Fire. Know you why I brought you inside?”

       Ashlorn swallowed to wet his dry throat, but his voice still came out cracked, “Because you want a fire mage?”

       “No. I brought you in so you wouldn’t set fire to my timbers. Oh, and also, to watch you die. We take our sport where we find it.”

       Boggle whimpered.

       Ashlorn turned and saw three guards blocking the only exit. Each held a crossbow aimed at his heart. The thug with the missing teeth smiled, a finger hovering over her bow’s lever trigger.

       Ashlorn’s stomach lurched in horror as he realized his gambit had failed.

       Boggle clung painfully hard to Ashlorn's waist as a stream of urine pooled at his furry feet.

       Blood pounded in Ashlorn's ears, leaving him dizzy. He felt certain he would die now. Why hadn't they fired yet?

       Something told him they would fire if he tried to run. So instead, he spoke, his voice projecting a desperate power that surprised him, “Put down your bows!”

       Clapping sounded from the pool. The archers lowered their bows with nervous laughter and hurried out of the atrium.

       Ashlorn nearly fainted in relief. As he turned, he saw Medusa applauding.

       Harpy leaned back, crossing her legs in the water. “Well done. Had you begged for your life, they had instructions to fire. I felt I should test the mettle of this mage at my door.”

       She smiled again, and Ashlorn winced at the sight of her fangs.

       She stroked the ivory points. “Do you like my betterment? Whimsical, I know.”

       “Betterment?”

       “Betterment, from a Body Mage. Oh my, you really did crawl in from the street. Medusa here wanted claws, but I thought them impractical. Greet our guest, Dusa.”

       Medusa stuck out her lower lip and balled her hands into fists. “I’m getting claws when I turn seventeen. I’ll be an adult then. And greetings, I suppose.”

       Ashlorn’s heart had stopped pounding, and the dizziness was gone. Boggle was shaking, and Ashlorn stroked his head to comfort him. They had never come so close to death before. Ashlorn felt a pang of guilt for dragging Boggle into this.

       Harpy pursed her lips as she saw the urine on the floor. “And what is the name of your beast?”

       “Boggle,” Ashlorn responded.

       She chuckled. “His name is Boggle? Of course it is.”

       Ashlorn now felt certain this wasn't a noble's house. This must be the home of a wealthy merchant—a criminal family he had never encountered. So they probably didn’t operate in the Quarter.

       Harpy tilted her head. “I’m curious, how does a street urchin learn fire magic?”

       Ashlorn sucked in a breath, his mind scrambling for an answer. “My papa…my father taught me. Before he died.”

       Medusa humphed and glanced at her mother. “He’s a terrible liar.”

       Harpy shrugged. “True, but we don’t need him to lie. We need him to burn things.”

       Ashlorn felt a wave of relief. This was finally going the way he had hoped. “What do you want me to burn?”

       “I wish to extend my reach into the Quarter. So, I need someone to identify and eliminate the assets of my competitors there. And sometimes, more than just their assets. You and Boggle seem uniquely suited for the task.”

       Ashlorn tilted his head. “You want me to burn their drift?”

       She waved dismissively. “Street drugs are only part of my operation. I prefer to sell in bulk to the nobility. I also manufacture counterfeit goods, lend money to disreputable characters such as politicians, merchants, street bosses, and cultists. Oh, and I sometimes traffic in foreigners.”

       Ashlorn had only heard one word. Cultists. He scratched the burn scar on his cheek, wary of lying under Medusa's scrutinizing gaze. “What cultists?”

       “Hadrix, of course, they’re everywhere these days. And Ahriman, who started in the Quarter but is branching out into the city. They can’t fund their ventures through traditional means. Eventually, I’d like to become their sole moneylender, but I’ve a pair of rivals to eliminate.”

       Before he could stop himself, Ashlorn smiled and hopped with joy. Harpy knew about the cultists. Ahriman wasn’t just a fairy tale! He couldn’t wait to tell Lady Queniveve.

       Harpy’s eyes narrowed at his reaction. “Cultists make you…happy?”

       Ashlorn knew he should shut up now, but he couldn’t quite manage it. “Where exactly are the Ahriman folks?”

       She frowned. “If you’re looking to join them, I wouldn’t recommend it. There’s no money to be made. They’re all slaves to their cult. Fanatics. Do you understand?”

       “I just want to know where they are, so I can…stay away from them.”

       Medusa pffted.

       Harpy’s eyes narrowed, “I suppose you want their names, the locations of their hideouts, that sort of thing?”

       Ashlorn waved his arms in exhilaration. “Yes please!”

       Harpy leveled a commanding stare at her daughter. “Fetch me some wine, lambkin.”

       Medusa blinked in confusion. “You don’t like wine.” Then she finally understood her mother’s intention and nodded knowingly.

       Medusa stood up gracefully. Her wet feet left damp prints as she padded across the tiles. She hurried past Ashlorn, flashing him a vicious smile. A moment later, she had left the atrium.

       Ashlorn knew something was wrong. He had asked too many questions about Ahriman because he always wanted all the answers now. His petty-school teacher, Mister Copinger, had often chided him for his impatience. Maybe he wasn’t cut out to be the Empire’s best spy.

       Harpy, grim faced, lowered herself into the pool, black silk billowing around her neck.

       Ashlorn spun as he heard booted footfalls from the inner manor, coming toward the atrium. The guards were returning!

       Boggle leapt into a patch of ferns, his fur changing color to match the plants. It was an instinctive move born of fear, but Ashlorn knew they would soon discover him there. They had to get away.

       Ashlorn spun around, desperately searching for an escape route. The atrium walls were smooth stone, punctuated by a few shuttered windows. Unlike the outer manor, these windows weren’t glassed, so he couldn’t just break them to get inside. The only exit was the walkway they had used to enter, and it was swarming with menacing shapes approaching at a run.

       Ashlorn still had two Attract Heat spells loaded and ready to cast. But it wouldn’t be enough to stop all the guards. He had gotten himself into a terrible mess. Zod it! Why had he come here? As usual, Boggle had the right of it. He was a crazy boy.