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Park Paradise until it bisected Thrice Blessed Road, from there carefully picking their way onto Green Dolphin Street.
    They dismounted before the swinging sign of The Screaming Monkey , beaded in the rain, and Moichi called to a boy sitting just inside the doorway, handing him two copper coins, asking him to tend to their mounts.
    Inside the tavern it was dark, the air thick. They shook the rain off their capes, inhaling the mingled scents of animal fat and charcoal, fermented wine and sawdust. It was quiet this early in the day; most of the chairs were still raised on the tables. Still, there were three or four figures seated, eating and drinking. A dark-haired woman with black-lacquered teeth lolled indolently in a far corner. Seeing them, she let her wrapped cloak unfurl as if by accident and Moichi caught a glimpse of a burnished calf and sleek thigh. The woman sat up, stretching so that her ample breasts arched toward him, half spilling out of her low-cut robe.
    The tavernmaster came out from behind the bar. He was a short man with a barrel chest and legs like a bird. His skull was hairless. He rubbed his hands together and assumed an obsequious attitude in the hopes of forestalling the trouble which he expected was coming.
    â€œYes, Regent.” His thin voice was almost a whine. “How may I serve you? Some breakfast, perhaps? A cup of mulled wine on this terrible day?”
    â€œNeither,” Aerent said. “We wish to see the room where the young man, Omojiru, was found.”
    The other shuddered as if his worst fears had just been confirmed. “A monstrous act, Your Grace. Simply monstrous. The room is up the stairs, last door on your left.” He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again they seemed somewhat moist. “Forgive me if I do not accompany you but—”
    â€œI understand,” Aerent said.
    â€œNothing has been touched, let me assure you, Your Grace. All has been left as—as we found it.”
    â€œTell me,” Moichi interjected. “Did Omojiru pay for the room in advance?”
    The tavernmaster peered at him. “Why, he did not pay for the room at all.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Aerent said.
    â€œThe room was paid for by another man. He arrived during the hour of the cicada. Omojiru did not arrive before the hour of the fox, I am quite sure.”
    â€œWhat happened to this man?” Moichi said. “Did you see him leave?”
    The tavernmaster’s face registered surprise. “Why, no. But—but in all the excitement it would have been easy for him to slip out.”
    â€œDo you remember what he looked like?” asked the Regent.
    The tavernmaster gave them as detailed a description as he was able.
    They left him and mounted the stairs. In the large room behind them, the tavernmaster was taking down the chairs. The dark-haired woman pulled her cloak about her again, closing her eyes.
    They could tell almost nothing from the room. The curtains remained drawn and what little furniture there was seemed to be in place. The bed, of course, was a mess, the sheets and coverlets torn and rumpled, stiff with dried blood and excrement. And part of the floor was stained almost black. Moichi followed this out into the hall, squatting down. He scraped at the wood, licked the tip of his finger. Blood. He stood up. Blood on the bed and the floor. A great deal of it, almost as if an entire body had been drained.
    He went back into the room. Aerent was on the far side, parting the curtains. He peered out the open window, pulled his head quickly back. “Phew! Someone ought to tell that tavernmaster to clean up that alley. What a stink!”
    â€œBlood all over the place, Aerent,” Moichi said. “You saw Omojiru’s body. Could this be his blood?”
    The Regent shook his head. “Not the way he was killed. The blood loss was minimal; death came far too fast.”
    â€œPerhaps the other man, whoever he