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proof, only suspicion. You don’t have to remind me what they can do. Chaldon’s curse on the lot of them!”
    “Renra!” Shandy looked around in horror, as if he expected a Watchman or an Eye of Chaldon to materialize and arrest her at once. “You can’t curse the Temple!”
    Ranira laughed bitterly. “No, because it is cursed already.” She saw that Shandy was getting more upset, and she forced a smile. “Don’t worry. I don’t say such things to anyone except you.”
    “When you get mad, you would,” Shandy insisted. “You be careful, Renra.”
    The boy’s solemn advice was too much for Ranira; she broke out laughing, and the lingering traces of her black mood vanished. “I can take care of myself, Shandy. You just make sure that none of the Watchmen catch you sneaking food out of the farmers’ stalls, or you’ll be the one in trouble.”
    “Ah, them!” Shandy said scornfully. “They’re too fat to catch me!”
    “Well, I don’t think I’ll be able to bring you anything from the kitchen today,” she said, lifting the brimming bucket onto her hip. “When Lykken has special guests, he watches everything so closely that a fly couldn’t sneak off with anything. You’ll have to steal your own dinner today.” Shandy nodded, and as Ranira reached for the door, the urchin vanished again into his own mysterious byways.

Chapter 2
    L YKKEN WAS ALREADY IN the kitchen, shouting orders at the cook, when Ranira entered. The innkeeper paused for a moment in his tirade and jerked a thumb at her. “Upstairs! And don’t forget the cloths! And be sure the fire is well lit before you return!”
    Ranira nodded and proceeded through the kitchen as rapidly as she could without spilling water from the bucket she carried. Near the far door she stopped and lowered her burden to the floor. Reaching up, she grasped one of the large pitchers that hung beside the door. She was just about to fill it when Lykken came hurrying over.
    “No, no, not that one! It’s cracked; see, there! Find a good one, you lazy slattern, or you’ll get the beating you deserve!”
    Once more Ranira fought down anger. There were no good pitchers; Lykken refused to purchase new ones so long as those he had could hold water. Silently, she replaced the offending crockery and after a short search, found one which was cracked near the handle, where it was less obvious. The innkeeper gave a cursory nod when Ranira offered him the jug to inspect, and then turned back to the cook.
    She filled the pitcher as quickly as she could and left the kitchen with a sigh of relief. Once out of sight, Lykken might well forget about her for a while, and as long as she had some plausible excuse when he found her again, the innkeeper was unlikely to give her another beating. She climbed the stairs and paused in the short hallway above. A narrow chest at one side contained the cloths she needed. Ranira set the pitcher on the floor and knelt to open the chest.
    As she started to lift the lid, she heard the muffled sound of voices coming from the far side of the wall. For a moment she hesitated; then she thought she heard the sound of her own name. Leaning forward, she strained to catch the words more clearly.
    “… help everyone, Mist,” a man’s voice was saying. “Besides, if you do anything like that in Drinn, you’ll be arrested for witchcraft, foreigner or no.”
    “I know, Jaren, but that poor child will have bruises for a week!” a female voice responded. “She is lucky not to have any bones broken, and by the look of things, it isn’t the first time, either. Why, the innkeeper boasts of it!”
    “But is helping her worth the risk? Just being here is dangerous enough as it is.”
    “I know, and I do not wish to add to your burden,” the woman replied. “But I think there may be some talent in her that would be criminal to waste.”
    “You’d see genius in every mistreated puppy if you let yourself, Mist,” the man said. “I don’t like