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Ospero was nearly bald, and stockier yet. They both looked pretty drunk, and the three empty wine carafes that lay on the floor confirmed that impression. There was nothing unusual about that—z’Acatto stayed drunk most of the time.
    “
Dena dicolla,
casnaras,” z’Acatto said.
    “Good evening, z’Acatto,” Anne returned, “Casnar Ospero.”
    “You’re home early,” z’Acatto noticed.
    “Yes.” She didn’t elaborate.
    “We brought fish and bread,” Austra said brightly.
    “That’s good, that’s good,” the old man said. “We’ll need a white with that, perhaps a vino verio.”
    “I’m sorry,” Austra said. “We didn’t have money for wine.”
    Ospero grunted and produced a silver menza. He squinted at it, then flipped it toward Austra. “That for the wine, my pretty della.” He paused a bit to leer at the two girls, then shook his head. “You know the place by Dank Moon Street? Escerros? Tell him I sent you. Tell him that will buy two bottles of the vino verio, or I’ll come crack his head.”
    “But I was—,” Austra began.
    “Go on, Austra. I’ll cook the fish,” Anne said. She didn’t like Ospero. There seemed something vaguely criminal about him and his friends. On the other hand, z’Acatto had somehow managed to convince him to rent them their rooms on credit for a week, and he had never done more than leer at her. They relied on his good graces, so she held her tongue.
    She went to the cramped pantry and took out a jar of olive oil and a pouch of salt. She put a little of the oil into a small earthenware
crematro
, sprinkled both sides of the fish with salt, and placed it in the oil. She stared despondently at the preparation, wishing for the hundredth time that they could afford—or even
find
—butter for a change. Then she sighed, put the lid on the crematro, and carried it back down the stairs, then through an inner first floor door into the small courtyard that was shared by the building’s inhabitants.
    A few women were gathered around a small pit of glowing coals. There wasn’t yet room for her dish, so she took a bench and waited, gazing absently around the dreary walls of flaking stucco, trying to imagine it as the orchard courtyard in her father’s castle.
    A male voice foiled her attempt. “Good evening, della.”
    “Hello, Cazio,” she said without turning.
    “How are you this evening?”
    “Tired.”
    She noticed there was room at the fire now, and stood to take the crematro over to it, but Cazio interposed himself.
    “Let me,” he said.
    Cazio was tall and lean, only slightly older than Anne, dressed in dark brown doublet and scarlet hose. A rapier in a battered scabbard hung at his side. His dark eyes peered down at her from a narrow, handsome face. “Your day didn’t go well?”
    “Not as well as yours, I’m sure,” she replied, handing him the crematro.
    “What do you mean by that?”
    “I mean the work you’ve chosen must give you ample opportunity for refreshment.”
    He looked puzzled.
    “And don’t try to look coy,” she said. “I spoke with Rediana today. She told me what you’ve been doing.”
    “Ah,” he said. He went over to place the roasting pan on the ashes and used a charred stick to bank them up around the edges. Then he came back and sat next to her. “You don’t approve?”
    “It’s nothing to me.”
    “It ought not to be. I’m doing this for you, remember? I’m trying to earn passage for us to escort you home.”
    “And yet we seem no nearer to departing than we were a month ago.”
    “Sea passage does not come cheap, especially when the cargo must remain secret. Speaking of which, take especial care. There are more men searching the streets for you than ever. I wonder if you know why.”
    “I’ve told you, I don’t.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. She had no idea why there was a price on her head, but she figured it had to do somehow with her station and the dreams that troubled even her waking hours. Dreams