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she groaned.
    “If you will do that with no preparation—” Paulette began to say waspishly.
    “No, no.” Miriam waved her away. “I took my pills, boss, honest. It’s just really cold over there.”
    “Where did you stash it?” Paulie asked practically.
    “Where your back wall is, over on the other side, where there’s nothing but forest. Brrr. Up against a tree, I cut a gash in the bark.” She brandished her knife. “Won’t be hard to find if we go over from here: Main thing will be walking to the road, the nearest one is about half a mile away. Better go in the morning.”
    “Right,” Paulette said skeptically. “About the rent.”
    “Yeah.” Miriam nodded. “Look, give me fifteen minutes to recover and I’ll get my coat. Then we can go look over that building, and if it’s right we’ll go straight on to the bank and move another whack of cash so you can wave a deposit under their nose.” She straightened up. “We’ll take Brill. There’s a theatrical costume shop we need to check out; it might speed things up a bit.” Her expression hardened. “I’m tired of waiting, and the longer this drags on the harder it’ll be to explain it to Angbard. If I don’t get in touch soon, I figure he’ll cut off my credit until I surface. It’s time to hit the road.”
    * * *
    Two days later, a frigid morning found Miriam dozing fitfully on a lumpy, misshapen mattress with a quiedy snoring lump to her left. She opened her eyes. Where am I? she wondered for a moment, then memory rescued the day. Oh. A pile of canvas bags before her nose formed a hump up against the rough, unpainted planks of the wall. The snoring lump twitched, pushing her closer to the edge. The light streamed in through a small window, its triangular tiles of glass uneven and bubbled. She’d slept fully dressed except for her boots and cloak, and she felt filthy. To make matters worse, something had bitten her in the night, found her to its taste, and invited its family and friends along for Thanksgiving.
    “Aargh.” She sat up and swung her feet out, onto the floor. Even through her wool stockings the boards felt cold as ice. The jug under the bed was freezing cold too, she discovered as she squatted over it to piss. In fact, the air was so chilly it leached all the heat out of any part of her anatomy she exposed to it. She finished her business fast and shoved the pot back under the bed to freeze.
    “Wake up,” she called softly to Brilliana. “Rise and shine! We’ve got a good day ahead!”
    “Oh, my head.” Brill surfaced bleary-eyed and disheveled from under the quilt. “ Your hostelries aren’t like this.”
    “Well, this one won’t stay like this for long if I get my way,” Miriam commented. “My mouth tastes like something died in it. Let me get my boots on and warm my toes up a bit.”
    “Hah.” Brilliana’s expression was pessimistic. “They let the fire run low, I’d say.” She found the chamber pot. Miriam nodded and looked away. So much for en suite bathrooms, she thought mordantly. “You stand up, now,” Brill ordered after a minute.
    “Okay. How do I look?” asked Miriam.
    “Hmm. I think you will pass. Don’t brush your hair until we are out of sight, though. It’s too clean to be seen in daylight, from all those marvelous soaps everyone uses on the other side, and we don’t want to attract attention. Humph. So what shall we do today, my lady?”
    “Well, I think we’ll start by eating breakfast and paying the nice man.” Nice was not an adjective Miriam would normally use on a hotelier like the one lurking downstairs—back home she’d be more inclined to call the police—but standards of personal service varied wildly in the Gruin-markt. “Let’s hit the road to Hasleholm. As soon as we’re out of sight, I’m going to vanish. You remembered your pistol?”
    Brill nodded.
    “Okay, then you’re set up. It should just be a quiet day’s walk for you. If you run into trouble, first try