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the house, Ivan following behind. They entered a small study that was expensively furnished. Oil paintings of Ivan’s grandparents hung on the walls along with glass ornaments, fine dinnerware that Mrs. Finley enjoyed showing off, and a large wooden case of expensive cigars.
    “What is on your mind, Ivan?” asked Mr. Finley, sighing heavily as he sat in a large armchair. “And more importantly, what is it you don’t want your mother overhearing?”
    “I’ve just come back from a meeting,” said Ivan, taking a seat, his voice slightly hushed. He glanced over his shoulder at the closed door.
    “ Ah! ” Mr. Finley leaned forward, his face eager. “You do know that if I was younger and fitter, I would be stuffing it to those knights. Speak, son. Speak! And quickly before your mother wanders in.”
    Ivan grinned and scooted his armchair closer to his father.
    “I told them my plan.”
    “A nd?”
“They’ve agreed! They’re letting me go forward!”
    “Well done!” Mr. Finley slapped Ivan’s knee. “Congratul ations! Pour yourself some wine!”
    Ivan happily obeyed.
    “So what’s next?” Mr. Finley asked as Ivan sat back down. “Where do you go from here?”
    “I h ave to find someone who I can get into the castle,” said Ivan. “I was thinking about leaving tomorrow.”
    “Hmmm,” Mr. Finley rubbed his chin, his face serious. “You will of course inform the person of the dangers involved?” Mr. Finley pressed, suddenly stern. “If the knights realized why this person was there … if Molick or Romore ever got a hint, your spy would be dead before you could say almond toffee.”
Ivan nodded his head.
    “Brenden, what are you two talking about?”
    Mrs. Finley had just entered the room and was looking curiou sly from her husband to her son.
    “Nothing, Abby, nothing,” Mr. Finley said quickly, flashing a winning smile and straightening in his chair.
    Mrs. Finley’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
    “Well, if you’re finished, I need to speak to Ivan.” She turned her attention to her son. “I need you to go to Clara’s in Halspeare and pick up a few blankets; ours are getting a little worn.”
    “Clara’s?” Ivan sputtered. “But why there? They sell blankets here in the city!”
    “Clara’s are better!” his mother said forcefully. “And anyway, while you’re there you can stop in on Miss Coletta. She does so love your visits.”
    A quaint smile on her face, she turned on her heel and left Ivan with his jaw open in disbelief.
    “ Clara’s? ” he rounded on his father. “In Halspeare! That’s a three day journey!”
    “She’s probably hoping the weather will be bad and you’ll have to spend the night at Miss Coletta’s.” Mr. Finley chuckled and gazed at the empty doorway affectionately. “Your mother won’t rest until she sees you married.”
    “I have absolutely no interest in Coletta!” Ivan raged furiously.
    “But you must admit she’s a charming girl.”
    “Oh, yes, charming, of that I am certain,” fumed Ivan, rolling his eyes. “I just wish she’d try to charm someone else! And what am I going to do about finding my spy?”
“Maybe you’ll run into one on the way? Oh, come now,” Mr. Finley said, spotting the mutinous look on Ivan’s face. “Don’t argue with you mother. The sooner you go, the sooner you will be back.”
    He drained his glass, slapped his own knee and left Ivan alone in the sitting room.
     

 
    4 Bonnets in the Rain
    Ivan left immediately after an early and rushed breakfast the next morning. He was behind schedule, having to ride to Halspeare     and back, and didn’t want to waste any more time. He would be quick. He would be efficient. And above all else, he would hide for cover if Coletta or her mother walked by.
    Clara’s was a very small shop owned and run by an extremely old woman, Clara. Her specialty was weaving blankets—Ivan had to admit that they were some of the best in Lenzar. He had been to the shop many