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I might change my mind about letting you live.”
    Cole turned and ran across the rooftop. The polder smirked. He turned, looked across the rooftops, and fingered the pouch at his hip. He wondered where the priest was.
    He looked down into the open window. The ghoul was still down there. He could hear it. Cole had come for the girl, but hadn’t got her. Had got the ghoul instead. The ghoul that was now down there with the girl.
    He produced a dirk, and bounded lightly down into the inn.

Chapter Eight
    It was dark. Dark and cold and the sound of battle raged above, echoing through the thick wooden door. Vanora stopped, frozen halfway down the stairs. She’d never been down here, had no idea where the stairs led.
    As she thought about it, her world spun. Her balance ebbed. The absence of any visual cues made standing upright impossible. The harlequin in one hand, its metal base in the other, she slowly sunk to the ground, spread herself out on the stairs.
    “Harlequin,” she whispered.
    No response. Something wet happened upstairs and a cheer went up from the mousemen, but the battle wasn’t over.
    Her mind raced. She was amazed to find herself thinking quickly and clearly, even in the shadow of violence.
    She placed the harlequin’s brass base on the stair in front of her, hoping she wasn’t accidentally balancing it on the edge of the stair in the dark. Then she took the harlequin from her other hand and, eyes watering and blinking with the strain of trying to see anything, she placed the harlequin on the stand. Kept her hand on it to stop it falling off. Hoping for some sort of….
    There was a *click* and she felt the harlequin stiffen in her hand. She drew her hand away.
    “ Harlequin!” she hissed.
    A warm glow rose from the base, as though it were heating up, and the harlequin was surrounded in light. It bowed deeply. Vanora breathed a sigh of relief; she’d hoped the metal tutor could make its own light, but did not know.
    “A spotlight, mi’lady! All any performer desires!”
    She looked around, saw the door in the light of the harlequin’s base, and saw the stairs stretching down into darkness.
    Picking up the base in both hands, she lifted it carefully, afraid the harlequin would fall off.
    With exaggerated motion, the harlequin lost its balance and tumbled across the small platform, before rolling upright and planting his feet on the round metal disc. He now seemed attached to the platform, unmoving.
    “You need not be gentle with me, young mistress,” the harlequin laughed. “I am no enamel eggshell! Rough and sturdy I am! A tutor for young boys as well as young girls.”
    She grasped the brass plate more firmly and, using its light as a lantern, proceeded slowly down the long stairs.
    As she neared the cellar, the air cooled and the stone walls bled moisture. Eventually the stairs ended and she stepped off onto flagstones. It was a large room, she couldn’t see the far wall, and there were wooden crates everywhere.
    She saw a lantern on one of the boxes near her. She crept forward and put the harlequin down. This, she guessed, was the lantern Heden used. There was a box of slaves next to the lamp. She picked one up, struck it, and lit the lamp.
    “Go to sleep, Harlequin,” she whispered, as she lifted the lamp, and the harlequin bowed before falling into a cross-legged sitting position. The light from the brass base faded.
    Vanora lifted the lantern and checked its well of oil. Satisfied, she explored the room.
    The sounds of battle above were muted now and, she thought, diminished. Had they stopped? She was not eager to run back up the stairs and see what had happened. Better, she reasoned, to wait down here for the mousemen. If they had prevailed. They must have, she thought. They must have won. She couldn’t imagine their brave efforts in vain. 
    Whatever she expected to find in the cellar, this was not it. It was all barrels of wine and ale, and crates of food. Some fresh, some…not so