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“And Baron Mancer lives in…”

“Chaim City.” Surprise turned to shock.

Rue waved the woman away. “Makes sense…Come on, Sharp. We’re going.”

Sharp caught hold of one of Gulla’s fingers and immobilized the hefty young orderly, putting an end to her efforts to force her into the admittedly comfortable chair. “Go? But it’s nearly lunchtime.” She frowned. “And you look thoroughly untrustworthy. Do I know you?”

“I’ve got a crow that wants to meet you.”

“A crow? You should have said.” Sharp backed Gulla into the nearest chair and released her finger. “Should I bring my things? I had some jewellery somewhere…And a dog. I had a dog once?”

“We can send for them.” Rue bit her lip hard. Hard enough that she could pretend that it was the pain that had made her eyes water.

“I’ll need my book.” Sharp bent to recover a small black book from the arm of an empty chair. She tucked it into her skirts, then turned to follow Rue.

“Oh no you don’t, ‘my lady.’ ” The young orderly, still unaware who she was dealing with, struggled out of the chair in which she’d been so unceremoniously dumped and accelerated after Sharp. “You’ll get back in that chair even if I have to break your other—”

The nearest object was a black porcelain vase with gilding in the form of serpents wrapping its girth. Rue’s aim proved true. The vase shattered on the woman’s forehead and the bridge of her nose. She staggered back a good ten steps before collapsing into the chair she’d so recently left. One old lady in an armchair close by started applauding as if at the theatre.

“Come on.” Rue pushed the doors open.

“Holy Ordon!” Cheva followed them into the hall. “That’s Meccom! Is he dead?”

“Not at all,” Rue lied. Her dead-sense told her that the man had given up his struggle for survival while they were in the lounge. “He’s just resting.” She tugged Sharp after her. “Get up, Meccom! You can see us off the property.” With a surge of necromancy she stood the orderly up and turned his back on Cheva. “The man in the ballroom, though, he’s definitely dead.”

“Oh my!” Sharp looked through the ballroom doorway as they passed. “How did that happen…” She pulled away from Rue and danced off towards the Cruelty.

“Sharp! Come back. He…he’s…probably sleeping or something. Leave him be.”

Sharp, who had bent over the corpse, straightened, holding the man’s sword. “He said I could have this.”

Rue blinked. “All right.”

The door opposite opened and two old women peered out, one rotund in a great tent of a dress, and another almost as tall and thin as Sharp.

“Whatever. Hurry up.” Rue needed to get out before the whole household came to see what was going on. They might have guards somewhere if all their charges were rich.

“How exciting.” Sharp hurried back, twitching the narrow blade, making the point dance. “An adventure!”

They followed the dead orderly out into the thickening gloom.

Senna swooped down from a gable overhead and landed on a statue of some minor godling pouring water from an urn. “Who’s your friend?” she cawed.

Rue realized she’d lost hold of Sharp’s hand and turned to see her standing in the doorway with Cheva and various residents starting to crowd at her back. She’d stuck her rapier point first into the gravel and was digging in her dress in a most unladylike way as if she’d dropped a crust down her front.

“She’s the one you brought me here to find,” Rue said.

Senna cawed. “Really? I don’t think so…”

Sharp, outlined in the glow of two lamps brought out from the drawing room, concluded her search and withdrew her hand with a triumphant “Ah ha!”

“Ah ha,” Senna croaked. “That’s what brought me here.”

Sharp held up a bronze mark between finger and thumb. She’d finally found it nestled in the pages of the book she’d fetched. “This! You gave me this! You’re Mollandra Plight!”

“Yes!” Rue’s grin was so fierce it hurt her cheeks. “I did! I am!”

Sharp snatched up her sword. “Fucking Mollandra fucking Plight. Prepare to die, bitch!”