People speak of high and low personages, as if one might get vertigo when turning from talking to a king to talk to a slave. My story so far has been about princesses and princes, dukes and kings. Now it turns to a story of bandits, and their victims, and the people of the streets and neighborhoods. So I will report quickly on what happened with Iyedraeka, and trust that you won’t hurt your neck by craning it upwards to look at the august royals before bringing your gaze down to mud and hovels.

  That day was a day of mud. The rain had let up for a while, but it still threatened, as if daring the streets to dry. They didn’t. Mud clung to our boots and the hems of our robes. It was smeared on the faces of the urchins and splashed up on the walls of the houses. Slaves were carrying rolls of cloth out of the Weaver’s Guild, and they went very carefully, even though the newly woven linen was wrapped in layers of coarse weave.

  I have had occasion to enter the Weaver’s Guild several times, although I never enjoy my visits. Imagine any ordinary public house. An inn, perhaps. Filled with busy people going about their appointed tasks. Now take one of its cellars and close its doors tight. Tell everyone that only a few people have permission to enter it. And that they themselves could become one of those people, but only if they underwent years of training and obscure rites of initiation. Tell them that if they were ever to enter it, they could never talk about what’s inside. Do that, and the very nature of our imaginary inn would change, wouldn’t it? You could still go there to get a drink and a meal, but all the time you’d be thinking about that room in the cellar. Wondering what happened behind the closed doors. The Weaver’s House is like that, only it’s made even more mysterious and terrible by the fact that everyone knows that the forbidden room is full of ghosts.

  As we went up the stairs to the bedchamber where I’d left Iyedraeka, the rhythmic sound of the looms reverberated through the house. Jahldorani’s eyes were wide. Perhaps he’d never been inside the house before. He was a big, strapping lad, but I could tell that he wanted to take my hand for reassurance. We found Vaenahma standing stoically before the door of a sleeping chamber. The door was open, and Iyedraeka was sitting on the edge of the bed, plaiting her hair. Martiveht was lying in the bed, and she looked half-dead. But Iyedraeka said that she was only sleeping.

  I relieved Vaenahma, and they went down to the kitchens and returned with a plate of steamed buns. Martiveht stirred and ate. When we left the house, many of the weavers we passed looked at her askance. Some even sped deliberately out of her way, as if she were infectious.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, and she muttered something about Rahasabahst Weaver’s Guild being hopelessly corrupt. She was obviously unhappy about something, but she wouldn’t say what. However, as we were going out of the gate, a tall woman with very wide, flat cheeks brushed past her and slipped something into her hand. Her mood lightened a little after that, although the sky didn’t. If anything, the clouds became more dark and threatening.

  We discovered Andraescav in the courtyard of the princess’s house, moving between the bird cages. Iyedraeka stopped at the end of the entrance tunnel and stared. Andraescav turned towards us and blushed, a little green haragramhee bird clutched in one thick hand. He dropped to a knee, besmirching his robes in the mud.

  “Princess.”

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  “Lieutenant Andraescav,” Iyedraeka said. “What are you doing?”

  His eyes widened in alarm, and his mustaches quivered. “I came to check on your welfare and found…” He gestured ineffectually with his free hand. His eyes met mine, and he tried to convey a message through the wiggling of an eyebrow. I couldn’t interpret it.

  Iyedraeka walked to one of the cages and looked in at its occupants, dead and strewn across the cage floor. Her shoulders slumped. “I suppose he felt that he needed to assassinate something,” she said softly, and we knew that she was referring to Prince Dasuekoh. “He always hated my birds. This one I brought all the way from Raensapal.” She reached in and picked up a pale yellow corpse. She held it cupped in front of her chest, and her shoulders began to shake.

  Martiveht went to her side. “Princess,” she said, and Iyedraeka turned and fell into her arms. I noted a look of profound jealousy on Andraescav’s face. But he was standing and gesturing for me to approach him.

  “There are corpses in the kitchen, and in some of the bedrooms,” he said. “The servants. She can’t stay here.”

  I nodded. I looked back at Vaenahma and Jahldorani. “The palace?” I asked.

  Andraescav had the oddest expression on his face. He was, in fact, much changed, although I did not yet know why. But he was even willing to gesture to Vaenahma to join us. As if he had decided that Vaenahma’s counsel was worth having.

  “The palace isn’t safe,” he admitted to the two of us, his voice sounding odd, its bluster muted by misery. “The White Cats had themselves a bonfire last night. The king just sat there and watched them. They were rough with the slaves.”

  “And Prince Chahsaeda?”

  “He was sitting beside that Oesair. He kept looking at him, as if he expected him to do something. He’s not commanding the White Cats. You didn’t think that he was in command, did you?”

  Vaenahma was thinking. “We could send her north, with Duke Khuldara.”

  Andraescav’s face twisted. “They left already. Early this morning. To follow Dasuekoh, and try to catch him before he reaches Kaikoelahtu. And the streets, they aren’t safe. Deadfalls are still hiding in the city. There were skirmishes in Viepahrik District last night.”

  “I thought that Duke Khuldara had taken you into his company,” I said.

  Andraescav glanced at me. His entire attitude was strangely shy. “I couldn’t go. He’s abandoning the city.”

  “What of Duke Ibansarjae?”

  “Gone north. News came in the night. The countryside is in revolt. They…they say that the dead are walking. That the shrine’s broken open, and all of the ancestors are loose in the land.”

  He was murmuring, but Martiveht heard him anyway. She stared at him over Iyedraeka’s head, and her expression was bleak and afraid.

  “You stayed because of the princess,” I said, but Andraescav shook his head. He gave me a strange, pleading look that I couldn’t understand. I turned to Vaenahma, to see if they had a strategy, but they gazed at me blankly. They weren’t from Rahasabahst, of course, but nearly three years as my lieutenant should have taught them something of the city’s secret ways and byways. I sighed, because the solution was obvious. “We’ll take them to the House of Song,” I said.