The barge continued its slow way down towards the sea, but without any passengers. The bright young man was already out of the dockyard and into Fishmouth proper, moving through dusty streets.

He'd been been to Fishmouth twice before as a child, but that was a different Parry, the one who died of ochre fever, taking all his memories with him. This Parry, with his thousands of lifetimes, couldn't recall ever being in this tiny rural hamlet. So while Fishmouth was a town new to him, it was dismayingly familiar.

Lesser trails and ill-defined lanes lead up and around to farms and pastures local to Fishmouth. There were more like them on the far banks of the river, where the ferryboat had its simple anchor. It was all satellite to Baronston, without which Fishmouth would never be more than a way station for river traffic.

Small fishing and trading crossroads looked the same the world over. A main street spilled down into the dockyards and continued up into the plains and low hills, winding its way towards Baronston. That toll road was the life blood of Fishmouth, the reason it had a garrison, a market square, even a tariff house. A place this tiny shouldn't have even a single boarding house, and it had two.

Parry cleared the docks and walked the main street, passing storehouses. Sundown was only an hour away, he'd need to find a room somewhere before his night-blindness left him helpless.

Let's see, Parry thought. If Fishmouth has any toughs, they'd likely hide out between storehouses. Dusk was a good time, fewer eyes, longer shadows. A young teenager alone, dressed for travel in clothes hardly worn, either just starting out (which meant a full purse) or recently-purchased gear (which meant at least something in the purse) and fresh off the boat from upstream. I ought to be a perfect target.

From an alley, a young girl stumbled--clearly pushed--got her bearings and "wandered" right up to him.

"Excuse me sorry I don't know what to do I'm lost can you help me?" The words came out in a rush, clearly a script, but the fear in her eyes was real. She didn't look back over her shoulder, keeping her eyes locked on him. She was no more than eight, filthy but in that way someone clearly rubbed on a few strategic smears of grime to make her look more pitiable.

Parry got down to one knee, on her level.

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"I'd like you to blink. Can you blink for me?"

The girl blinked with surprise, then blinked again consciously, the request so strange she didn't even think about it.

"Great, you did fine. Now some people pushed you out of that alley, how many were there? Just blink with a count. It's easy."

This wasn't going the way she expected, but there was authority in Parry's voice, supportive and gentle. It seemed easy. She blinked three times.

"Wow, you're a pro at this, fantastic." He smiled like it was a game, but kept his voice low and serious. "Blink once if any of them are your family."

She raised her eyebrows, a young kid's attempt not to blink. It almost pulled a chuckle from Parry, but he suppressed it. This wasn't a laughing matter.

"Nearly there, you're doing great, just one more. Do you have any family or a place to live here in Fishmouth or even in Baronston? Blink once for yes."

The pause surprised him, but her blink came, slow and hard.

Parry thought fast. Now what could that mean? She didn't want to lie, but almost did. A bad home, she's run away, doesn't want to go back? A good home, something keeping her away? If so, why?

Too many questions, not enough time or information. He reached out slowly and tousled her hair, as much to relax the girl as a performance to reassure the thugs watching from the alley.

"Okay. I know the nasty people back there want you to take me somewhere. You aren't in trouble, it's going to be fine. And I know things are bad back at home, don't worry. My name is Parry. What's your name?"

She was blinking a lot now, because there were tears.

"Sean."

Parry noticed a touch of movement in the alley. Was he taking too long? He fished out his purse and pressed a copper into her hand slowly, in as showy a way as possible. That ought to calm them, seeing him part with coin.

"That's for luck. Hold it tight, Sean." He took her other hand and started up the street, carefully keeping pace. She followed, so clearly it had been part of the plan. She wasn't tugging him off in some other direction. Accomplices ahead? Possibly.

"I like to guess things," he tried. "I bet the nasty people want you to take me to one of the saloons. Is it that one," he pointed.

Sean was fighting the confusion and hope, fear and uncertainty. After a moment, she nodded and lightly drew him towards it.

"Awesome, we're great at this, aren't we?" He quickly scanned the entrance but saw no one waiting. First story...? If someone was watching, they hadn't set a light.

Parry moved with her. "I think I'm going to find it really easy to get a room right by the back door, and I think bet later tonight when I fall asleep, they said you should open all the doors."

Her hand gripped his in panic.

"It's fine, you won't get in any trouble. You're safe now." He smiled, and that confidence seeped out through clenched hands until she believed it.

"So much for the great and terrible Overlord Parry," snarked a voice in his mind.

"You'll have a role in this play too, Styak. I hope you enjoy cuddling."

Thankfully, no one else could hear the demon wailing.