Eli paused at the edge of the plateau. Still no shouts, still no crossbow bolts from the darkness--or mage projectiles blowing holes in him.

Yet the feeling of impending disaster remained and--

And he climbed down the cliffside, unhurt and unnoticed, except by a handful of birds who took frightened flight at his approach.

Huh. So much for his intuition.

As the sound of wings beating the air faded, he reached the cache of stolen goods he'd crammed into a fissure two days earlier. Three days? He'd lost track. He grabbed the bag and continued downward to the hill behind the houses. He pulled on the stolen clothes, leggings and longshirt, then the sandals. He felt almost human again, though still needed a shave.

He tucked the boning knife into his belt and listened to the breeze ruffle the shrubs all around him. Not much activity, an hour before dawn. Hooves clip-clopped somewhere higher in the city. Delivering milk, maybe. He scanned the area from two yards above himself, then stepped onto the empty street.

He ambled unhurriedly into the slum. He hadn't been able to get mugged when he wanted to, surely he wasn't so unlucky that he'd run into trouble now. Then he made the sign of the chains to ward off evil. Just thinking that counted as begging to be proved wrong.

Ten minutes later, he crept along an alley he remembered from his first foray into the slum. Hard to forget that gutter stench. He squatted with his back to a wall and twisted his tangled hair into a thick ponytail behind him. Guided by the sparks, barely even noticing the darkness, he hacked his hair off. Badly. He considered the results, then sawed through a few more hanks until he looked merely messy and not laughable.

Finally, he sawed at his beard until it was only a couple inches long. Well, in most places. It was still uneven, but at least he didn't look much like the wildman they'd found, or the 'corpse' they'd left behind. Not now that he was dressed in quality clothing, with short-ish hair and a non-bushy beard.

He dumped the hair in the gutter and wandered higher along the brightening streets, in a wary zigzag, to a neighborhood of modest homes.

He kept walking until he realized that he was inadvertently heading for archives, like his body was drawn to the comfort of recognizable surroundings. He squashed the urge and turned toward the river instead, one of the commercial hubs of the city, with docks and warehouses lower down and shops of increasing luxuriousness on the higher streets.

The sun rose as he walked. Cocks crowed, carts rattled. Servants bustled, shop bells jingled, and children chased hoops. Eli watched them for a time, then leaned against a wall outside a farrier's shop and wanted to cry.

Normal life. The sight caught him more strongly than he'd expected. He felt like a strange to all the activity around him. He felt like a stranger to himself, and he--

"You doing alright there?" an older man asked him.

"Long night," he said.

The man clapped him on the arm. "Well, son, you made it through to dawn."

"I guess I did."

"Now get your hungover arse off my doorstep and back to your long-suffering wife, aye?"

Eli smiled and lost himself in the pedestrian traffic, the sparks showing him hundreds of faces and dozens of signs until he found what he was looking for: a spice shop. He went inside and told a story about his long-suffering wife's lips turning numb at the touch of peppercorns before selling his sachet for thirty-one copper.

Not much, but not nothing.

He paid three coins for a proper shave and another five for a basket heaped with fried bread--including the basket, which he hoped made it look like he was marketing instead of loitering. Then he sat on a stoop overlooking the river, watching the dockers, the bargefolk, the drunks and laborers and net-tiers.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Graceful birds dove for fishguts and Eli planned his next move.

He could find a militia soldier about his size, take the uniform and bluff his way into the Keep. That might work. He remembered the militia protocols well enough to play the part. What he liked about that plan was, the marquis was already seriously injured. Hitting him soon would finish him. Except that left Eli with no escape plan. And with ... well, no plan at all, really, except 'get inside the walls, the seat of the marquis's power, which was on high alert, and hope for the best.'

Or he could find this Barent Manor and lie in wait. Make sure that blessdamned physician wasn't around, then cut the marquis down. Though the marquis wouldn't venture into the city for at least a few days, not until he'd recovered more fully--which would make him harder to kill. Still, that plan made better sense than risking the Keep.

Plus, there was no way the marquis would expect anyone to know the trip he'd discussed in secret with his spymaster. So Eli needed to find the Manor. He needed a place to stay. He needed a weapon then he needed an opportunity.

Well, he needed to make an opportunity.

Finding the Manor would be easy if he had access to the archives. Sneaking in to his old place of employment was his last resort, though. There was only one theater in the city, at least outside of the Keep. If the spymaster's agent was pretending to be a playwright, he was probably known there ... but an agent would also be wary.

Eli decided to ask, but not at the theatre. Instead, he slipped into a clothier a few blocks away and gazed at the goods with what he hoped was an expression of gape-mouthed vacuity.

"Let me know if I can assist," the woman told him, after her sharp gaze assessed the good quality of his longshirt ... after snagging on the roughness of his hair and beard.

"Yes, well, um ..." Eli indicated a hat that sported frilly yellow feathers. "I'm thinking of this for an, um, a young lady of, uh ... a young lady."

"An excellent choice," the woman said.

"I'm afraid she's rather more fashionable than I am. It's not a trifle too much, with the feathers and whatnot?"

"Not in the least."

"She is rather the dramatic sort. Theatre and all that. I'm, erm, more of the mercantile type myself."

"Well, you've come to the right place. We cater precisely to the ... dramatic sort."

"Oh, ah! Well, I'm sure you're right, but--" He tilted his head suddenly. "Do you know Beren Manor?"

"Berent Manor?"

"That's the place. Fellow I know lives near it. Acquainted with the, er, young lady in question. Knows the sort of thing she'll like. I'll run and fetch him along."

"Of course."

He looked toward the door. "Erm ... the Manor's up a few blocks, then across from the square with the fountain?"

"Down a few miles, then toward the tanneries. You can't miss the smell."

"Right, right! Must've got turned around."

Eli left the shop and headed down-slope, keeping one spark hovering overhead while the other darted around corners. There was no reason to worry ... but also no reason not to get in the habit of caution. And what if he ran into anyone who recognized him from his previous life? That might be a problem. He carried himself differently now, but Rockbridge wasn't so big that you didn't run into familiar faces pretty regularly.

So he took a wide, meandering path toward the tanneries, then bought a melon from a street vendor. When he still didn't notice anyone taking note of him, he headed for a city square two blocks away. A popular and well-travelled square, though he'd only visited rarely as a junior clerk. A massive tree stood in the center, with roots big enough for people to use them as benches. Eli sat near the trunk, devouring the melon while he checked for any threats.

With the sparks swirling around the perimeter of the tree he managed to glance at everyone who entered from the streets feeding into the square. He enjoying the breeze and the bustle, and the hundreds of face streaming through his mind. Learning how to act like a human again ... but also wondering where he'd spend the night.

Well, first he needed to find Berent Manor.

Then he'd identity the playwright.

Then he'd look for signs that the playwright really was the spymaster's agent.

Then he'd figure how to ambush the marquis and run before--

Oh, wait, no. All that came after spending the night somewhere. His remaining twenty-five copper would pay for a few nights in a lodging on the lower slopes. But he didn't know if that mattered or--

Something tugged at him.

A flare of ... anger? Fear?

From where?

From the sparks. So he closed his eyes and focused. What had he just seen? Nothing but people walking past. A thin girl holding a box. Two old women walking arm in arm. A bulky man with a spray of flowers. A toddler crying after falling from--

Wait.

A bulky man?

With a flick of thought, the spark darted through the air. Getting a better view of the bulky man, who reminded Eli of the ones in the torture chamber beneath the Keep.

Because the bulky man was one of them.

His anger faded, and so did his fear. Instead, he felt a flare of excitement. A tiny smile tugged at the edges of Eli's mouth. Laughter threatened to bubble through him but he clamped down on the feeling.

He stood and stalked through the crowd.