The crowd of protestors in front of the Feleke mansion was so dense that Antonio the carriage driver liberally used his whip against them to make it through, right up to the door. Lane ducked outside first. She didn’t bother trying to placate the angry crowd, just climbed straight into the carriage. When Greg followed, there was a splattering of rotten fruit against the wood and window and the cry of “monster!” went up.

Lane shuddered, but Greg didn’t even blink until the carriage started moving, sinking into a miserable heap in his seat. “Think there’s been another attack?” he muttered. “It wasn’t nearly this bad yesterday.”

“Might be,” Lane said. “Or maybe word has gotten out about the dead spy.”

“I doubt people would be this upset about a dead spook,” Greg grumbled.

“Not the spook, no. But if word got around that a body was dragged out of the building in which werewolves were seen just a little earlier…”

Greg groaned at the thought. “Right. That would do it.” He buried his head in his hands. “We’re not going to win the publicity war at this rate, are we?”

“We always knew it would take time, especially in the south,” Lane pointed out. “Eoforwic doesn’t have any issues. I checked.”

“Maybe it’s time to go back to Brines,” Greg said softly. “Or Courtenay. I wonder how many servants will quit this time.”

“Thoko’s got a plot of land up at the Bridge Camp, doesn’t she?” Lane asked at his desolate tone. “Did she ever go there and well, really see it? Make plans for it?”

“Not yet,” Greg said quietly.

They rolled into the courtyard in a flurry of other coaches. Only a few of the people working for the administration still tried to give Greg a wide berth. She could see him relax as soon as they entered the office. Grooch was already in and greeted them, taking their coats and running through the day’s schedule as he hung them.

They had finally gotten the report from the spy’s house. It came in a sealed envelope waiting on her table. Black wax and a skull.

“Classy,” Greg commented as Lane broke the seal. “Anything interesting?”

“Well, let’s see,” Lane muttered.

The report was short and to the point: The spy had been identified as one Robert Vavre, a clerk in Lord Mire’s accounting department, which didn’t mean much—since he was Stuart of the Castle, every other secretary in the whole palace worked directly for Lord Mire. Nobody seemed to know much about Vavre other than that he worked hard doing budgetary calculations, and tended to stay late. His superiors had never noted any issue with his work. He wasn’t married, lived in an inherited terrace, and the only slightly curious detail a coworker had recalled was an “interest in wild mushrooms.”

“How very ominous,” Greg sighed. “Half the palace is obsessed with wild mushrooms.”

They were a luxury food, given how little of Loegrion’s forest was safe to forage in, and as such featured heavily in the cuisine at the palace.

Vavre had most likely been unconscious when he had been hanged, hit on the head from behind. The noose had crushed his windpipe, killing him. There was no sign of a fight. Either the killer had been lying in wait, or Vavre had known and trusted his murderer.

“I think it’s the second,” Greg said. “I think I smelled the killer in the kitchen, but I don’t think they were there long.”

“I don’t suppose you recognised the smell by any chance?”

Greg shook his head. “Never came across it before.”

Shame.

The search of the house had revealed no clue as to who had been the killer, either, or what had been stolen from the kitchen cellar. Nor did George Louis’s men have a clear idea of who the spy had reported to. There had been a journal, much of it coded, which they were still working on. The first entry appeared to refer to the preparation to steal David’s seals and get Calder, Bernadette and Dale killed. After that failure, the entries were sporadic at first, but increasing in frequency until there was at least one every week.

None of which told Lane anything useful, aside from the fact that she really needed to increase security.

They didn’t even know if the information had left Loegrion or not.

“We’ll have better locks installed today,” Grooch said, when Lane asked where they were on the security issue. “And the palace guard will extend their patrols to include us.”

“It’s a start, I suppose. I’ll talk about it with Lord Mire, too, when I meet him later. See if he has any additional suggestions. Is there anything else I should know? Any explanation on what’s going on with the protests?”

“Oh. I thought you’d seen the papers. There’s been another attack.”

Grooch handed her his own stack of papers. It was right there, on the front page if not the leading article. Just a minor thing—Lane didn’t think it would have made the news at all a couple of years ago, let alone the front page. A small village between Sheaf and Northwold, a single werewolf, one person bitten. It wasn’t even clear if the victim had died.

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Maybe she was desensitised, but this was Loegrion! Werewolf attacks were a thing that just—happened. Especially out in the country. But they needed to show they cared.

“Mr. Howell, please send a telegraph to House Feleke. I need Lord Nathan to take care of this.”

She hoped he was rested. They needed to prove that they took it seriously. It should be a fairly simple assignment, even for a single hunter. Or maybe the older Lord Feleke and Andrew would go and take out their very first apprentice. She’d leave it to them to decide if the youngest Mire was ready to go out in the field yet.

“A couple of years about nobody would have lost a day’s wages for this,” Lane sighed when Howell hurried off.

Greg’s shoulders hunched and he didn’t say anything in reply. He walked into the next room and sat down at his desk before Lane could try and figure out some kind of encouragement. She really wished she could help.

But if it rained, it poured. By the time she arrived for her lunch meeting with the dukes, one of the rallies in the city had ended with an accident that left a man dead. The watch had instituted an assembly ban for the rest of the day and was coming down hard on any infringements. But it wasn’t a state that could last.

“Lady deLande, I believe we need to give the citizens what they want,” Duke George Louis announced as soon as she had sat down. He folded his hands in front of him, as if trying to look as earnest as possible. “I have thought long and hard on what you have said to me yesterday. So at least for a little while, I propose that the young Lord Feleke take his family to Courtenay. Move all the werewolves out of the city and give the whole situation time to calm down.”

Lane narrowed her eyes. George Louis was looking too bright eyed at her. And he had referred to Greg as “Lord Feleke.” She didn’t think he had ever done that before. What was this about their conversation from yesterday? How did he think banishing Greg from the city would help him with winning over David?

He seemed to notice that himself, because he added quickly: “Maybe not Lord Feleke himself. But I think we should make a show of removing the rest of the family.”

“Your Highness, I do not think this is a good idea. Sending Morgulon to Courtenay is going to put the whole city in danger.”

“It’s in danger of burning down, Lady deLande. We can’t fight against the mob in the streets and the Valoise at the same time. Besides, there’s still the werewolf at the source of the river, isn’t there? What’s the worst that could happen?”

“This isn’t Mannin,” Desmarais answered before Lane could. “If the Rot comes down the river, there will be nothing but a few barricades to stop it.”

“But the city watch dealt with the Rot before, haven’t they?” George Louis looked around the table, face grim. “I ask you, Lady and Gentlemen, what is the worst that could happen? And is it worse than having the mob in the city, screaming for werewolves to die? Heron Hall has a telegraph line, doesn’t it?”

Lane opened her mouth, then closed it again. This was extreme, even for the duke. But she had to admit, it had a certain appeal. Give the people what they were so clamouring for. And then let them deal with the consequences.

“Duke Stuard, that’s ruthless,” Desmarais grunted. “People may die if we go ahead with this plan.”

“I am very aware of that fact. And if I could force all the people of Deva to take a vacation at Mannin and dunk their heads in the Savre until they see sense, I would. But that option isn’t open to us, and we have to do something, before Deva goes up in flames. So unless you have a better idea, Duke Desmarais…?”

There was no answer.

So at dusk, Lane led Morgulon and her cubs through the city, a whole company of guardsmen on duty to keep the crowds with their torches away. Imani was the one going with the werewolves to Courtenay, to ensure everything there went smoothly. And there were crowds, even people holding up their children, so they could see the werewolves leaving the city. Other people were dancing, as if they had won some kind of great battle.

Likewise, the newspapers proclaimed victory straight away. It was just a matter of how gleeful the editors were about the sudden change. The headlines of the day’s final edition ranged from the favourable “Duke Stuard’s wisdom” to “Lord Feleke and his mad band of werewolves banished from the city.”

Several nobles wanted to go on record that it had been their council that had moved the duke. Desmarais alluded in an interview to the danger, but that was the only voice Lane found.

***

The first Rot-creatures came down the river on the third night. The papers wrote about it as if it came as a surprise to them. Maybe it really was. Maybe they truly were that naive. Even Mr. Higgins Senior’s editors, who had talked to Greg multiple times and should know better.

Greg sneered at the headlines and was glad his mother wasn’t present. He shouldn’t wish for bad things. He really shouldn’t.

But he couldn’t deny that he wanted the people of Deva to fully experience how bloody stupid they were. A few creepers just wouldn’t do that. He wanted—a brute. Or a couple of them, even. Maybe… maybe a house or two levelled.

He couldn’t even bring himself to feel bad about it, that was how frustrated he felt after a week of people screaming “monster” at him and throwing raw eggs.

The only thing that appeased him somewhat was the fact that he could walk through the city with Mr. Higgins and Gustave again without people screaming expletives at him. Somehow, nobody had mentioned that there was still one werewolf left within the city, nor had Desmarais retracted the permission for him to walk Deva on his own.

“I can’t believe the duke really sent the she-wolf away,” Mr. Higgins grumbled when they arrived at the Royal Gardens. Watch Commander Bacrot had wasted no time and declared the whole park off-limits again—his men were busy burning Rot-husks down at the river banks.

“It’s what the people wanted, isn’t it?” Greg asked loftily. “All the werewolves are gone from the city.”

“But the people are idiots!” Gustave threw his hands up, then lowered them slowly when Greg just shrugged. “That’s the point, isn’t it?” he groaned. “Teaching them a lesson?”

“Please tell me that’s not true,” Mr. Higgins said. “Please tell me the duke didn’t risk a million lives just to prove a point.”

Greg shrugged again and buried his hands in his coat pockets. “Nah. He wasn’t trying to prove a point, he was just running out of options. It wasn’t like he could pull the army back to beat some reason into the mob. So he figured a bunch of creepers are less trouble than the city on fire. I mean, seriously, if you’ve got a million spoiled idiots eager to throw rotten eggs at the only person able to protect them, eventually, you just have to give in and let them face the consequences of being idiots. Eoforwic and Breachpoint and Mannin are going to be laughing themselves silly before this is over.”

“But you’ll help, won’t you?” Gustave asked. “When it gets bad?”

Greg rolled his eyes. “Of course I’ll help. I’ll just feel very vindicated in the meantime.”

And to his silent joy, Gustave slapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Good for you.”

“Let’s just hope that nothing happens on full moon,” Mr. Higgins commented.