The cat grew wary and half rose, narrowing her eyes with suspicion. She watched Dwain creep closer with a bowl of water and a rag in his hands. Colette kept the salted meat at

  The cat grew wary and half rose, narrowing her eyes with suspicion. She watched Dwain creep closer with a bowl of water and a rag in his hands. Colette kept the salted meat at the ready.

  — Easy now, — the dwerg said. — It won’t hurt.

  Rize clamped her teeth into the rope, chewed through it, and bolted into the corridor.

  — Don’t let her get to the kitchen! — the hostess shouted, but it was too late.

  Dwain tore after her. In the kitchen he borrowed the salted meat and tried to lure her out from under the sideboard. She parried, hissing and pinning her ears, darting like lightning from one hiding place to another.

  — Arrai! — Dwain growled, earning a scratch across the back of his hand.

  — And you still want this filth to stay with me?! Drive her out—now, quick!

  Seizing the moment while the dwerg was distracted, Rize snatched the salted meat and in an instant sprang up onto the top shelf with the clay pots.

  — You’ll pay for every bit of damage out of your own pocket! — Colette kept yelling.

  — I’ll pay for it all, — the dwerg answered loudly. — Better stop whining and help.

  As luck would have it, Rize brushed a pot with her tail. Dwain lunged to save the crockery, and Colette, utterly fed up, scrambled onto the sideboard and, thrusting out her arm, grabbed the cat by the tail. Startled, Rize tumbled down. By their combined effort—despite the growling and the lash of claws—they managed to pin her to the floor.

  The second stage began, no less difficult.

  — Hold tighter! Don’t let go!

  — I am holding her! Pour—quick, before she shreds my face!

  — Hold her head—her head!

  Water spilled over Rize’s back; she squealed, fighting to break free. The flour Dwain was dumping over her from the sack burst up in a cloud. Sneezing and spitting, he diligently rubbed the floury slurry into the black fur until it slowly turned grey.

  When the whole sack of flour was spent, the file came into play. It took no small measure of time and nerves, but the collar finally gave and clattered to the floor. The exhausted pair at last released the no less exhausted cat.

  Rize shot to the farthest corner, mewling plaintively. She trembled from the cold, muttered something under her breath, and sneezed.

  Colette, streaked with white, her hair in disarray, stood braced against the table, breathing hard.

  — Never… never again…

  — But it worked! — Dwain tried to put an arm around her waist and caught an elbow to the nose. — Ow! All right then. The main thing is the result.

  Dusty with flour and bickering, they looked from the side like madfolk. Their quarrel went on a while longer, until Colette noticed movement in the doorway.

  — Niko?! Is that you?

  A boy of about seven stepped out from behind the wall. Long black hair fell over his eyes; his clothes were dirty and torn. Shivering a little, he hugged himself by the shoulders—less from the cold than from sheer nerves.

  — Have you been here long?

  — S-sorry, I…

  — You bring the bread?

  — Yeah…

  Niko took a couple of steps back, glancing at the cat in the corner.

  — Don’t scare the lad first thing in the morning, — Dwain said, coming up to Niko. — Meet Rize. She’ll be living here a few days. Keep an eye on her and you’ll get two coins a day. How does that sound?

  From under his fringe, it was impossible to see Niko’s eyes go round with surprise.

  — Y-yes…

  — Good lad. — Dwain clapped him on the shoulder and headed for the exit, managing to rattle off a few more instructions—every last one of them about not letting Rize out into the street.

  — And what am I to do with this… — Colette muttered, shutting the front door.

  “Always scheming up something… Maybe I should’ve been softer?”

  — Niko!

  — Y-yes, mistress.

  — Did you clean that cauldron yesterday?

  — Yeah.

  — Good. You can count today as rest. Watch that this beast doesn’t eat all the food, smash the utensils, or slip out to the street. You’ll feed her too, and see she doesn’t pester the guests. Understood?

  The boy nodded.

  — Now help me get her upstairs. We’ve lost enough time as it is.

  With the help of a broom, they managed to drive Rize to the second floor, into one of the little closets. Colette let out a relieved breath and went back to her work, leaving the cat and Niko alone. Only then did the boy grasp what was happening. All that time he’d been so anxious he hadn’t heard half of what was said to him, agreeing only because he didn’t know how else to answer. Now he was left face to face with a verid the size of himself. He’d seen such things in the street before—but smaller, and able to speak.

  — Iseste, shez, shez… — she hissed, as though reciting some spell.

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  She would draw near, then drift away, circling the closet in loops, now and then casting him a threatening look. Niko didn’t move; he only shivered and wondered when it would end—though morning had barely begun.

  Colette hurried down to the kitchen and, to her great relief, found Hemile there. The old man was pumping the bellows at the hearth’s base.

  — Where have you been? The fire’s near gone cold. And why is everything covered in flour?

  — Long story. Better tell me— is the ale ready?

  — Aye. I’ve only just tasted it myself.

  — Praise Tessa! With fire and ale I can manage. You set the pole out and get ready to pour; it’s time to open.

  Hemile nodded and quickly left the kitchen. Colette began feeding in dry moss until the fire flared properly. Then she set a huge cauldron of water above it and started tipping in everything—vegetables and grains, and the scraps of yesterday’s meat besides.

  The tolling of the bell—three rounds of three strokes—announced the start of the day. It was just then the first guests arrived: workers from the river workshops and traders from the market. Hemile took to pouring the ale while Colette carried out slices of bread and cheese, constantly returning to the kitchen to tend the stew for midday. In the heat of work, she sometimes forgot the situation and, by habit, began to call out:

  — Niko!

  Meanwhile the boy, still frightened, sat motionless in the little closet, waiting to be eaten. Rize rumbled displeasure and scraped her claws at the door and the walls. Niko thought she would rage and leap at him, and pressed himself to the wall, afraid she’d get behind him and fasten on his throat. It was only one of the many endings his lively imagination painted—yet for now he was still alive.

  “I wonder, if I die, will mistress scold me?”

  Dwain returned to the shop. He shrugged off his flour-stained jacket, wiped his face, and set to work.

  Morning light, slipping through the small barred window, picked out of the half-dark a counter of dark oak, heavy ledgers, and scales with copper pans.

  Customers came and went: traders, craftsmen, and the like. From time to time—sometimes as if by chance, sometimes plainly—the dwerg asked questions. Rumors of what had happened at the Louazier estate in the night had already begun to crawl through the city, but not as loud and hot as one might have expected. No one could say anything certain, offering only their own fancies. Only this was known: there had been noise at the estate in the night, but why—no one could tell.

  The door-bell jingled again. On the threshold stood a city guardsman in cloak and frockcoat over mail—Pasten, an old acquaintance. From beneath his cloak, he impatiently produced a large bundle. After greetings were exchanged, Dwain inspected the contents—a faded mantle.

  — Five. No more.

  This time the guardsman did not argue. He usually liked to play at being a master of bargaining, but it seemed he needed coin more than usual.

  — So, what happened at Louazier’s? They say there was a lot of noise in the night.

  — A strange tale. They say there was a scuffle, — Pasten replied with a shrug.

  — And who dared?

  — No idea. But the duke declared that all was calm in his estate, and the racket was raised out on the street.

  — And what do you think? — Dwain asked, handing the guardsman a receipt.

  — His guard keeps quiet, which is only natural. With the ball coming, the duke wants no scandal, so he told everyone to shut their mouths. For now, Mirchelle is quiet, and the guard there’s been given no special orders.

  A satisfied Pasten left the shop, promising to keep Dwain informed if anything became clearer. Dwain scratched his beard thoughtfully. From his own experience he knew such calm was an illusion. And besides, he kept turning over in his mind what was to become of Rize.

  By the time the door to the little closet opened, Niko was no longer quite so terrified. He had long since noticed that fear, once it peaks, begins to ebb, though he could not fathom why. Displeased, Rize knocked her head against the wall, but no more than that. Catching the motion, she darted into the corridor, where pieces of meat and a bowl of water already waited for her. Before she fell upon them, she involuntarily glanced at the old man who had brought it all. Hemile was watching her.

  — Well, that’s a queer thing… Niko, you alive in there? — he asked, peering into the closet.

  — Yes, — the boy answered, barely audible.

  Hemile looked at Rize again. She was happily eating the salted meat and cheese from the bread plate, and at the end purred with satisfaction. To Niko’s surprise, the old man simply sat down and held out his hand, trying to stroke her head—but she hissed and moved aside.

  — Just look at how angry we are. Maybe you truly are wild.

  — What do you mean? — Niko asked.

  — Colette told me… I’d thought some verid meant to trick us, but it doesn’t look like it.

  — Can they?

  — They can. But this one’s too wild—maybe from the forest…

  The old man waved a hand.

  — Off you go to the kitchen—peel the vegetables and pluck the bird. I’ll sit here in your stead.

  Niko nodded and ran for the stairs. Hemile, meanwhile, led Rize back into the closet and set the food in the middle.

  — Amusing. And what was the point of Dwain bringing you here? You must be worth a lot of coin. Though what am I prattling about… As always, I speak too much…

  Rize did not answer, only kept eating.

  Dwain barred the heavy shutters, clicked the lock, and set off toward the tavern along streets that were already darkening. Thoughts of Rize would not leave him be. Doubt was not in his nature, but this case was strange even for him. The familiar noise spilling from “Spicy Boar” soothed him a little.

  “Well then, the tavern’s still here.”

  Dwain squeezed inside, weaving between the backs of half-drunk craftsmen reeking of smoke and cheap ale. The air was thick and hot, though the local stuffiness was nothing beside his native under-deeps. On one of the tables stood a young man in motley, strumming a lute with gusto. The crowd sang along merrily, and Gyuste threw himself into it so hard that even from afar one could see the sheen of sweat on his face.

  The hostess flitted between tables like a splinter in a raging current—now bringing snacks on bread plates, now barking orders. She was already flushed and breathing hard, yet she did not slow, again and again darting between hall and kitchen. Dwain caught her by the elbow as she hurried past with empty dishes.

  — Well? How are things?

  Colette halted for a moment, catching her breath. Weariness lay in her eyes, but no panic.

  — Quiet so far. — She jerked her head toward the stairs. — Niko’s with her now. Hemile’s helping too. Seems they’re managing. She ate everything they gave her, and now, I think, she’s sleeping.

  The dwerg let out a relieved breath and, saying he would dine in the “rooms” tonight, went to the stairs.

  The music died on a high note, replaced by applause and cries of “More! Well done!” The women shouted loudest of all.

  — Thank you! “Thank you!” — Gyuste rang out, bowing. — Next song — “Knight and Griffin,” never before heard in the whole kingdom! Only let me wet my throat.

  He jumped down to the floor and, spotting Dwain, caught him by the stairs.

  — Good evening! Oh, praise Calista, you’re here!

  — And to you. Come for your coin tomorrow—with a deposit.

  — No, no, I’ve devised something new…

  — I’ll gladly hear it tomorrow. I’m resting now, — the dwerg replied, stepping onto the stairs.

  — Then rest, and I’ll tell you!

  There was no answer. Dwain had scarcely opened his mouth when, with a loud cry, Rize leapt from the steps.