A small figure scrambled down from the side of the building.

  Hands and feet found holds most people wouldn’t notice, her movements quick and practiced, like someone who’d climbed these walls more times than she could count. She dropped the last few feet lightly and straightened, already grinning.

  A girl. Eight or nine, perhaps.

  She wore a mostly green tunic and breeches that once was brown and had definitely belonged to someone else. And probably someone else before that. The fabric hung loose, patched in several places with whatever had been at hand. Her face was smudged with dirt and rooftop grime, hair escaping its tie in wild strands.

  Her eyes were bright blue and alert, full of curiosity.

  Ink trotted over, sniffed the girl once, then licked her cheek. Her face was no cleaner.

  The girl laughed, startled and delighted.

  That was when Dain and Merren got their first good look at her.

  “That was brilliant!” she gasped, bouncing on her toes. “Did you plan that? Did you wait for them?” She crouched slightly, eye-level with Ink. “You’re amazing!”

  Ink’s tail wagged so vigorously it was moving in circles.

  Prattle fluttered down from Merren’s shoulder and landed on a nearby post. He tilted his head, pale eyes fixed on the girl.

  Then he said, perfectly, “TREMENDOUS day for Eldmere!”

  The girl froze.

  Her eyes went wide. “That sounds just like—how did he—”

  “Prattle’s got a gift,” Dain said, grinning. “Mimics anything he hears. Absolute menace. Gets us into trouble all the time.”

  “Wow,” she breathed, still staring at the bird.

  Merren smiled faintly. “You had a good view up there.”

  “The best,” she said proudly.

  “And from such a lofty perch, what exactly does one notice?” he asked.

  “All of it,” she said without hesitation. “And what’s best is not many people see me.” She shrugged. “I know where not to stand.”

  “A rare and valuable talent, that.” Merren tilted his head. “And what’s your name?”

  “Pip.”

  “Pip. Efficient. I approve. Phillipa when someone’s cross with you, I assume?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But nobody calls me that.”

  “So what sort of excellent misjudgment brings you climbing buildings during a royal ceremony?”

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Her grin faltered—just a little.

  “My mam works in the palace,” she said. “She’s a maid. I thought I might see her today.” She scuffed her boot against the stone. “She’s been working more since the soldiers came. Doesn’t get to say no much.”

  “That’s rough,” Dain muttered.

  “Does she come home?” Merren asked gently.

  “Always,” Pip said quickly. Then she brightened again, as if catching herself. “Anyway—that dog!” She pointed at Ink. “That was the best thing I’ve ever seen. People are gonna talk about that for years.”

  Ink gave a pleased huff.

  “She’s got a flair for timing,” Merren said. “Occasionally vengeance. Entirely coincidental, I’m sure.” Merren said. He paused. “You said you know the city well.”

  “All of it,” Pip said eagerly. “Every alley, every shortcut, every place the guards don’t check. I run messages sometimes. Taverns, shops. Nobody notices me.”

  “I’m sure they don’t.” Merren glanced at Dain, then back at her. “Well, Pip, this has been a delightfully educational encounter, but we should probably—”

  “Wait.”

  She reached out, stopping just short of his sleeve.

  “You’re not from here,” she said. “And the way you were watching the ceremony. And the dog.” Her eyes flicked between them. “You need help.”

  Silence settled for a moment.

  Prattle made a sound that might have been a laugh.

  “Help,” Merren said thoughtfully, “is a wonderfully flexible concept.”

  “I can run messages. Show you routes. Tell you when guards change shifts and which ones are mean and which ones just want to go home.” The words spilled out fast. “And my mam—she hears things in the palace. She might—”

  “Go on then,” Dain said. “What d’you reckon about King Cocky?”

  She didn’t hesitate.

  “He was a good king, sir,” she said. “Better than Helmut.” She nodded firmly. “My mam said so. And she’d know.”

  Ink stepped closer, pressing lightly against her leg. Pip put her arm around Ink, finding the spot just behind her ear and started scratching without thinking. Ink leaned into it with appreciation.

  Merren watched them for a moment, then sighed softly.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said. “You go home. You wait for your mother. Make sure she comes back safe.” His tone stayed gentle. “If you still feel like helping tomorrow, you can find us at the Good For What Ales Ya tavern. But you talk to your mother first. Understand?”

  Pip nodded, excitement and relief tangling together. “I’ll be there. Promise.”

  “Good.” Merren smiled. “Now off with you,” Merren said. “Before that woman over there decides I look suspicious and makes her walking stick my problem.”

  She grinned, gave Ink one last pat, and vanished into the crowd.

  Dain watched her go. “She’s onto it.”

  “Yeah,” Merren said. “Sharp edges on that one.”

  “You think that’s a problem?”

  Merren’s expression stayed thoughtful. “Sometimes.”

  Prattle fluttered back to Merren’s shoulder. In Pip’s bright, eager voice: “I can be useful!”

  They turned back toward the docks, Ink already trotting ahead of them.

  Behind them, the square resumed its normal activity.

  The soiled ray cloth lay abandoned once the platform cleared.

  A servant waited.

  He had seen before how the cloth was usually cut and claimed, hands reaching for it before the guards even finished clearing the square.

  This time, no one touched it.

  ***

  Ink slipped back into the hayloft as the sun dipped toward evening.

  Seren stirred. “Where have you been?”

  Ink settled beside her, smug satisfaction radiating from every line of her body.

  Seren frowned. “What did you do?”

  Ink’s tail thumped once against the hay.

  From the square, distant voices still carried on the air.

  Seren stared at her. “Oh no. What did you do?”

  Ink’s tail thumped again.

  Then she rested her head on her paws and closed her eyes, the picture of complete innocence.