Tarram snorted. "Never mind. They don't carry badges, and he's no Lord Investigator."
"Oh, and you can be so sure how, exactly? It very much looks to me as if he slipped into this caravan to get to us. How exactly are we going to hide from him, all the way to Braganza?"
"We stay right here with our raw eggs-and the food Halvran has promised to bring-not budging from this wagon, and we take turns sleeping, one of us awake and on watch at all times. That should work, if he doesn't set fire to the wagon."
"If. As we've started with the 'ifs,' be aware that if we somehow make it to Braganza unharmed, I'll be expecting you to rent me a palace with a hall set for a feast."
By way of reply, Tarram demonstrated that he knew a rude gesture common among halflings.
"Sir! I'm shocked, simply shocked!" Tantaerra plucked an egg from the crock, cracked it, and deftly swallowed the contents.
Tarram rolled his eyes, and that made her giggle. He did it again.
She turned suddenly solemn. "The man's dangerous, remember?"
"So am I," Tarram purred.
She rolled her own eyes. "Idiot."
∗ ∗ ∗
The minutes passed slowly. After several hours with no incidents, Tarram decided that not only could he probably sleep now, but that staying awake for a few yawns more might be nigh impossible.
"Will you take first watch?" he asked his client.
When there was no reply, he opened one eye for a proper look at her-it took a real effort-and discovered that she was no longer an alert and armed halfling poised for battle in their blanket-walled corner of a wagon, but rather a shockingly small huddled heap.
"Tantaerra?" he murmured.
Silence. Gods, it was like traveling with a puppy. Snap at you one moment, and fast asleep the next. And she was so tiny. Like a little prancing doll.
Louder, closer: "Tantaerra?"
The only answer he got was a small but emphatic snore.
Smiling, Tarram fell back and let his eyes close.
Luraumadar, the voice of the mask greeted him gently. It sounded faintly amused. Luraumadar.
Well, at least there were some things in his increasingly dangerous life he could depend on.
Luraumadar.
∗ ∗ ∗
Wagon wheels echoed off the looming stones overhead. Then Tantaerra and The Masked were through the great arched gate and inside Braganza.
All around them grand buildings soared up into the sky. Somewhere behind them stood the gate guardians: a dozen cold-eyed and bright-helmed Watchswords. The city's armored soldier-police wore the scarlet tabards of Molthune emblazoned on their left shoulders with the arms of Braganza, the crossed sword and hammer of the realm bisected by the upright gold key of Abadar the Banker God. The officers also wore armbands emblazoned with the same badge, and The Masked had quietly warned Tantaerra that the Watchguard of Braganza was far more competent than the garrison of Halidon had been. Remembering Canorate, Tantaerra didn't doubt that.
Ahead, the foremost wagons rumbled along a broad but dusty cobbled street littered with sawdust, odd cuts of wood, and broken roof-tiles. Soaring up on all sides were magnificent, many-balconied buildings. No matter where she looked, Tantaerra could see nothing less than four floors high.
Braganza was nothing like as large as Canorate, but these buildings were tall, clean, and new. Every last one of them, new!
"You're gawking," the masked man muttered warningly beside her. "Even if you came from Nirmathas, you've seen tall buildings before."
"So this is Braganza," Tantaerra replied softly, still trying to peer at everything at once. "Everything's so new and grand."
"And most of it stands empty. They build here to the glory of Abadar, not because it's a sensible spending of coin, or because there're enough citizens to fill all these mansions."
Tantaerra was still shaking her head at the soaring towers. Wherever one looked, carved archways and pediments. Turrets and spires and columns sculpted to look like heroic Molthuni warriors. All this must cost a fortune …
"Indulge me," she murmured. "I've never been here before."
"I have," The Masked replied darkly. "With luck, they won't remember me. But luck and I seldom dance together."
The streets were choked with open wagons piled high with fresh lumber, dressed blocks of stone, and suntanned laborers with pulleys and ropes and crates of tools. The caravan had slowed to a crawl, wagons turning off at almost every cross street.
"Splitting up," Tantaerra murmured. "You know where we're heading, I suppose?"
"If I didn't," The Masked told her wryly, "I'd stand a rather small chance of getting there, wouldn't I?" He pointed down the street ahead. "See the sign of the cask? Remember it; not a good tavern, but one we could meet at, later, if mischance splits us up. It's called Ferkel's-Ferkel's Flagonhouse, actually, but folk will think you a tax collector if you use its full name."
"Got it," Tantaerra replied, with a calmness she didn't feel. "So tell me, where're we bound?"
"Down and out of this wagon, when we reach the right alley. That's why I wanted you to gather that sack together-we'll probably have to scramble, if we don't want to spend the rest of our first day in Braganza being chased by Watchswords."
"We don't," Tantaerra agreed dryly. "There do seem to be a lot of them."
"Armed vigilance is the Molthuni way," The Masked replied. "And bored armed vigilantes go looking for trouble, or make their own. Wherefore all the heavy-booted street patrols and suspicion. There are also nobles in this city who've taken feuding to the heights of art. Wherefore heavier patrols, and more suspicion."
"You paint such a welcoming picture of Braganza," Tantaerra said bitingly. "Don't you like it here?"
"Little tyrant, leave off for a bit, will you? I crave a certain unity of purpose right now-and some quiet in which to think."
The wagon promptly hit a pothole where a cobble had split. It rocked with a growl of protesting wheels, loud groans of wood trying to flex in two directions at once, and more than a few snorts from the oxen; Tantaerra almost had to shout to be heard over it all as she replied, "Quiet, of course! Here you go, offered gladly!"
The Masked growled wordlessly-and plunged out of the wagon, hauling her and the sack with him.
"Come!" he hissed in her ear. "Quick and quiet! No talking!"
The wagon groaned on its way as they left it behind, scrambling down the alleyway.
Out of long habit Tantaerra looked back, seeing wagon after rumbling wagon passing, then glanced up at the buildings that hemmed the alleyway in, looking for anyone watching out of windows or perched on a rooftop.
Almost immediately, with a sudden chill, she caught sight of a face peering at her from a high window. A brown-eyed face she knew. Their eyes met-and the face was gone.
It was the man who'd been on the shrine rooftop in Halidon.
"Dung," Tantaerra cursed under her breath, striding on down the alley but staring hard at the building that the window he'd just vacated was part of, so she'd be able to find it again. Green tiles, two slanting drainpipes, and-
"Ho! You! Boy!"
The voice was coming from behind her, and held the snap of command. A Watchsword. She'd bet all the coin she had.
"Stop! Stop in the name of Lord Ravnagask! The Watchguard commands you!"