I can find her, said Baldbeak.
“How?”
We have our ways, he said vaguely.
It occurred to me that following the directions of a raven was a faintly ridiculous way to navigate a new city, but I had no better ideas, and so I followed him. He certainly seemedconfident, flapping ahead and sending me all kinds of impressions and brief messages as we walked. I received a strong sense of contempt when we came across pigeons pecking in the gutters. He showed brief interest in the gibbet that we passed—Food?—but thankfully it was empty (Disappointment). It swung like a birdcage from its cross post—if a birdcage were vaguely human-shaped—and was the stuff of nightmares, with rings of iron that would fasten around the body, linked with lengths of chain. It reminded me of the metal clasps Mother and I fastened around the spellbooks to compress the pages into a neat block before we attached the covers.
Mother’s warnings about the brutal punishment meted out to mages who challenged the Temple’s teachings itched at the back of my skull, and I put my head down and walked quickly past it, as if trying not to catch its eye. My Hair writhed uneasily against my scalp, but Baldbeak led me on, hopping from perch to perch and croaking at me now and then. I followed him deeper and deeper into the rabbit warren of streets.
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” I asked him.
He sent a strongyes, with a flavor of indignation.
“Don’t be offended,” I said—under my breath, so that any passersby wouldn’t think me mad for talking to a raven. “I trust you, I do.”
I did, mostly. At least, I trusted him more than anyone else I knew, which I suppose wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement.
Eventually, we reached a small building tucked between two larger ones, with an upper story and balcony protruding outwards a little over the doorway. Its size and the larger second floor gave it the sense of puffing out its chest, as if it were trying to make itself look as big and grand as its neighbors. A small metal door was set in a wall of scorched wood, as if a fire had blown harsh and hot against it before being extinguished.
“Is this it?”
A ruffle of feathers told meyes.
In the small courtyard of paving stones in front of it, ayoung woman sat warming her hands at a little fire in a metal pot, making a tiny point of stillness and light in the flow of the street. I stepped up, so cold now that my teeth were rattling in my head. The young woman looked at me, her face flat with disinterest, then back down at her little fire. Baldbeak perched on a nearby railing, cocking his head to one side. He seemed curious about what I was going to say.
So was I, frankly.
The woman was my own age, or maybe a little older—small and fine-boned as a sparrow. Her brown face was broad across the cheeks, spattered with freckles, narrowing to a sharp chin, and her wild black curls were chopped short and riotous about her shoulders. As she sat, she sharpened a knife on a strap with long, loving strokes.
“Is it all right if I sit here?” I asked at last.
“I’m not stopping you,” said the young woman.
I sat opposite her and put a nervous hand to my Hair, making sure it wasn’t moving about.
“Folks threw you out?” said the other woman at last. “Or did you run away?”
“What?”
The woman nodded to my boots. “Nice shoes. Look new. You haven’t been out here for long.”
The boots looked pretty bad to me, spattered as they were with mud, but they were sturdy and had no holes. Looking at the other young woman’s shoes, I could see places where they had been patched or reinforced.
“So? What’s your story?” she prompted.
“Are you Mieka?” I asked.
She poked at the fire. “Depends on who’s asking,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, but appealingly so—it made her sound like she was on the verge of laughter.
“I was given your name,” I began, looking around to make sure no one was listening.
“Oh yes?”
She clearly wasn’t going to help me.
“By a traveling magician … I, er …” I was floundering. Luckily, though, that word seemed to have sparked her interest.
“A magician, eh? Hmm.” The woman poked the coal a little with her finger, careful not to touch the flames. “Name?”
