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“I’m not making anything of that.”

“No,” Valene agreed, clearly taking it on her own behalf anyway. “Of course not.”

She was funny for ninety minutes. Or she tried to be. She described the apothecary fire blanket — four seconds, the system, the owner’s complete refusal to look at her — with the timing it deserved. She reported on the replacement lanterns (“burning at a reliably safe distance from my emotional state, which the square has now apparently budgeted for”). She addressed Fiora’s mirror situation (“One of yours caught someone in a difficult moment this week, didn’t it?”).

“A mildly inconvenient one.” Fiora reached for the wine. “He was trying to look casual about leaving a party early, but the mirror showed him looking purposeful. He had to explain himself.”

“Did he?”

“He did. At length.” Fiora’s smile was the wide one. “It was clarifying for everyone.”

“This is why I like your magic,” Althea told her.

“It’s useful in social situations,” Fiora agreed. “Occasionally embarrassing in social situations, but useful.”

Bexley, without looking up: “The espresso machine agreed with Gerri. For the record.”

“I reorganized the town ward monitoring binder this week.”

“Nobody asked you to do that.”

“No.”

“Did you reorganize it?”

“Absolutely. That was unacceptable. The degradation logs were organized by date instead of by ward section, making it impossible to follow a pattern chronologically. You must identify it geographically first,” she said, flipping a page in her notebook. “I’ve already identified two anomalies the previous system overlooked.”

“Bexley,” Althea asked, glancing at her. “Has anyone provided you with access to the town-ward monitoring binder?”

“It was in the back room.”

“The back room of what?”

“The Cauldron and Cup.”

Everyone stared at Valene.

Valene stayed calm. “I don’t ask questions about what’s in my back room. The back room operates independently. It’s an arrangement.”

“Garnet’s plants have been growing sideways all week,” Fiora offered cheerfully, because she collected this kind of information and was not going to sit on it.

Garnet looked at the table.

“What direction?” Valene asked.

“East-northeast,” Fiora said, satisfied. “She has a very large fern.”

“The fern faces the window.”

“The window faces south-southwest.” Fiora looked triumphant. “I checked.”

The table waited.

“There’s a very nice building in the east-northeast district,” Valene said mildly.

Garnet wore the same face she wore when she chose not to engage. Her glass refilled anyway. She hadn’t sighed.

Garnet set down her wine.