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“Follow my lead,” Tin says. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here and there’s no way to know who we can trust at this point.”

“Do you normally have enemies here?”

“No. Out of all the cardinal directions, the north is the problem child. The northwest is the worst. They barely follow Lacosta’s laws, let alone the Wizard’s. They do the bare minimum to keep the Wizard’s guard at bay, but they will blaspheme his name any chance they get.”

“I thought all of Oz was under his spell.”

“Most of Oz. Not all of it.”

We come around the front of the tavern and find a small cluster of men smoking sweet cigars beneath a halo of golden light.

They call out hello with barely a glance and Tin nods back.

When he pushes the door in, the music blooms around us, vibrant and light. There’s a fiddler, a guitarist, and a woman playing an upright piano on a stage in the back corner. People are gathered around, filling up tables, and standing where space allows, clapping along with the tune.

There are a few booths to the right of the front door with paper lanterns hanging over the tables. To the left is the long bar, half the stools occupied. Most everyone is watching the band.

Tin scans the crowd.

I rise up on my tiptoes so I can shout over the music. “What’s this Blue guy look like?”

Tin checks the bar and points to a hunched figure at the very end. “Like that.”

The man, Blue, is slighter than Tin and wearing a blue-and-red-plaid flannel and a blue cap. There’s a bottle of beer clutched in his left hand but he hasn’t moved since we walked into the tavern, so it’s quite possible he’s passed out sitting upright.

“Tell me what you know about the man,” I say as some of the tavern guests take notice of the heartless mercenary now darkening their doorway.

“He’s been coming here as long as anyone can remember, so years and years. He comes every day, without fail, and his gold coins never dry up despite seemingly having no job, no trade, and nowhere to be.”

“Does he have any family?”

“No past that anyone is aware of.”

That’s odd and the oddity of it clangs like a bell in my head, but if there’s a reason for it, I haven’t connected the dots yet.

“Is he approachable?” I ask.

“Never been aggressive or violent,” Tin answers. “Not like me.”

I roll my eyes at him. “That must be why the din of the tavern is starting to die down now that they see you’re here. It’s like you’ve sucked all the joy out of the room.”

“I take offense to that.”

“No, you don’t. You’d have to have a heart to care what I say.”

He snorts and starts making his way through the tavern.

When we reach the end of the bar, I peer around the bulk of Tin’s shoulder to get a better look at the man my mother, the Witch of the West, sent me to find.

There’s a thick, bushy beard obscuring half his face and wrinkles around his eyes. His eyes are closed, so my earlier guess about him being passed out is proving correct.

“Blue,” Tin says and gives the stool a kick.

Blue lurches awake. “By the gods almighty. What the … who…” He squints at us, first at Tin, then at me, and then his eyes widen and he comes to, startling awake.

“You found me,” he says, his words a little slow from the alcohol. “I was beginning to think I was going to have to send an owl with a map.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Do I know you?”