"You're cold," the boy whimpered. His hand had turned blue in the woman's grip. "Your hands are too cold. Get away from me!"
He shoved her. She dropped his hand and fell in the hard dirt. Her cry of pain brought more figures running from the neighboring buildings. The boy ran inside his house, screaming, "Mother!"
The old woman's shawl drifted away on the wind. Icelin's eyes were still following the patch of green when the scene changed again.
This time it was the smoky interior of one of the thatched cottages. The old woman lay on a bed below a dark window. Candlelight illuminated her sunken features. She was cleariy dead.
Kaelin's black-cloaked figures stood over the bed, talking in hushed whispers.
"They say he touched her, the day before she died. His hands were red and raw, like he'd been frostbitten. Frostbitten in the middle of Flamerule!"
"I say he made it happen," a female voice whispered. "The spellplague wormed through his fingers and killed poor Megwem. Any of us could be next. Don't let him touch you. He's got death in his hands!"
The black cloaks melted, and the scene changed again. Another cottage, a dirty kitchen, and the boy now sitting on the floor in front of a fire pit. A woman sat on a chair behind him. She had gray hair and bony arms. She cut herbs in quick little chopping motions on a board. Every few breaths, she would look up at the boy. Her eyes were shadowed.
"Where did you go to play today?" Her voice was strained. "I told you not to stray out of sight of the house."
"You mean out of your sight," the boy said without looking at her.
The board clattered to the floor. The woman yanked the boy to his feet by his belt. "You will not defy your mother, do you hear? If they find out you've touched anyone else-"
"I didn't kill Megwem!" He reached up to wrench her hand away, but she released him before he could touch her.
"You're just the same. You think I'm plague-touched!" he shouted.
"Darling, that's not true, I only-"
"She was already dying." Tears ran down the boy's face. "She was going to die anyway. I could feel it." He looked at his hands. They were still swollen. "She was so cold. How could she live like that?"
His shoulders shook. His mother turned him around and wrapped her arms around his waist. She stood behind him, rocking him slowly. The boy continued to sob, but eventually he quieted, soothed by his mother's arms.
Arms which were very careful not to touch his bare skin. Icelin could see the fear jn her eyes, the fear she tried to hide from the boy.
The cottage vanished, whisking away the boy and his mother. In their place, Kaelin reappeared on top of a rotting crate. He held a rat comfortably in his lap. The rest of the troupe was gone.
"Well played!" The beggars were on their feet, applauding and whistling as enthusiastically as the crowd at the Cradle. Icelin could only sit and marvel at how quickly the illusion had come and gone. How fast a boy's life could change.
Kaelin slid off the crate, letting the rat run free. He walked over to stand in front of Icelin.
"Did you enjoy the show, false front?" he asked, his eyes alight.
Icelin shook het head. "You should have asked his permission. That wasn't right."
"Oh, but I did ask. He wanted to hear the tale of the boy lost in the wilderness. You should be grateful. He would never have told you himself."
"You still had no right."
"Ah well, then you have my deepest apologies," the boy said. He didn't sound the least bit abashed. "Perhaps I should tell him your tale, to even the ground between you."
"I have no secrets left from any of my friends," Icelin said. "You don't scare me."
Kaelin leaned down. "What about the secrets you're keeping from yourself?" he said, his words for her ears alone. "The tower where you've hidden them all?"
Icelin felt a chill. "I'm not the only one with secrets," she said unsteadily. "You are not truly a boy, are you? You are spirits imitating flesh."
"Of course we are," Kaelin said, sniffing as if he'd just been insulted. "But I remember what a child is, and so do they," he said, nodding at the beggars. "Everyone knows the best liars are children, and the best storytellers are liars. I am what I am, in service to my craft."
"So all that," Icelin said, waving to where the imaginary glade had been, "that was a lie?"
"To the senses, it was," Kaelin said. "As for the story itself- ask him"
Icelin blinked, and suddenly a sleek crow was sitting on her knee. The bird cawed once, loudly, and took flight. Icelin watched it until it disappeared beyond the wrecked ship.
The crowd of beggars broke up, each going to separate nooks of the ship to sleep or talk.
"We should all be resting," Bellaril said. She stood with Sull off to one side, where the beggars wouldn't hear.
"You two sleep," Icelin said. "Ruen and I will keep watch. I'll wake you in a couple of hours."
"Why should it be you?" Sull said. "You both look exhausted."
"We are," Icelin said. She looked at Ruen, who was staring at the crates and rats. He hadn't said a word. "Yet neither of us will sleep."
A quiet figure crouched in the shadows of two crates and gazed down on the beggar folk. He watched them settle in after their strange audience had concluded.
Imagine, watching a cluster of crows and rats for entertainment. Tarvin shook his head. His job had shown him some strange things, but this was a story for tavern talk if he'd ever heard one.
He stood up and faced the guard who'd come bearing a load of food: bread, dried meat, and a bushel basket of nearly rotting fruit.
"A hardy feast," he said, eyeing the fare. "I trust your master never neglects to bring the food?"
"None have died due to his neglect," the guard said. "Did you find what you sought? My master will require word of your departure."
"He doesn't like having me here," Tarvin said. "Well, there's some satisfaction in that. Tell him I'm leaving directly. I didn't find what I was looking for."
"A waif of a girl, wandering Mistshore; she's likely dead," the guard said.
"You think so?" Tarvin said. "I hope you're right."
The guard looked surprised. "I thought your orders were to bring her in alive?"
"Oh, I'm quite clear on my orders. My wishes are another matter." He crossed his arms. "I have little care whether Icelin Team lives or dies in Mistshore. She belongs here with the rest of the outcasts, as far as I'm concerned."
"Well then, I wish you good fortune in your diligent search," the guard said dryly. He pushed past Tarvin and began tying rope to the handles of the baskets.
"Are you judging me," Tarvin said, "when you're tossing food to the diseased with gloved hands and sweating because you don't want to get too close?" The guard didn't respond. Tarvin grabbed his arm and spun him around. "Answer me, wretch!"
The guard shrugged his arm off and put a hand to his sword hilt. "You won't be touching me, little watchman, not out here. You said it yourself: this is Mistshore, and we outcasts don't like to be looked at down the nose of Waterdeep's mighty, especially when he's all alone."
"Alone?" Tarvin said, laughing. "You have no idea how many of us walk in Mistshore this day. Best be holding those threats inside. You never know who might be listening."
"Be off with you," the guard said. He tipped the basket over the side of the ship and lowered the food. "Turn your wrath on the girl. I hope she keeps you running in Mistshore forever."
"You can be sure she won't," Tarvin said. He walked away from the guard, and walked back in the direction of Whalebone Court.
She couldn't hide for long, not with her wild nature. The burnt warehouse was just the beginning. It was only a matter of time before Icelin Team slipped up again and got somebody else killed.
Tarvin clenched a fist. Gods help her if she tried to turn her wild wrath on him or any of the Watch. Orders or no, he would bring her back to the Warden on a board before he let her magic kill any more of his friends.