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A sneer pulled on Lander's lips as fear and awe fell away before disdain. He crossed the room in three strides and threw open an interior door. The room beyond was cold, dark, and smelled vaguely of mold. All it contained was a chest, a sagging bed, and some stacked firewood. "They're not here, Brin."

Veseene's breath caught. Brin rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Lander. I wouldn't have guessed." There was a short stool close to the flickering fire. Brin sat himself on it and looked at Veseene intently. "You have a dagger hidden in your cushions," he said. "But your first instinct is right- you wouldn't have a chance of sticking me with it."

Veseene didn't move, didn't even blink.

"Lander," said Brin over his shoulder, "it's freezing cold in here. Stoke up the fire nice and hot. Give us some comfort."

Lander nodded and reached into the other room, scooping up sticks and split logs. Half the stored wood was barely an armful. He piled it on the fire, poking at the glowing coals to stir them up. As the flames began to mount, Veseene finally flinched. "That's enough," she said. "You'll use up our supply."

"A little more, Lander. My nose is still cold." Brin rubbed his fingers together and grinned at Veseene. "We'll have it nice and warm for you shortly. Old bones shouldn't be cold, you know!"

"I'm warm enough." Lander felt Veseene's eyes follow him as he stacked on more wood. The fire was pouring out heat now-an absolute waste. He stood to go back to the other room for more wood. Panic flickered in Veseene's eyes. "That's enough, Lander!"

Her voice cracked and bubbled on his name. Her hands-and arms and legs-were trembling. She reached down and tried to tug a blanket over herself. Brin's small hand snapped forward and ripped it away from her. Ve-seene gasped, her shaking limbs jerking together like the tentacles of a squid poked with a stick. Brin glared at her. "I want Tycho and the Shou man, Kuang Li Chien," he snarled. "Where are they?"

Veseene was silent for a moment then she asked stubbornly, "Why?"

"Why? Why?" Brin jumped up on top of the stool and whirled the blanket around himself. "You shouldn't be asking, Veseene! You should be answering!" He hunched his body up and hobbled in a little circle. "Can't sing anymore, can you? Can't play, can't cast a spell. The lark's in a cage, but for some reason she still thinks she's flying free."

There was a tea box sitting on top of a low table. Brin unfurled the blanket from his body and snapped it sharply, like a whip. The end of it cracked against the tea box and sent it flying off the table. It smashed into the fireplace. Sparks flew. The dry wood charred and burst into flame almost instantly. A sweet-sharp smell drifted out into the room. Brin turned back to Veseene.

"Where are they?" His voice was tight and grating, like steel on a whetstone.

"I don't know!" The trembling in Veseene's limbs was severe now. Her fingers were knotted around themselves, her hands clutched up tight against her chest. Her voice was quavering. "I haven't seen either of them since this morning."

"Lander saw them together at twilight. Do you know what they're up to?"

Veseene shook her head, a barely controlled motion that could almost have been just another twitch. There was fear in her eyes, though. Lander snorted. "She doesn't know, Brin. Look at her."

The halfling's eye narrowed. He squatted down on the stool and stared at Veseene. The old bard stared back, a bird hypnotized by a snake. They stayed like that for a long moment before Brin flicked the blanket back at her and stepped down from the stool. He strode across the room, pulled open the door and walked out without another word.

Lander spared a last look at Veseene. She had the blanket clutched to her. "We'll find them," he told her. "If we don't, we'll be back."

He put his back to her and strode confidently after Brin. He didn't bother to close the door after himself.

Veseene waited until she heard the door at the bottom of the stairs open and close before she scrambled up-as hastily as she could manage-and pushed the door of their rooms closed. Can't sing, can't play, can't cast a spell. "Ah," she sighed to herself, "but I can still give a performance, Brin."

It wasn't just the palsy that made her hand shake as she slid home the bolt on the door, though. She leaned against the door for a moment before making her way back to the couch with slow, careful steps. She sat down and watched the wood in the fireplace burn.

A tenday's carefully hoarded supply, she thought, gone in minutes. Damn Lander! Damn Brin!

Blessed Lliira, it is warm, though!

The traitorous thought brought a knot to her throat, and for a moment she thought she might cry. She rubbed her eyes. There was so much she could have done once and so little now. She could feel her hands tremble against her cheeks and lowered them to stare at her shaking fingers.

It had started with a twitch in her left wrist. She had thought little enough of it, but it had spread. Slowly. Over years. By the time she had sought to do anything, there was nothing that could be done-if there had ever been anything at all. She had sought out priests of three faiths known for their skills at healing. None had given her any hope beyond words of comfort. "It is the way of years. It is nature's course. Have faith that your suffering will be eased in the afterlife." She had carried on when the trembling had robbed her first of her grace then of the precise coordination that so much magic demanded. She was a bard-she learned to make magic with her voice alone.

Then the palsy touched her throat and lungs and stole her song as well.

If she hadn't had Tycho, she might have given up then. Veseene couldn't remember when he had stopped being her apprentice and become her friend. Tycho had brought her back to Spandeliyon when all else had failed. He earned enough for them to limp along. He had found Sephera and the tea that had brought some dignity back into her life.

Veseene clenched her fingers into gnarled fists. She didn't know what he or Li had done to rouse Brin's anger, but she wasn't about to let the mad halfling take him so easily!

The tea box burning in the fireplace popped and crackled suddenly. Veseene smiled grimly to herself. She didn't know if the burning had been a deliberate act or if the box had simply been a handy target, but she did know that there was little in dockside that didn't come to Brin's attention sooner or later. He most likely knew about Sephera and possibly about her special tea as well. Fortunately, he didn't know what box she kept it in. She shifted aside and dug between the blankets on the couch, past the knife Brin had rightly guessed was there, and pulled out a pouch. Still in the fine linen with which Sephera had wrapped it, her wasp venom tea made a comforting bulk within. The only thing Brin had burned was Tycho's very ordinary tea.

She set the pouch on the table and rose once more. This time she went to the shuttered windows. Rags and scraps had been stuffed into the cracks in the shutters in an attempt to keep out the winter wind. Veseene picked a bit of red wool out of a big knothole and put her eye to the hole. It took a moment for her vision to adjust to the darkness outside, but she saw exactly what she had expected to see. There was a man, not one of the neighbors, lingering in a doorway across the street. If she tried to leave and warn Tycho before Brin found him, she would be seen.

There might be another way.

Veseene went to the cupboard, fetched herself a cup, and opened the linen package of tea. With shaking hands, she measured out one dose. Then another. And another. The blazing fire had the kettle already boiling. Veseene wrapped her hands in rags, swung the kettle off the fire, and heaved it off the hook. The effort left her gasping and she had to rest before she could pour the hot water into her cup. The acrid smell of the tea stung her eyes as it always did-and worse for being triple strength.