The meaning in the words was clear, but she still had to ask. “And the Spire?”

Alucard looked at her, jaw set. “It only has room for one criminal.” He let out a low breath, which turned to fog before his mouth. “But I wouldn’t worry.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’ll get caught long before we sail away.”

Lila managed a grim smirk as Stasion Elsor and the sailors vanished below deck. “Have a little faith, Captain.”

But the truth was, she had no idea what she was going to do when this fell apart, no idea if she’d just damned herself by accident, or worse, on purpose. Sabotaged another life. Just like at the Stone’s Throw.

“Let’s get something straight,” said Alucard as they walked away from the docks. “My help ends here. Alucard Emery and Stasion Elsor have no business with each other. And if we chance to meet in the ring, I won’t spare you.”

Lila snorted. “I should hope not. Besides, I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“I suppose you do,” he said, finally glancing toward her. “After all, if you run far enough, no one can catch you.”

She frowned, remembering his question, her answer.

“How long have you known?” she asked.

Alucard managed a ghost of a smile, framed by the doorway of their inn. “Why do you think I let you on my ship?”

“Because I was the best thief?”

“Certainly the strangest.”

* * *

Lila didn’t bother with sleep; there was too much to do. She and Alucard vanished into their respective rooms without even so much as a good night, and when she left a few hours later with Elsor’s things bundled under her arm, Alucard didn’t follow, even though she knew he was awake.

One problem at a time, she told herself as she climbed the stairs of the Coach and Castle Inn, the room key hanging from her fingers. A brass tag on the end held the name of the place and the room—3.

She found Elsor’s room and let herself in.

She’d raided the man’s pockets and studied his papers, but if there was anything else to learn before she donned the role at nightfall, she figured she’d find it here.

The room was simple. The bed was made. A looking glass leaned by the window and a silver folding frame sat on the narrow sill, a portrait of Elsor on one side, and a young woman on the other.

Rifling through a trunk at the foot of the bed, she found a few more pieces of clothing, a notebook, a short sword, a pair of gloves. These last were peculiar, designed to cover the tops of the hands but expose the palms and fingertips. Perfect for a fireworker, she thought, pocketing them.

The notebook held mostly sketches—including several of the young woman—as well as a few scribbled notes and a travel ledger. Elsor was scrupulous, and by all evidence, he had indeed come alone. Several letters and slips were tucked into the notebook, and Lila studied his signature, practicing first with her fingers and then a stub of a pencil until she’d gotten it right.

She then began to empty the trunk, tossing the contents onto the bed one by one. A set of boxes near the bottom held an elongated hat that curled down over the brow, and a canvas that unfolded to reveal a set of toiletries.

And then, in a box at the back of the trunk, she found Elsor’s mask.

It was carved out of wood, and vaguely resembled a ram, with horns that hugged the sides of one’s head and curled against one’s cheeks. The only real facial coverage was a nose plate. That wouldn’t do. She returned it to the bottom of the chest, and closed the lid.

Next she tried on each piece of clothing, testing her measurements against Elsor’s. As she’d hoped, they weren’t too far off. An examination of a pair of trousers confirmed she was an inch or two shorter than the man, but wedging some socks in the heels of her boots gave her the extra measure of height.

Lastly, Lila took up the portrait from the sill, and examined the man’s face. He was wearing a hat like the one discarded on the bed, and dark hair spilled out beneath it, framing his angled face with near-black curls.

Lila’s own hair was several shades lighter, but when she doused it with water from the basin, it looked close. Not a permanent solution, of course, especially in winter, but it helped her focus as she drew out one of her knives.

She returned the portrait to the sill, studying it as she took up a chunk of hair and sawed at it with the blade. It had grown long in the months at sea, and there was something liberating about shearing it off again. Strands tumbled to the floor as she shortened the back and shaped the front, the abusive combination of cold and steel giving the ends a slight curl.

Digging through Elsor’s meager supplies, she found a comb as well as a tub of something dark and glossy. It smelled like tree nuts, and when she worked it into her hair, she was relieved to see it hold the curl.

His charcoal coat lay on the bed, and she shrugged it on. Taking up the hat from the bed, she set it gingerly on her styled head, and turned toward her reflection. A stranger, not quite Elsor but certainly not Bard, stared back at her. Something was missing. The pin. She dug in the pockets of his coat and pulled out the iridescent collar pin, fastening it at her throat. Then she cocked her head, adjusting her posture and mannerisms until the illusion came into sharper focus.

Lila broke into a grin.

This, she thought, adding Elsor’s short sword to her waist, is almost as fun as being a pirate.

“Avan, ras Elsor,” said a portly woman when she descended the stairs. The innkeeper.