Hettie stared at the old woman, revulsion overpowering her. “I will return in three days. Kiranrao will pay for the pouch. He will pay handsomely for it. I must go.”

“Do not leave me alone, child,” Mondargiss pleaded, grabbing her by the hem of her cloak. “I cannot bear to hear the sobs when I am alone. The birds are too quiet. We must wake them. Then I will not hear her anymore. Help me rouse them.”

“Three days’ time,” Hettie said, shaking off her grip.

“Do not leave me!” she shrieked. “I was once the greatest singer in all Kenatos and Silvandom! I was famous once. The world demanded my music, and I demanded my riches. Even the Arch-Rike fancied me. Even he! I sang for him in private audience. I moved him to tears. If you had seen me, you would not scorn me now. Look at me, child! You will be here someday. You will wear this crown of thorns. You will not look so fine forever. Do not leave me! Cim! Cim! Bolt the door! Cim!”

Hettie shut the door solidly behind her, shivering with disgust and horror. Six rings in her ears. Six rings. The smell of bird droppings nearly made her retch in the street. Her first night in Kenatos, she had come to see Mondargiss. A Finder did not belong in such a muck-filled abode. She would not end up as Mondargiss. She promised herself that she would not.

But where would she stay for three days? Where could she rest and learn more about the explosion in the Paracelsus Towers?

She roamed away from the rank alleys and wandered north along the main roads higher within the city. Even though it was after sunset, the streets were crowded and full of trade. It was more active than she had seen in the past, as if a certain giddiness swelled the air. Pausing to eat a meat pie, she watched the ebb and flow of oil-skinned Cruithne moving through the crowd. The sight of Bhikhu robes caused her to start, but she did not recognize the man, nor was he a Vaettir. She did remember, briefly, Paedrin’s little lesson about the Uddhava and how just the presence of a Bhikhu could alter someone’s actions.

Hettie finished the pie and started through the streets, watching the spectacle of the city float past her. It was too noisy. She needed a respite from the crowds. Passing into a new quarter, she started up a steep climb of steps that brought her up to the next level. The din and noise of the crowds faded behind. There were plenty of lights atop metal poles on each side of the steps.

As she neared the top, she realized where her legs had taken her. The Bhikhu temple was before her, gates closed. What good would it do to see him again? She fussed and fumed with herself, standing awkwardly in the shadows, wondering what madness had driven her. Perhaps the dung from the birds had deranged her mind.

It was getting late. Any number of inns or taverns could provide a night’s rest. But for some reason, she had felt particularly safe asleep on a pallet in the temple. It was her uncle’s suggestion.

Her legs began moving again toward the doors, and she exhaled softly, chiding herself. She reached the gate and pulled the taut cord fastened to the bell. It clanged ominously. There were no lights from the temple. The Bhikhu typically did not linger after their meals but retired to their cells to meditate and think righteous thoughts, no doubt. She hugged herself, waiting patiently. The sound of slapping sandals came from the other side of the large door.

The crossbar lifted and the door opened inward, revealing Master Shivu. He saw her standing alone in the doorway and his smile suddenly wavered, replaced by a frown.

“You are alone,” he said softly, barely masking the throb of concern in his voice.

Hettie nodded. “I came to see how Paedrin was doing. If he was healing…?” She let the words die on her tongue. It was obvious by the expression on Master Shivu’s face that Paedrin was not at the temple.

“Come inside,” Master Shivu said, holding the door open. “You must tell me what you know. I have not seen Paedrin since he left with you and your brother.”

A cold lump of fear solidified inside Hettie’s stomach.

“Will we ever comprehend the Plague? I think not. Some things are not meant to be understood. They must only be endured.”

– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

The tea was uncomfortably hot, making Hettie wince. A single fat candle caused a sparse glow in Master Shivu’s chamber. The temple had the semblance of a crypt. A plate was offered to her with some cold rice, a few dates, and some dried fruit and cheese. She accepted the humble fare and ate it gratefully, though without appetite.

“When I first saw you, I feared he was dead,” Shivu said, his brow furrowing. “You say he was alive?”

Hettie nodded. “We were ambushed by a Kishion several days south of here.”