concerned, the newly elected First Hazard ought to step forward and take
responsibility for his guild’s malevolent mischief. When frogs fell from the
sky, Straton prognosticated, such would be the case.
They’d done some good there: they’d conscripted Wrigglies and deputized
fishermen and bullied the garrison duty officer into sending some of his men out
with the long boats and Beysib dinghies and slave-powered tenders which searched
shoals and coastline for survivors. But with the confusion of healers and
thrill-seeking civilians and boat owners and Beysibs on the docks, they’d had to
call in all the Stepsons and troops from road patrols and country posts in case
the Beysibs took their loss too much to heart and turned upon the townsfolk. .
On every corner, now, a mounted pair stood watch; beyond, the roads were
desolate, unguarded. Crit worried that if diversion was some culprit’s purpose,
it had worked all too well: an army headed south would be upon them with no
warning. If he’d not known that yesterday there’d been no sign of southward
troop movement, he confided to Straton, he’d be sure some such evil was afoot.
To make things worse, when they found an open bar it was the Alekeep, and its
owner was wringing his hands in a corner with five other upscale fathers. Their
sons and daughters had been out all night; word to Tempus at the Stepsons’
barracks had brought no answer; the skeleton crew at the garrison had more
urgent things to do than attend to demands for search parties when manpower was