accomplished; he could honestly say that neither town nor townspeople nor effete
prince was worth struggling to ennoble. For good measure he was willing to throw
into the stewpot of disgust boiling in him both Vashanka and the child he had
co-fathered with the god, by means of whom certain interests thought to hold him
here: he disliked children, as a class, and even Vashanka had turned his back on
this one.
Still, there were things he had to do. He went and found Crit in the guild
hostel’s common room and told him all that had transpired. If Crit had refused
the appointment outright, Tempus would have had to tarry, but Critias only
smiled cynically, saying that he’d be along with his best fighters as soon as
matters here allowed. He left One-Thumb’s case in Critias’s hands; they both
knew that Straton could determine the degree of the barkeep’s complicity quickly
enough.
Crit asked, as Tempus was leaving the dark and comforting common room for the
last time, whether any children’s bodies had been found – three girls and boys
still were missing; one young corpse had turned up cold in Shambles Cross.
‘No,’ Tempus said, and thought no more about it. ‘Life to you. Critias.’
‘And to you, Riddler. And everlasting glory.’
Outside, Jihan was waiting on one Tros horse, the other’s reins in her hand.
They went first southwest to see if perhaps the witch or her agents might be
found at home, but the manor house and its surrounds were deserted, the yard
criss-crossed with cart-tracks from heavily laden wagons’ wheels.