Autumn rain showers were frequent these days. In spite of the rain, Robin and Brindy had gone to beg at the Brown's wharf, and I had stayed to watch Ucar who had just come out of a bad cold that he had blamed, out of pure bad faith, on the bread of Sesh. A messenger from the barracks arrived at the farm in the early afternoon and passed on the message to the widow, who immediately wanted to know what bad trick I had played so that a first-blade would ask to see me. I reassured her as best I could, and I think she was even rather relieved to know that I was on such good terms with the guard. Ucar was snoring loudly in the barn, and under these conditions, I saw no harm in letting him sleep.

I set off immediately, happy, despite the drizzle, to be able to stretch my legs. My happiness lasted the time to reach the muddy road, before quickly dissolving into molasses. One of the carters I met along the way finally paid attention to my pleas, took pity on me, and agreed to let me settle under the stretched canvas at the back.

My gaze was fixed on the heavy wheels of the cart, which were stirring deep furrows in the cold mud. In front, the road ahead was punctuated by the horse's squeaks and the driver's swear words. I grabbed the damp wood so as not to be thrown off by the bumps, while I wondered in perplexity what Sesh would want with me.

We finally reached Brown-Horn, the wagon engaged on the cobblestones flowing from the alley of the Gates. I jumped on foot near the old arch of the upper town, gave a brief thank you to the driver, before dodging under the roof, wrapped in my cloak, to wait for the end of the rain. A patrol of drenched guards approached, their steps punctuated by the metallic and regular rustling characteristic of men-at-arms. The ruckus resonated curiously as they passed close to me, under the bulging mass of the wall. I played for a while with an old alley cat with wet fur and a mouth full of scars, who had found, as I did, that the arch made an excellent shelter. In fact, I had so much fun with the animal that the downpour had time to end without me even noticing it.

Cursing my lack of attention, I belatedly turned away from the cat and rushed towards the barracks, and in doing so, I ran into a small group of men coming down the street.

Someone pushed me back violently and I fell backwards on the cobblestones.

The cat ran away without a warning. In front of me, three young aristocrats, the oldest of whom must have been in his twenties, looked at me with a bad look on their faces.

They were well dressed, with colourful clothes made of blue silk and short coats trimmed with wolf fur, which left no doubt as to their good birth. I got up as best I could, involuntarily listening to their arrogant dialogue. "They really let anything in these days, don't they, Randu?" The interested party, a handsome young man who cultivated an air both elegant and rascal - and who behaved like the leader of the group - nodded: "Quite so," he nodded, "I regret the time when our ancestors welcomed these animals in a very different way."

Guessing the turn that the affair was going to take, I tried to slip away discreetly before hearing more, but with a gesture as vivid as unexpected, the one called Randu pushed me against the wall of the arch with the tip of his ornamental cane, where he held me like a wriggling fish. My thick cloak protected me enough so that he did not break my ribs, but if I instinctively managed to protect my head, I was still breathless. I was a prisoner, about as indignant as I was surprised, but above all I was afraid of the pain. The young aristocrat leaned over me without letting go of his cane, his lip raised, the tip of his short trimmed beard stretched out towards my face. "What do we have here?" he said in a falsely curious voice, detailing me from top to bottom. His companions giggled, but I could not discern their faces. There was only the fresh breath of my attacker, smelling of bitter mint, and the sharp echoes of his cultivated voice. "He definitely is a tinted, a real little savage." His tone deliberately let slip the disgust I inspired in him. He never let go of his cane.

In the high society of the Brown-Horn, "tinted" was a derogatory term which the old families used indiscriminately to refer both to the offspring of those who mixed their blood with that of the clans, and to the people of the clans themselves. In the former case, the term referred to the impurity of the lineage, in the latter it was more descriptive of clan tattoos. In both senses, it was a vile and insulting word. It is true that the crossbreeding of the inhabitants of the lower part of the village increased with the passing of time, and the old families, some of whom could trace their lineage back to the ancient Sarp, found this perfectly despicable. However, when Bard the Elder, the grandfather of Bard the Younger, had taken his second wife from the Fysses, thus breaking in the worst way this long tradition of union between the Govons and the women of the upper class, the old families were forced to use the term more sparingly, at least in public. Nevertheless, Bard the Younger remained in their eyes a "tinted" too, and as the years went by, with the increasing wealth of the merchants of the lower classes, the term came back into fashion in the declining aristocratic districts.

The pressure of the cane increased, the man got closer. "You pushed me. I should have you whipped, little tinted," he said in a threatening voice. "Do you know who I am?" He must have taken my squirming for an answer, or else he didn't care whether I reacted or not. "I am Mr. Randu Lemis, the eldest son of Mr. Lig Lemis. My family was already prospering, when yours was fornicating with animals in the depths of your filthy forests. My ancestors shot yours with arrows and spears at the very foot of these walls, little savage! I will punish you, filthy tinted." He was literally foaming with hatred, and the angry rhythm had assured him of his rightfulness. The cane rose to carry out the sentence. I shuddered with a grimace, and then suddenly I heard a new voice.

"Your ancestors took refuge at Cover-Pass when the last horde passed, young Lemis. It was at that time that they acquired their land near Brican."

The old Nep limped under the arch of the door, his spear firm and straight in his gnarled hands. He was not threatening, but his weapons were there, and he did not hide them. After a brief hesitation, Randu's ornamental cane returned to his side. I collapsed to my knees on the cobblestones, trying to catch my breath. The young aristocrat turned to the guard and opened his mouth, but Nep was still moving forward, he was not finished, and he raised his voice to prevent any interruption:

"There was only one Lemis to defend this wall, from what I have heard, and he was a bastard son whom your noble forefathers did not want at home. So get on with your business, young Lemis. Go and revise your family history instead of giving such nonsense to a child."

Randu closed his mouth. He seemed to measure the pros and cons without dismantling himself, under the inflexible gaze of Nep, then without a word (and to my great relief), he turned his heels in a whirlwind of capes and disappeared, flanked by his two compares. I knew how influential the Lemis family was in Brown-Horn, and I hoped that Nep would not suffer the consequences of coming to my rescue. The old soldier approached me as I was coming back to my senses and bent down to get me back on my feet, a little abruptly. I coughed, trying not to hiccup at the same time. Nep had a distinct but pleasant smell of rancid oil and wet leather. "A real little shit, that one," the guard said in a low voice, more for himself than for me. While I was doing my best to rid my cloak of the sticky filth that stained it, Nep looked at me with eyes as sharp as Randu's, and he lectured me in a tone almost as severe:

"You'd better be more careful about where you set foot, fyssan. And your friend Sesh too, for that matter."

With these dark words, Nep turned away and left the arch to return the same way he had come, with his feet dragging. I stood there, with the echoes and bruises, massaging my wounds. The rain resumed, big autumn drops were crashing heavily on the cobblestones. I made my way to the castle at a cautious pace, clutching my aching ribs. Behind me, the thatched roofs of the lower part of the city were smoking and the city was gradually fading away under a wet crackling sound. I moved forward, vaulted by the drumming of the drops that were shattering between the tall buildings of the upper part of the city, without wanting to linger more than necessary in the wide avenues that surrounded Horn-Hill. After my unpleasant confrontation with Randu Lemis, I had come to thank the rain for having driven most of the inhabitants off the streets.

I finally reached Sesh's place and pushed the door without knocking. On my second visit, the soldier had already dispensed me from most of these conventions: when he was working upstairs, he simply could not hear the knocking on the door. On that day, however, Sesh was waiting for me on the first floor, with his arms behind his back, bent over the small fire crackling in the hearth, a utility burner that a skillful bricklayer had managed to build into the wall. When I made my unexpected entrance, he turned to me, raised his eyebrows, and said in a tone that suffered no disagreement:

"You are late. Don't let it happen again!"

While getting rid of my soaked cloak, I mumbled a few mediocre excuses, without really being able to explain myself. In one gesture, Sesh put an end to my mumble by indicating to me the herbal tea which smoked in a bowl of stoneware on the coffee table. I wasn't really fond of the peppery concoctions Sesh prepared, but he seemed to think they did me good, and until now I'd never had the courage to refuse them. I swallowed my complaints and, with them, any attempt to describe the misadventure I had just experienced. Still trembling with the memory of the beating I had just escaped, I cautiously joined the blackened rush mat.

I swallowed a sip of the hot beverage without a word and looked up at my host. Sesh quickly fiddled with his arms belt, and untied it to put his sword against one of the exposed beams of the hovel. He helped himself to a bowl of herbal tea and then sat down in front of me:

"I have news about your dead man."

I frowned with interest and Sesh, certain that he had captured my full attention, continued in a voice that would have sounded low if we had been in public:

"Captain Nad may not be interested, but I do not believe it is a matter of savages. I carried out my investigation in spite of everything, because I am a first-blade from Brown-Horn, and it is my job, whether the officers like it or not. Well, it turns out that my investigation was successful. Your dead man is called Tom Minnow, he is - well, he was - from Cover-Pass. From the canton of Woody. Minnow had been hanging around here for some time, I was told. Two years ago he did a logging season for the Estu sawmill. Do you know the Estus?"

"Everyone knows the Estus, first-blade," I replied. Indeed, Ganav Estu was the patriarch of one of the wealthiest old families in Brown-Horn. He owned the sawmill upstream from the Brown and, during the logging season, he paid the wages of a good third of the town's loggers. The man in question was also the owner of two beautiful boats, the owner of a dozen small shops in the lower part of the town as well as one of the gambling houses in Bell street. Ganav Estu was reputed to have a keen sense of business, a volcanic temperament, and a particular aversion to savages.

Sesh looked at me for a while, as if he was dissecting my slightly too spontaneous remark in search of a hidden effrontery, and then he continued:

"Minnow more or less disappeared around that time. He was seen occasionally hanging around in some of the taverns of the lower part of the town, with some extra money to spend, but that's all. Now, the most interesting thing I've learned is that at Cover-Pass he was known as a real thief. That's why he ended up here, because of a fight in Woody that went bad. Rumor has it that he got in bed with some of the smugglers here."

I nodded. Smuggling was a risky but lucrative activity, because the river taxes on primates, although reasonable in Brown-Horn, could constitute a large sum on large shipments, especially if they came from far away. In addition, there were always illicit commodities, such as certain smoking herbs or the star-gum from Three-Islands, which found buyers here and there, and a man on the run could always turn to the smugglers to cross this or that border. Also, for a long time now, Brown has served as a livelihood for many of these outlaws. The guards would destroy their camps when they found them, but since they're usually rather discreet, it was usually tolerated.

As if in response to my own ramblings, I noticed that Sesh's limpid gaze had taken on the color of absence, a loss of brilliance that I had learned to recognize. The soldier seemed to have lost his way in the maze of his thoughts. If I hadn't become accustomed to it, I had come to accept these strange silences, or at least to no longer be suspicious of them. I took the opportunity to finish my hot herbal tea. There was some honey that day, which was a real game-changer, and then with the rain and the strong emotions I found comfort at the slightest heat. Sesh finally snorted like a sleepy man and straightened his moustache, a gesture that aged him by twenty years:

"Um... well yes, where was I?"

"The smugglers, first-blade."

"Ah, there you go. You have a good memory, that's good."

Sesh filled my stoneware bowl again. The steaming liquid he poured from his large cast iron kettle splashed copiously onto the coffee table. Then he took a first sip of his own herbal tea - which must have been cold - with a perplexed look on his face, and I feared that he would sink into his thoughts again. With my legs bent, I literally wiggled with impatience. The mere mention of the smugglers had pushed the doors of my imagination with a bang. I already saw myself linked to a hectic saga, flavored with gold and spices from far away. Sesh passed his tongue briefly over his thin lips, and finally resumed his speech:

"I'm going to need you in the coming weeks. First, the primate is worried about all the commotion at the Basin. All it would take is one warrior to attack a soldier, and all this would quickly turn into a bloodbath, believe me. You'll have to become my eyes and ears at the Basin. If you ever hear of anything bad, even if it's drunken gossip, I want to know within the hour. In the meantime, many of us are already lobbying to have the custody authorities start looking for these missing children. But it will take time, and we have to be careful to bring the matter to a successful conclusion. Here, there are not many people who will appreciate that we spend brownian money on behalf of Fysses. I'm not saying that for you, my boy, and I don't mean it either, but it's the feeling of many, you'd better know it."

Sesh stood up cautiously. I began to unfold my legs before I realized he wasn't finished. He stared at me with his blue eyes, and the enigmatic complicity that had just blossomed there made me freeze in place. Mystery was an art patiently cultivated by the soldier. To tell the truth, the intriguing ways he was taking with me pleased me more and more, and I think he was enjoying it. Sesh knew how to take me by the emotions. In a discreet tone, the first-blade said:

"On the other hand, I'd like you to go hang out in town, especially around the taverns of the lower town, to see if you can find out about the smugglers this Minnow might have frequented. Start with 'The Coypu', on Hatch street, or 'Mirabelle's', on Seven-Steps street. Will you remember it?"

I nodded before trying to speak. Sesh waved his hand and interrupted me:

"I know, I know, they're not very good neighborhoods, but you're smart, and you'll know how to avoid problems. You will never go there after dark. You won't ask any questions. Just listen quietly or you'll end up sleeping with the catfishes. We need to find out more about Tom Minnow and his friends to get to the bottom of this. I want to know why he died."

"Me too."

I had spoken fast and loud. Sesh looked surprised and raised an eyebrow surreptitiously. This immediately put me on the defensive, as if he had lectured me, and I saw fit to justify myself by mumbling:

"What? I was the one who found him, first-blade!"

Sesh made a faint smile and ran his hand through his red hair. He had them pulled back in a short oily braid, as many of the men of the Civil Guard did. I was getting a taste for investigation, not just this one, but all investigations, it was obvious, and the soldier liked it. Then I had the impression that Sesh suddenly remembered who he was dealing with, and his face took on a more serious pout. The tone he now used was stern and a little worried:

"Okay, you found him, but that's no excuse for taking risks out of curiosity. Don't do any more than I ask you to. I'm the first-blade, not you."

I bowed my head as I measured these words, knowing full well that there was no point in protesting. Yet, if it had been up to me, I would have turned the whole creek and the rest of the town upside down to find out the truth of the matter. The dead man obsessed me terribly, and often my dreams were filled with his nauseating exhalations and his swollen body pierced with arrows.

When he was assured of my obedience, the soldier dismissed me, after having insisted a little more than usual on the importance of making regular reports to him. I left his house and Horn-Hill in the direction of the farm. A handful of pewter coins, which Sesh had given me exceptionally "for the purpose of the investigation," tinkled in my pocket. I meditated for a long time on the road, and Nep's mysterious words finally emerged from all this jumble and suddenly came back to my mind. "You'd better be more careful where you set foot, fyssan. And your friend Sesh too, for that matter." I was suddenly seized by an inexplicable bad feeling in my gut and began to hope that Sesh would not forget to apply the advice he had just given me himself.