A throat cleared from behind the curtain.

“Enter,” Jessa said.

The curtain pulled back, revealing a bald, thick-armed fellow with a moustache, dressed in a dark-green jacket so baggy and long it looked like a robe. For a moment, Redmun thought it had been Potsmouth's barkeep, come to back to haunt them with grumpy, all-business grunts. This man's face and posture were much too pleasant for that. Only it wasn't with a fool's politeness, but a sharp pleasantness, a kindness that was at once warm and genuine. He, like almost all Lutmouth natives, had an unhealthy pallor, which still showed through his skin which was darker than most. He came around the other side of Jessa's cot, hands behind his back, as though he were entering their home, and offered Redmun his hand.

“Honoured Guardians,” he said, mirroring the fool Duntown's greetings, but doing it service. “Welcome to Lutmouth. My name is Bryce Bo'sett, Mayor.” Redmun took his hand and shook it, receiving a firm grasp and a confident shake in return. Those seemed good hands to be in, and Redmun at once felt refreshed, as though his experience with Duntown had been washed away in the gesture. He offered the same hand to Jessa, and they shook. “It's good to see you feeling better, Possessor Forseth,” he said, not kissing her hand – like most tried to do to Jessa – but shaking it.

“Redmun Briandry. A pleasure, Mayor Bo'Sett.”

“And the same to you, Master Briandry, Possessor. A very hearty welcome for you and all your folk. Gods know we don't get enough of you, out here! Lutmouth knows me as Bo'sett, and I'd hope the same for you.” He went to the adjacent cot, took the stool there, and placed it across from Redmun. “I hope you don't mind? I feel ill at ease standing over higher servants such as yourselves.” He flourished his long jacket as he sat, sighing with pleasure. “So, new friends – though I am loathe to bother you more than I must – Captain Brooker informed me not ten minutes ago that Potsdoor is… gone?” He posed the question to them both, and looked stricken by the nods he received. “I see. Perhaps you could tell me a little more of what happened? I'd heard their Mayor forsook Possessor's aid, thought himself mighty enough to take the weight onto his own shoulders. Or rather, the shoulders of his people. I suppose this was inevitable.”

“It wasn't the pact that ended Potsdoor, Mayor Bo'sett,” Jessa corrected, putting a little politeness into the words. “It was the Walking Corruption.”

Bo'sett let out a sigh that was half moan and half grunt. There was no surprise at first, but after a moment of consideration the Mayor of Lutmouth looked at them with suspicion. “You faced this Corruption, then?”

“Briefly,” Redmun said, “but it wasn't that which caused our wounds. The Sky-Star have come to inhabit the tree to your east. We lost our horses and a lot of our equipment in the Corruption, but it was those beasts that took Jessa's foot.”

Bo'sett nodded, and rubbed his moustache in thought. “We had heard reports of those blasted beasts inhabiting the tree. Damned it all. What about this Corruption? Did you see where it is headed?”

“We wouldn't know,” Jessa told him. “I assume you've heard the reports, though?”

“Indeed I have, Mistress Forseth. Wanders aimlessly, killing Evil and Human alike, as the rumor goes. Bad news, that. Damned bad news, but not unexpected. It would have been nice to have another place close by to trade with, but I won't pretend I was holding out much hope.” The man shook his head sadly, and they let the silence stand for a few moments. “Well. Mistress Forseth,” Bo'sett said, standing. “I've spoken with our physicker, he recommends you stay put for the time being. I should hope you wise enough follow his advice?”

“If I like,” Jessa said, smirking.

“Indeed!” The man said, clapping a hand to his belly in laughter. “Now, Master Briandry, I should like the honour to show you Lutmouth.” Bo'sett's eyes glanced at their surroundings, and he lowered his voice. “Pray, friends, your clothes are tattered, your bodies wounded. Your weapons gone and your armor rusting as we speak. Mistress Forseth gave our smithy enough coin that she would replace your weapons, and clean your armor with change enough for new clothes. Stay awhile, and rest.”

Redmun took a deep breath, remembering their reason for travelling. Rose needed to know, but Jessamine wouldn't be moving soon, and they could both do with rest. He had to admit that he, too, needed time to consider. Rose would need to know, but perhaps they could wait a little while.

You deserve the rest, Redmun, the Evil whispered, and he cringed at the sound. Just hearing the thing agree made him want to run away from Lutmouth. But he knew what it was doing. It was just trying to unsettle him.

Redmun nodded, and smiled at the Mayor. “Of course. And please, call me Redmun.”

“Of course,” the Mayor said, smiling broad, offering yet another handshake. “Redmun and Jessamine. Wonderful. Friends we shall be!”

They began towards the exit, far enough away from Jessa so that she wouldn't hear. Now would be the time to ask. “Mayor Bo'Sett,” Redmun began, trying to act innocent. “Did you have any caravans passing through, recently? Perhaps heading to Hollow's Grove?” Was he doing something wrong? He didn't think so, but Jessa wouldn't appreciate his concern for a dead woman. The failure just hung so heavy on him, it felt wrong not to make some sort of amends.

The heavy-set Mayor turned and frowned for a moment, thinking. “We did, yes. A little over two weeks ago. Why do you ask?”

“We saw one of theirs, a woman named Layla Thorton. It seems the caravan didn't make it, or she was left behind. We're not sure. She was quite delirious.”

“Ah,” Bo'Sett said. “And now?”

Redmun paused, and forced a smile on his face to spite the pit in his stomach. “Gone the way of Jessa's foot.”

“Hmm.” Bo'Sett rubbed at his chin. “I don't recall much about that caravan, only that some of them visited our Church before they left. Was she the penitent type?”

“Penitent? I'm not sure. She swore by the Gods often enough, though.”

“Well, either way, perhaps someone there knows more of the caravan. If, that is, you feel up to asking them. I know the Church does not like Possessors very much.”

“You have a Church gathering here?” Redmun asked. Lutmouth had been one of the few people free of that particular taint, last he'd known. If the Church's mad teachings had come here too, that only left Al'Hagr. A sorry state.

“Yes, unfortunately. The Church has been making a concerted effort, in the last few years, to create a foothold here.” He shook his head. “We now have over thirty members, and weekly mortification events.”

Redmun grimaced. The 'Church' had taken the once serviceable religion of Orth-tet and Sephelia, carried with the first settlers from the Far-Lands, and bastardized it. He remembered the first time his Master had brought him to a Church, an abject lesson in belief. Men and women, half naked, flagellating themselves before an altar, punishing themselves for sins that, according to the Church, they must have committed to be on the Forsaken Continent in the first place. Master had meant it as part of a lesson against any sort of extreme belief, religious or otherwise, but Redmun's distaste for the Church had been the one thing to stick. Possessors fought against the horrors of the land, while the Church wanted people to embrace it, to suffer their supposedly deserved punishments. Neither party liked the other very much.

Redmun didn't much like the idea of going anywhere near those types, and maybe he didn't need to, but he wanted to at least be able to send a message to Layla's family, and this was his only chance. He briefly thought about deserving it as a punishment, to be forced to speak with such types. The irony made him chuckle.

“Well, thank you for the help, Bo'sett,” Redmun said. The man slapped a hand on Redmun's shoulder, smiling broadly.

As Bo'sett led the way out of the infirmary, they passed by a group of four men, carrying a wailing woman, her stomach swollen and her face red and dappled with sweat. They rushed by, ignoring Redmun and Bo'sett both, and from the infirmary the same nurse and a man in a filthy apron, and a bruised face, approached. Bo'sett clapped his hands together. “A good day, Redmun. Two Possessors befriended, and soon a new heart shall beat amongst us. A good day.”

Seeing the people gather around the woman, all eager – desperate, even – to help, brought back memories. The last time he'd been there, he and Master had been in this very infirmary, helping out the wounded and injured. Master had been like that, helping even where it wasn't needed. There hadn't been any kindness beyond him, and encouraged Redmun to be the same.

Your Master was a wise-man, Redmun. He granted us much knowledge, and seemed a purer man than most. I so wish you hadn't killed him.

Redmun froze, staring at nothing. How dare you? He asked inside of his mind, his every muscle tensed in held-back rage. You… disgusting thing. You killed him! You and your pathetic games, your petty little comments. Your gods-damned Light! You thrust the power into my hands when I didn't want it. I was just a child, and you knew it would happen – you made it happen! He died because of YOU!

“A good day indeed,” Bo'sett turned back. He froze like a rabbit in a field, and Redmun realized what he must look like. His face tormented, his posture ready to attack, and only the Mayor was close. With an effort, Redmun straightened from his threatening hunch, and smoothed out his face.

Redmun planted what he was sure was an unconvincing smile on his face. “Sorry to scare you like that Bo'sett.” He tapped his arm, where he often pretended his Evil was kept. “Acting up.”

Bo'sett's stretching of the mouth showed how pathetic Redmun's attempts at shrugging off the incident had been. “Not a worry, ah, Possessor Redmun. This life tests us all, as they say.”

Your master died peacefully.

Redmun flinched, but controlled his face well enough. “So it does,” he said.