Over the next few days, the story of the fire worked its way through the city, and some of the Baker's customers were talking about it. Havella had survived, and the only reason we knew this or heard her name at all was because she was also being charged with criminal negligence and the trial was going to be a big event. Whatever had happened had been just after we left her wagon, and it was impossible for me not to think it was somehow connected to our visit.

""Come on," Marisa said. "We have to get good seats!"

Marisa had taken my promise to help her to heart, and though she wasn't free of debt yet, I'd spoken to the Baker about paying it off for her. He was a strange man.

Initially, I'd taken him as a bad one. He trafficked with criminals, was accustomed to violence, and could turn a blind eye to suffering. But what I'd first taken as signs of amorality I had begun to see as evidence of an ethical system completely alien to my own. The Baker dealt fairly with everyone, but fairly did not mean kindly. Marisa had put herself in an awful situation, and where I would see a duty to help someone like her, the Baker merely noted that he was bargaining at an advantage. I think he liked me, because I didn't show any fear of him, and he respected courage.

If we could clear Marisa's debt, the Baker would let her go.

Havella had been impossible to find, so much so that it was generally suspected she might not appear at trial. After all, she'd lost everything to the fire and could have fled the city. Nevertheless, the stands were packed when we arrived.

Gracia was famous for its legal system, said to be the greatest in the world, at least by the Gracians. Every citizen was afforded the right to a trial by jury of his or her peers.

For the crime of negligence, which had resulted in the damage to the property of many citizens and the city, a single prosecutor was assigned to try the case. The defendant was expected to provide her own defense, if she could afford one, or to defend herself if she could not.

The court room was a sand floored amphitheatre in a nod to the trials by combat of old. The Honorius watched from a high table wearing a powdered wig and a bronze mask, a doubtlessly uncomfortable touch of ritual that couldn't be dispensed with. The prosecutor and the defendant were both given a table to organize any documents they might have, but no chair. Both were expected to make their cases essentially from memory or extemporaneously. A defendant who had her face stuck in a scroll would certainly be found guilty by the jury, nine men and women sitting in stiff wooden seats in the arena with the combatants.

The Honorius rapped his desk with the pommel of a dagger, the signal to begin. Marisa and I had smuggled ourselves into the press about halfway up the stands, and we were barely taking our seats when the nattering voyeurs around us went silent.

Havella had arrived carrying nothing but a small satchel strapped around her shoulder. That arm was wrapped in bandages, and her hair was pulled back in a bun. She looked confused, almost lost, and I realized her glasses were gone.

"Here we are!" The prosecutor had a great many scrolls and quills upon his desk, as if there was an undeniable bounty of evidence weighed against her, but he made a show of not needing it. "Let the record show that the defendant has deigned to grace us with her presence." He was a tall man, long limbed and full of his own importance like a crane. His hair was slicked back in an oily curtain behind his head. "I ask leave of the court to begin my testimony."

The Honorius rapped his desk again with the dagger, and a pair of scribes were already working furiously in the low seats just behind him.

The prosecutor executed a perfect bow that took in most of the audience. "First, a summary of events. We are all aware of the fire that swept the bazaar mere days ago. In the panic that followed, two citizens were killed, and their families are here to witness the proceedings. I ask that we take a moment to grieve with those families." He bowed his head, which gave me the opportunity to wonder how many non-citizens might have been trampled or burned as well, those who didn't own land or property, and if they would even be mentioned.

"The damage is as follows," the prosecutor said. "The Sinus scrimshaw booth, 100 eagles of lost merchandise. Gerontal Glasswares, 42 eagles, 2 beaks, 5 feathers. The court thanks them for their attention to detail. Harriden Haberdashers, 22 eagles in lost wares. From sundry other small injuries and claims that have been brought before the court, another 75 eagles. Then there is the charge of criminal negligence, which the court may assess being not less than ten eagles and no more than one hundred, that brings the sum to two hundred and thirty nine eagles, two beaks and five feathers plus from ten to one hundred eagles at the pleasure of the court."

There were hoots and claps from the audience which the Honorius silenced with his pommel. It was more than a year's wages for a free laborer, enough that an indebted servant might never repay it. And if Havella had not saved any money from the fire, that is the fate that awaited her. Her debt would be bought by a wealthy family or the state itself, and her fate would belong to them.

"It is the court's opinion that this woman's wagon was set alight by an oil lantern she kept within it in an unsafe manner. From there, she failed to douse or smother the fire and it spread to the surrounding stalls. The case is a simple one, she caused the fire by accident, but the accident was the result of negligence, and she is therefore bound to pay the victim's recompense."

He bowed deeply. "This concludes my opening statements, Honorius."

"Then we will hear from the defense." The Honorius's voice sounded thin behind his heavy mask.

Havella moved to the center of the pit and faced the jury. "Citizens of Kouros," she began, "I plead not guilty to the charges laid before me. I am not a villain, but a victim myself of this grave misfortune. My life's collection has been reduced to ashes, and all that I have left is the few parcels I was able to save." She touched her satchel. "I kept my lantern on an iron hook in the corner support of my roof. It was as sturdy a housing as any could ask, and remained stable for many years. Any reasonable person would expect it to remain in place under normal circumstances."

She was blinking a great deal, and had trouble focusing on so many faces, so she turned to the Honorius. "I was searching my collection for a client's request when my wagon was bumped hard enough to shake it. I let myself out to see what had happened, and saw that an older man had fallen against it. There was water in the walkway, so I helped him up and cleaned it myself. It was only when I went back to the front of my wagon that I saw the lamp had fallen, and the oil had already spread to my books." Her voice caught, those books had been her life. "There had been papers spread across my bench, and they caught immediately. I tried to smother it with my cloak, but it grew too quickly, and the oil would not go out. I burnt myself trying," she displayed her bandaged arm, "and grabbed what I could when I knew I'd failed."

"Does the defense have anything else?"

"No, Honorius."

The prosecutor threw his head back and raised one leg as if he was swallowing a herring. "Let us take her story at its face, knowing there are none who can attest to it. Where is the man she allegedly helped, who was as large as famous Bullonus to have rocked her wagon so? I submit that there is no such man. This nail that held the lantern, clearly it was not as solid as she thought. And any good homeowner would have tested its strength from time to time to protect against just such an occurrence. Lastly, can we believe a lantern's little flame could burn so much so quickly, if someone were trying to put it out? I have prepared an exhibit for the indulgence of the court."

"Proceed," said Honorius.

The prosecutor motioned for an attendent who had been waiting in the eaves. The boy brought him a glass lantern which he took and raised above his head like a trophy for the crowd, which duly applauded.

"Attend me," he said, and smashed the lantern on his own desk and the many papers he'd left scattered their. The boy stepped back to prevent being splashed with glass and oil, but the prosecutor stood over it waving his hands and exclaiming.

"Look how slowly it spreads!" There was a small gush of flame, but the parchments and skins merely smoldered, and his point was clear.

The prosecutor gestured for the boy's cloak, who gave it rather sadly.

"Burn it, Hikami."

The audience around me was too focused on the legal charade to hear me whisper, or to notice the color drain from my hair where it was not covered by my scarf. Hikami stretched as thin as a strand of yarn to flow from me and down the stands. The prosecutor was making a big show of his perfectly normal cloak and perfectly controlled fire. He smothered the desk with a flourish, looked knowingly at the jury and revealed his success. There was little more than smoke and glass fragments, a few half eaten pages.

He walked about the desk so all could see. There was laughter and cheers, then shouting. The prosecutor looked down. The edge of the cloak had caught fire, and a ribbon of flame was riding up the linen like a monkey climbing a lattice. The prosecutor dropped the cloak with a grunt, but his tunic was spattered with oil, and those spots exploded all at once. Then he screamed, stripping to avoid being burnt.

The crowd was on its feet, roaring in delight and I used the opportunity to call Hikami back. I sensed his satisfaction and basked in my own. The prosecutor was in his underclothes.

The Honorius banged his dagger until he could be heard over the audience's pleasure. "Anything further, prosecutor?" He asked levelly.

"The prosecution rests."

Havella gave a closing statement, but it was unnecessary. The trial had been finished by that disastrous display, and she was found not guilty of criminal negligence. This was a blow to the other merchants who had lost their stalls, but there was no other recourse for them. Appeals would have to be paid for out of pocket, and none of them thought they'd have much luck going that route.

I wanted to speak with Havella, but I couldn't reach her through the crowd. It was possible she'd forgotten about me, she certainly had other worries to occupy her, but I found her waiting by the shop when Marisa and I returned after the trial.

Havella confronted me with clenched fists, she was livid. "You did this to me!" she said.

I stopped dead. Which part? I'd saved her in the trial, but she didn't look very happy about it, and couldn't have known what I'd done anyway.

"Havella, what's going on?"

"You ruined my life!" She reached up to adjust the glasses that weren't there.

"Please," I said, needing a moment to think, "let's go inside."

All three of us went upstairs to my room, the Baker was preparing to close shop and didn't bother to look up as we went by. As soon as Havella crossed my threshold, she walked straight to the window and put her face almost against the frame.

"I knew it!" She said, and Marisa closed the door behind us.

"Havella, please," I said, "what are you talking about?"

She thrust a finger at the diagramming I had done around the window in charcoal. "This, I knew it would be here. You're protecting yourself from him, so he struck me instead."

"You know about diagrams?"

Havella roughly seized a handful of parchment from her satchel and threw it at me. The pages scattered over the floor of my room.

"You came to me for this. I hope it was worth it."

Marisa picked up a parchment and looked it over quizzicaly. "I don't get it," she said.

"What happened to your wagon was an accident," I tried to calm the situation.

"It was a misfortune," Havella corrected me. She was out of steam, and plopped heavily onto my bed, her arms hainging limply a her sides. "It was misfortune brought on by the god of misfortunes, Ahriman. He targeted me because he couldn't see you, but I don't even know who you are, or I didn't. I spent the last few days and the last of my money trying to find out. You're her, aren't you, the missing princess?"

"That's her," Marisa said helpfully, and I shot her a look.

"You think Ahriman did this to you? Why, if he wants me?"

"Because of what you're looking for, and because of what I found."

The remaining sheets had settled around me in a rough octogram, as if guided by an invisible hand. They were the foundational signs of the compass, but not exactly as I knew them.

"What are these?"

"The symbol you drew in my wagon is composed of all of these." As she said it, my eyes and my mind's eye travelled over the sheets, arranging and overlaying them to create the angelic sign of Lithia. "Your people, the Euphorians, use a version of the spiritual ladder that culminates in Ahriman. But there are others, the Deep Ones have their own ladder, and other gods that have fallen out of favor over the centuries each had their own version."

"This is the base of a Lithian compass," I said.

"Yes, but they hadn't been combined to form the angelic sign in hell knows how long, and then you, a girl with the power to command spirits, goes and draws it out. You sent out a call to a dead god and Ahriman heard you. He struck at the place where the symbol had been drawn, which happened to be my wagon."

"I'm so sorry," I said. "Havella, I had no idea this would happen."

"No, you didn't consider the consequences. You're young, and you're acting without thinking. How else could you have fled your perfect kingdom for a place like this?" She looked around the flat, mostly bare even after my shopping spree. "Why are you looking for Leethia anyway?"

"Because my kingdom needs her," I said.

"You already have a god in your compass. You've mastered misfortune, what else could you desire?"

"There's a price," I said.

Marisa nodded. "She would have to give up a child to be queen."

"So what?" Havella said. "Children die all the time. When people have too many they give the surplus to the sea. It's harsh, but it's the world."

"I don't accept it."

"You think you're the only one to have to compromise with life? You can't be that nave."

"I understand that bad things happen, but I think that making a choice to make them happen is unacceptable."

"It's a good deal, to be a queen, to have a perfect kingdom." Havella touched the bridge of her nose and grimaced. "I'd make a harsh deal for less. I already have."

"Do you remember the story of Rethi?" Marisa asked. "Who went with her child into the sea?"

"Of course," Havella looked offended. "The king suspected adultery, so he was going to kill his newborn son. Rethi hid herself with the babe in a chest and had it flung into the ocean, she drifted for seven days, until they ran aground. The gods rewarded her motherly feelings with a full life, and her son grew up to become Dominus, who killed his father and claimed the throne he would have been denied."

"She made the choice for her child in spite of a kingdom."

"Rethi expected to die in a box. It was melodrama."

"The point is she chose her baby, and it was the right thing."

"The Euphorians are a practical people, far more so than ours," Havella's hands curled into her tunic. "Their society is ordered around laws that generate the greatest good for the greatest number. I'm not suprised that good fortune requires a sacrifice."

"Wait," I said, something was nagging at me. "You said you already made a harsh deal, what did you mean?"

"Oh," Havella said. "It wasn't an easy decision, I respect your scholarship, young woman, though I disagree with your decisions. The crux of the matter is that I've lost my livelihood, but a thousand eagles will have me that back and more."

"The reward?" Marisa said.

"Yes. I sent a message shortly after I arrived and confirmed that you stayed here."

There was a crash from the ground floor, shouting, and feet pounding on the stairs.