*

There were worse interrogation cells in Titansgrave, Ammas knew. The ones in the deepest dungeons, down near the reeking chasm that gave the ancient fortress its name, were a lot worse. He knew, for he had visited a few of them -- not as a prisoner, but as a consultant assisting the Argent Brand. Only the worst murderers, rapists, and suspected supernatural entities merited that sort of treatment. By comparison, Ammas's current lodgings were positively cozy. This was the sort of cell used for lesser criminals, or those who had some sort of inside connection to the Argent Council. Apparently Ammas had been accorded the same status, as he found himself not only in a clean and illuminated cell but no longer wearing shackles. His wrists still ached faintly. Through the ragged hole in his robes a fresh bandage was visible. An Argent Brand physic had doctored his wound shortly after he'd arrived, but since then he'd been left alone.

The table was a solid piece of wood more like a butcher block, and appeared to be built right into the stone floor. Flanking it was a pair of decidedly shabby chairs, chained to a rail that ran the length of the wall where it met the flagstone floor. That rail made sitting against the wall intolerable. So Ammas slumped down in one of the chairs as far as he could, tilting his hat down over his face. That was how Mielle Thalia found him some time later, snoring peacefully.

The delicious spice of steeping seretto tea wakened him. Blearily he yawned, his feet stamping on the floor, and doffed his hat, running his fingers through his crumpled hair. The Captain-Commander had discarded her greatcoat and was carrying a simple tray bearing a kettle and two chipped cups. The black, brass-buttoned uniform usually concealed by her coat was no less intimidating, and she still bore her quirt and pepperbox.

A smile creased his lips, which was returned thinly. "I didn't know you liked this stuff too, Mielle." Ammas poured himself a cup as the Captain seated herself across from him.

"Anyone who needs to stay awake likes it. And I heard you were practically unconscious when they opened your cart downstairs."

"A vile slander. I was meditating."

"Naturally," replied Mielle coolly, watching Ammas as he sipped his tea. After a fortifying taste of her own, she leaned forward. "So. Talk."

"I'm going to need a little more guidance than that, Mielle."

"I have a dead whore and a live werewolf running around this city. My patrols are still searching for him, or them, but you know as well as I do that when whatever they had planned for you -- or your client -- went awry, he melted back into a human shape and disappeared into the crowd. He could be anyone, even one of my own guardsmen."

"Or guardswoman," Ammas offered.

"That occurred to me as well. Tell me what you know about this."

Ammas took a long sip of his tea, studying Mielle Thalia. He had assisted her on several occasions since her commission three years before -- many more than her predecessor had seen fit to consult him about -- and he usually enjoyed their partnerships. But never had it touched a client of his so intimately, and he was wary. Still, it was her responsibility to protect this city, and if he could help her do so, he would. Oaths he had sworn long ago demanded it.

"There is, I believe, an organized group of werewolves in some way connected to Gallowsport. I do not know how many, nor could I guess. Larger than five, I suppose, not including the two who were slain tonight. Their strain of the blood sickness is an unusual one, and not one I can easily treat. Beyond that, I really can't say."

"Other than that they want your client."

"I do not believe I said that, Mielle."

"You didn't have to. I don't believe for a moment they're interested in you, or that their choosing to attack you the same night she came to you is a coincidence."

"Mari has been my client for nearly a week. Her convalescence is long."

"Do you think you're the first person to know about her, Ammas? The Othillic Archdeacon came to me two days ago to see if her origins could be determined."

"Khozar is an old man."

"Khozar is sharper than most of my commissioned officers."

"That's not saying much."

"Ammas, for the love of the gods, help me. I'm not looking to cause trouble for you or your client unless I don't have a choice. You stonewalling me reduces my choices."

Ammas nodded, frowning into his tea. "That is true. Very well. She came to me today, and I believe these wolves have an interest in her."

"Because she's infected with this same strain."

"Mielle, I can't tell you yes or no."

"Can you give me another reason werewolves would hunt someone all the way from Gallowsport?"

"They have peculiar views on many things. They may consider her to have some religious significance. They profess some spiritual connection to the moon Saya, though real or imagined I don't know enough to say."

"Then you wouldn't mind us taking a trip to your temple with Irgrin and performing one of your tests to prove she isn't infected?"

"I won't allow such a thing. I've taken vows for my clients' sakes."

"I know about your vows. And you know neither I nor anyone else in my position has any obligation to respect them."

"Is it to be torture, then? I'd prefer you not use that quirt of yours. I might mistake it for affection. Then again, I don't believe Sergeant Cayle made that mistake."

For the first time an expression of regret, perhaps even shame, passed over her features. "I'd have preferred you not see that."

"Indeed? You made such a spectacle of it I find myself doubting your honesty."

"The spectacle was for my men. There are too many thugs who find their way into the guard, even the officer ranks, and I can't catch them all before they do something that disgraces the Brand."

"My old academy filtered out such rubbish within a year."

"I don't have years to train them, Ammas."

"Clearly."

"Do you know why I put on that spectacle? Cayle was beating one of the brothel girls. No reason for it, other than he believed she had mouthed off to him. He even had an eyewitness who offered an account, and turned it down in favor of his preferred method of interrogation."

"You saw the whole thing, I take it?"

"Cayle was only promoted a few weeks ago. He was still on probation." An angry sneer twisted Thalia's usually winsome smile. "Needless to say, he failed."

Ammas grew quiet, staring at Mielle, feeling the shield of gentle mockery melting away in the wake of growing unease. "Was the girl badly hurt?"

"Some bruising. Nothing serious. I can have her brought here for treatment if you think it necessary, or to the Madrenite sisters."

"Was it Selene? A nice girl but she often doesn't know when to stop her japes."

"It was your client."

Ammas stiffened at once. "Why? What did she say?"

"She actually told Cayle she was Carala Deyn. Apparently he didn't believe her."

"I didn't realize Cayle was that perceptive." But the sparring felt hollow in Ammas's mouth, and he felt a nasty sinking in his belly. "Are you sure she wasn't hurt?"

"Believe me when I tell you, Ammas, that Cayle came out much the worse after that incident." Mielle studied him closely. "I'm sure she's fine, and if she isn't you and she both can make a formal complaint. I won't even contest the hearing's findings if they find me responsible. But you and I both know the interesting part about this is her name."

"Is it?" Ammas looked at her blandly. "I fail to see why you should be more foolish than that idiot Cayle. Of course she isn't Carala Deyn. How many Carala Deyns have worked at every brothel in this city since the princess came of age, anyway? I seem to recall either last Yearsend festival or the one before that Selene dressed as you. I must confess her uniform was nowhere near as flattering, if a trifle more revealing."

"It was the year before. She asked me if I had red hair everywhere."

"What did you tell her?"

"Nothing, which is exactly what I'm getting from you."

Ammas raised his tea in a mock toast.

"Ammas, do you really think I'm just some shit-brained patrolman?"

The mocking smile curdled. "Of course I don't think that, Mielle. But I have an obligation to keep in mind. Whatever that girl's identity, her safety is my responsibility."

"That doesn't sound like you. Is this some sort of burden you assume for all your clients?"

"Only the ones I fail," Ammas replied quietly.

The Captain stared at him.

"It's not something I will discuss, Mielle."

Mielle considered that for a moment, then nodded slowly. "All right. But answer my question: do you think I'm just a patrolman?"

"No, I don't."

"Do you think I can't tell the difference when a whore plays at being a highborn lady, or when a highborn lady pretends to be a whore?"

"I have no idea how much time you spend in brothels, Mielle."

"That's very clever, Ammas. But it's not just a question of ability or experience. It's rank. I dine with the Doge at least twice a month. I see every member of the Argent Council almost every day. The merchant princes and queens, the Guildmasters and Guildmistresses, the Archdeacons and High Priestesses, even the masters of the criminal guilds: I talk to them, and I hear things from them."

"Your father must be exquisitely proud." But Ammas's heart was pounding.

"Perhaps. My point is, if something happened out of the Malachite Throne's capital city -- say the disappearance of the Emperor's youngest child, and rumors that a werewolf was somehow involved -- do you think I wouldn't know it?"

Ammas said nothing.

"If I arrested that girl and conducted a physical examination, would I find the Deyn family crest inked somewhere on her body?"

"I haven't seen her unclad, alas."

"Let me tell you what I think, Ammas. I think this is the Emperor's daughter. I think she was infected by a werewolf and escaped before the Malachite Throne could capture her. I think you sent her to hide out in the Prideful Lioness when the wolves attacked you until you could get the situation under control. I think she came down here to find you for a cure, possibly with the Throne's tacit approval, though why they wouldn't have brought her or followed her under official colors I can't imagine."

"Do you have any idea what the Throne did to my kind? To my family?" Ammas said acidly.

"As to the Academies, of course I know." Mielle looked uneasy. "As to your family . . . I have only heard rumors, Ammas."

"There are a lot of them. Feel free to believe them all, because I doubt they're as bad as the reality." The old hurt glowered through his eyes, and eventually he had to stare down at his feet.