Dawn had begun to creep over the Old Godsway. Inside the abandoned Temple of the Graces, Denisius Gallis was snoring peacefully, wrapped in a bedroll close to the brazier, which was still guttering. Carala and Casimir were curled up together on the narrow bed in Ammas's chapel bedroom. The boy had cried out several times during the night, Carala briefly waking to soothe him. Barthim and Vos sat at the table Ammas used for client interviews, sharing a pot of seretto tea and playing an apparently endless game of Whistling Jack. Barthim had taken it upon himself to secure Ammas's kettle and prepare the tea, though he refused to allow Denisius or Vos to see where these precious things were kept. Vos was on his third rieldo cigar, and the temple had begun to reek of it.

A pile of coppers lay between Vos and Barthim. "Whistle past the grave," muttered Vos, and laid down his cards.

Barthim swore in Siraneshi as Vos hauled the pot into his purse. "You have bewitched me with foul vapors," Barthim grumbled. "I think I am calling you Vos Stenchmouth from here on."

"Keep losing to me and you can call me whatever you want." Vos grinned around his cigar and offered one to Barthim. The Beast declined politely.

"Perhaps we should be waking up Denisius. I am thinking he would be a fine source of copper."

"He is, which is why I can't let him play."

"This is very kind of you, Stenchmouth. When Ammas gets back we play them both, yes?"

As if speaking of the man had summoned him, the front door of the temple scraped against the floor, creaking on its hinges. Barthim looked up, threw his cards on the table, and charged toward the cursewright as he slipped into the nave, sweeping Ammas into his arms in a gigantic embrace. The charms on Ammas's hat jingled merrily, though the pain in his ribs was somewhat less pleasant.

"I knew you would not be held long! Or did you sneak out again? I think the Captain lays a test for you to bed her, and one day or other you will pass." Barthim kissed Ammas's forehead, knocking his hat askew.

Stepping forward (and readjusting his hat), Ammas wrinkled his nose. "Have you been smoking rieldo, Barthim?"

"Not I." Barthim pointed up the temple as Vos came striding down it. His hood was cast back but there was an uneasy shadow on the man's face. Still, he held out a hand in greeting openly enough.

"Vos of Marhollow," he said, taking Ammas's hand.

"Or Wolfbane," Barthim suggested.

Ammas didn't ask further about that. "Vos. Lord Marhollow's manservant, I take it? Carala wasn't sure of your name."

Vos nodded. "And that is Lord Marhollow asleep by your fire."

Ammas smiled. "Yes, I gathered that from my client's reaction earlier tonight."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Mourthia. I know much of you by reputation."

"Just Ammas, please. I'm glad to have another sword at hand." He clapped Vos on the shoulder and strode past him to the the table, pouring himself a cup of seretto tea, exhaling with deep satisfaction as he did. A look of relief passed over Vos's face, which did not go unnoticed by the Beast.

"Great gods, Vos Stenchmouth, are you superstitious of our cursewright?" Barthim seemed to find this idea deliciously funny. "He is no monster from legend. He cannot even play a decent game of chess. You have nothing to fear from Ammas!"

Vos seemed most unamused, almost angered, but said nothing. Ammas ignored all of it, finishing his cup before he turned to speak to them. "Where is Carala? And did Casimir make it back from the Lioness?" Barthim pointed out their sleeping forms in Ammas's bed. Ammas watched this tableau for a long moment, a strange smile on his lips. "Gentle," he said, half to himself, then turned back to the bouncer. "And why are you here, anyway? Laurette finally fire you?"

Barthim's good humor wilted. "No, though I am thinking she should, after Lena."

"Barthim -- I didn't -- "

Barthim shook his head. "Never mind, Ammas. I know you did not. In any case, the city guard closed the Lioness for the time being. The girls have all gone home, the few who live there are lodging with friends. Only Laurette is there now, most likely drunk. She has a whole night's worth of lost coin to mourn. But I would not go to my rooms, not while I had Cass and your princess to look after." Barthim's mustache bristled menacingly. "She is rather bruised. I will be having words with this Cayle, I am thinking."

"Mielle already had words with him, I'm sure you saw."

Barthim shrugged. "Some lessons are worth learning twice, my good friend."

This was not something Ammas felt inclined to dispute. "Do either of you need rest? Carala, my apprentice, and I have a busy day ahead of us, but it's not your affair. I will need to speak with Lord Marhollow, though. I have news which concerns him deeply."

"After last night, Ammas, I may not be sleeping for weeks."

Vos nodded. "I've been on marches and long watches many times. If you want, I can wake Denisius right now."

Ammas agreed this was best and took on the task of waking his client and apprentice himself. Both of them seemed rather bleary eyed, but they were delighted to see him back from Titansgrave. Casimir hugged him nearly as hard as Barthim had, bringing a smile to Carala's face. Ammas politely shooed Casimir to the fire after a moment and knelt at the bedside, frowning at the bruises which had risen on Carala's cheeks. "That stupid bastard," he muttered. "I have an ointment which should help, if those hurt."

"I would like to say I have had worse," Carala replied with a faint smile, stifling a yawn behind one hand, "but other than a certain bite . . . I really don't think I have."

Ammas smiled sadly. "I can't promise that will remain true. We have a long road ahead of us."

Carala nodded, her smile fading. "I know it. I'm ready for it, Ammas. I hope I am, at least."

Ammas doubted he was ready for whatever lay ahead, but thought it prudent not to mention that. "Come on out to the fire when you're awake enough. I have much to tell all of you."

By the time Carala joined the rest of them at the fire, Barthim and Casimir had been to the catacomb and returned with a supply of food for breakfast. Bacon was sizzling on the spider-legged pan Ammas employed for his own frugal meals, while Barthim was mixing batter for a quick stack of waybread cakes at the table. Denisius was leaning against one of the temple's columns, alternating between watching Barthim's cooking and nodding back to sleep, his head jerking up every so often. Ammas sat by the fire, staring into its depths, his hands toying with his hat on his lap. The charms caught the firelight, glittering mysteriously.