The truth stumbles on like a crippled man, and rumors fly like birds. Sparrow had ended up back at the shack by dawn, helped home by two younger Kings who found the old man in the middle of a drunk. He hoped that he had not told them about his thoughts that night, and hoped that Ori had found a safe spot to sleep for the night. As he sipped a cup of warm broth and looked at the watchmen stalking the streets the old man prayed that his charge had found a safe place to stay as the raids began.

  The messenger came to him in the early morning. A warehouse in the Barrow was torched, and a dozen men murdered by some lunatic with a heavy hand. The Kings had gone to ground, but there were rousts coming for those who were out of the Barrow. Sparrow ransacked his own shack, taking all the contraband he found and pitching it into a canvas sack he had carried home from the War.

  Six years. Six years of doing the work of his masters. He had certain skills, they had said, and his anger had propelled him through plenty of scrapes.

  Truth be told, he left for the war to get away from her. A beautiful girl, exotic and happy and all his, until she changed. He found she was bedding down with some hack filch named Grackle, and decided to do something about it. Grackle never walked again, and a boy was given an old helm and a blade.

  Damn bag saved my life twice. Once in the war, once after. Sparrow cinched the draw and walked into the noon day sun, wondering what he was going to see. The Tannery was roused to arms, with the Watch out in force. Spread among the sea of yellow and white watchmen were the Guard, blue and black uniforms, their pikes standing above the crowd identifying them.

  “Copper for your thoughts, Sparrow Tanner.” the voice was firm and lilted, a Kingsbridge voice. Sparrow tensed as the Captain stepped away from his hiding place, snapping a crisp salute.

  “I was at a party in the Barrow last night. I sent my grandson off to a friend of the family, then came back for a change of clothes and some odds and ends.”

  “Odds and ends, eh? What does a one armed juggler need for a bit of a bunk to a safer place?”

  “The damn place is a powder keg. I heard of the mobs in the streets. I was in Uta on business. I know a city that is coming to its limits.”

  Uta. What do you know about it? The Grand Siege. If I told you the things I saw… children caught in the fires. Women selling their children to the slavers for bread and salt. An old man fighting ghouls who wanted to eat his daughter.

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  Sparrow earned his medal and damnation at Uta, and this old man wasn’t going to let watch, guard, or King make him stay again. He pushed past the Captain, who nipped at his heels for days.

  “You served with a Martin Redbeard? Once Martin Stonefist? Sir Martin the Red?”

  “Ya, I served with many men. Should have died along with many more.”

  “Lost your arm there, didn’t you? The honors I saw for you, a Sacrificial for ‘conduct leading to the loss of limb protecting the honor of the Third Regiment at Osha?”

  Sparrow stopped. The watchman had done his studies, maybe even asked around about him. No one knew the whole of it except Sparrow and a broken man who would spend the rest of his life in the Trap.

  “I know Sir Martin did you well, Sparrow. They say you returned to the Barrow round the same time. Or him shortly after. Take a moment with me, sit and listen you old fraud.”

  Sparrow stopped, taking the Captain in. A fop in the Barrow, black hairs astray. He had the eyes of a man not getting much sleep, a face that knew a bit of drink and a good comfortable life in the salons above the Flea.

  “Fraud? If I tell a story that isn’t always true, or make a little bit of coin dicing or playing tiles? I never con a man of his coin, though I know some men who take money from the mouths of the needy.”

  The Captain laughed, a cold smile to the campaigner. “I don’t know all of your secrets, but I know a thief when I see one. One armed or not, you work with the biggest gang in the Barrow and you brought your boy into it. My man saw him running with Blind Mole Hill’s boy, and the Lady Hill has warned me of your company.

  “I need you and yours, Master Sparrow. I need your help or a mostly innocent man will hang. And I can’t have that on my conscience.” the Captain’s eyes were earnest, the face of a drowning man striking at beasts in the water begging an oar or board to climb onto.

  “And say to me, dear Captain, how can I help you today? You have a hundred Guards in the Tannery, twice as many prowling the Barrow, and any man I would know has gone to ground. Your suggestions are welcome.”

  “They’re going to burn down the Warren.”

  The certainty shocked Sparrow. The Captain must have been well connected to hear the rumors among the thieves. It was a common fix, kill the alleged killers and burn the evidence. Hell, it was the way of every gang who ever went to war.

  “Who is doing it?”

  “Someone who needs a scapegoat. Someone who tried to cover the whole mess up. There were more bodies in the basement of the warehouse. Dozens. You and I both know that Martin didn’t worry about killing a man, but what about women? Girls. Near a hundred, in a building paid off by an alleged Gob front.”

  The two men walked side by side through the Tannery streets for awhile. The Captain offered Sparrow a skin and Sparrow drank the thick sweet wine in it. Smacking his gums together he passed the skin back, letting the Captain pull off the tip as well.

  “What does this have to do with me?”

  “Nothing for you, Sparrow Tanner. But the birds say the Guard is going to pick up the children my man saw and put them to question. Shame to have your boy Ori-”

  It was too much. Sparrow sprinted off, hoping he was on time, hoping his silly excursion hadn’t led the boy for a stay in the Trap. The Captain followed after, cursing the drink and startled at the old man’s speed.