the back. It thumped and skidded to the ground as Parko began to stir.
Ratboy looked to Teesha, who could sometimes bring reason to such scenes, but she stood silently on the other side of the wagon, watching.
Rashed threw a pouch of money at his brother.
"I am finished with you. You will not travel with us farther. Go down the Feral Path, if that is what you want. Perhaps the mob that village forms will hunt you now instead of us."
He stepped over the front of the wagon onto its seat and picked up the horses' reins.
"Teesha, get in the wagon." Then he turned to Ratboy. "You have a choice. I know the careless abandon of this night was not your doing, but you gave in to him. You either come with us or stay with him. Choose now."
Parko hissed from his position on the ground, and Ratboy stared at Rashed.
He wasn't good at making his own decisions, and this was the most difficult one he'd ever faced. The idea of staying with Parko and following the Feral Path, slaughtering and drinking blood with no thought to rules, only the hunt— it pulled at him. Desire to throw off all sense of mortal trappings and become the full glory of a predator was difficult to resist.
But Rashed kept them safe and always knew what to do, and Teesha knew how to make a home. Ratboy wasn't ready to give these things up. Not yet. He was afraid to stay alone with Parko. The thought shamed him. He glanced once more at Parko's hissing, writhing form, and then he climbed up into the wagon to sit behind Teesha.
As they pulled away, he did not see Rashed look back once, and he alone watched Parko's pinprick eyes fade in the distance. And for two more nights, Rashed did not speak at all.
Lying in his coffin beneath the warehouse, Ratboy wondered about the wisdom of the choice he had made back then. He tried to stop thinking, to simply see nothing. After a while, he was finally able to fall dormant.
Chapter Eleven
Magiere left her tavern early that afternoon. As she stepped into the street, she noticed a "Closed" sign hanging on the door, painted in Leesil's handwriting. Why hadn't she thought of doing that? She gave silent thanks to her partner and walked directly to the nearest inn.
Although Magiere sometimes referred to The Sea Lion as an "inn," strictly it was not, since the building had no rooms for lodgers. Perhaps at one time the upper floor had been used for lodgers, the owner residing elsewhere. In truth, Miiska only boasted three actual inns, but a small town such as this had no need of more. Most sailors and bargemen slept on their ships, and she could not see many travelers wanting to come to stay in this out-of-the-way place. Even the scarce peddler, traveling merchant, or farmer from the outlying lands was more likely to camp with his wares in the open market on the north end of town.
This inn was a shabby and run-down establishment with a sparsely furnished common room that smelled of fish and moldy bread. She began asking about Welstiel, describing the strange middle-aged man to a bone-thin woman in a soiled apron, who she assumed was the keeper of the place.
"We got no one here like that," she said crossly after hearing Magiere out, obviously thinking her time was wasted. "You try The Velvet Rose. That's where you'll find the likes of him."
Magiere thanked the crone and left. Everything appeared normal around her. The sun hung like a burning orange ball in the thin haze of high clouds. People talked and laughed and went about their business. Occasionally, a patron of The Sea Lion would wave or call out a greeting, and she would nod or raise her own hand briefly in return. Every now and then, she had the feeling someone was watching her, perhaps whispering with a companion and pointing in her direction. But whenever she turned it was as if no one noticed her at all. The scope of the world had changed, no matter how things appeared. And the only one who seemed to really understand the situation was an overwrought blacksmith with more muscle than brains.
She wanted to talk to Leesil and try to explain the thoughts running through her mind. What if fate or the deities or whatever kept the balance in the world between right and wrong had finally caught up