gate on rickety wood stools, the yellow of their thin cotton robes clashing against their fish-flesh-pink hides. Meager boastings of valor marks were scattered over their arms. One eyed the creeping shadow of the city wall and scooted his stool a little farther into its shade as a Hawk behind him laughed. The other Vulture rattled off a halfhearted oath and beckoned the Crows’ cart forward.
Pa whistled and flicked the reins. To other castes, it’d sound like a marching order. Fie knew better. In the Money Dance, that whistle meant “pair up.”
“Keep quiet,” she told the lordlings, “keep close, and move when I say.”
Harmony, she told herself, and kindled the second tooth.
The two Sparrow teeth grated against each other a moment, then settled into grudging cooperation. As with the Pigeon teeth before, her senses shifted, drawing new trails in her mind. Before, she’d kenned the prickle of eyes trained on her; now each person nearby cast a beacon of a gaze. And with two teeth in hand, any time that gaze turned near Fie and the boys, it rolled away like water off a greased cloak.
The first skinwitch leaned to look behind Pa, scanning the rest of the Crows. Fie held her breath, held the teeth, held off that gaze. After a moment, the skinwitch leaned back. “I count two bone thieves,” she called. “Treggor?”
“I got two, Inge,” the other Vulture confirmed, pressing farther into the shade.
Fie let her breath out.
“Witches to me,” Inge said. Pa climbed down from the driver’s seat and walked over, rolling up his sleeve, Hangdog a step behind. Two Hawk guards twitched their spears at the other Crows to step away from the wagon.
“Move with them,” Fie whispered, and slid along at the back of the band.
The Hawks strolled over, lips curling. “What’s your business in Cheparok?” one asked.
Pa’s eyes darted back. “Restocking,” he answered, loud enough to bounce off the walls and echo back to the guard. “We’re out of flashburn and low on soap-shells—”
“Don’t need a list,” the guard snapped. “Those’re pricey goods for a Crow. How are you planning on paying for those? You bring any coin?”
Pa flinched. “Aye. Last job gave us ten naka for viatik.”
The guard rounded the back of the wagon while his partner planted herself between it and the Crows. “Ten naka,” he mused, prodding the crates and sacks with a spear tip. The blade sank too far into one bag. Rice spilled across the wagon bed as Barf climbed out from behind the ruined burlap, yowled in disdain, and stretched. She seemed wholly untroubled by the spear point now inches away.
One of the lordlings shifted behind Fie. “Don’t,” she hissed under her breath.
“Hey Kanna, you remember how much the fee is to pass the fifth gate?” the guard asked, spear point following Barf.
His partner turned to laugh at him. “Eight naka.”
“Eight naka,” he echoed.
Both Hawks faced away now, and both Vultures were fixed on Pa and Hangdog. “Follow me,” Fie whispered, and slipped away from the rest of the band, slinking toward the gate.
Pa’s shoulders slumped a little. “As you like,” he said, and pulled back his over-robe.
The guard loped around the side of the wagon, suddenly close. Fie yanked the boys to crouch behind the oxen as the Hawk swung his spear to point dead at Pa. “You carrying a sword?”
“It’s broken.”
“Drop it.”
Pa nodded and made a show of reaching for his other hip, where the buckle sat. The half sword hit the mud, sending a cloud of bloodflies into the air.
The skinwitch called Inge chortled behind Pa. “All that’s good for is mercy, to be sure.”
“The purse.” The guard jerked his spear at Pa.
Pa untied his purse and tossed it to the Hawk. The Hawk dumped it onto the wagon’s driver’s seat and slid coins around until he was satisfied. “Your change is on the seat,” he laughed, and nodded to the skinwitches. “Go ahead, Inge.”
The skinwitches seized Pa and Hangdog, fish-flesh fingers pale against their bare arms. Inge’s and Treggor’s eyes squeezed shut a moment.
“Move,” Fie whispered, and crawled for the gate.
Inge’s gray eyes cracked open. She let go of Pa and spat to the side. Her spittle landed on Fie’s sleeveless arm.
Fie gagged in disgust, and the Sparrow teeth slid out of tune for a terrible instant. She yanked them back into harmony, swearing a silent litany, and froze in place.
Inge straightened up, her beacon-like gaze drifting in Fie’s wake. “Treggor?”
The other Vulture blinked. “Aye?”
Harmony, Fie prayed into the reeking muck, wringing the