and helped the girl to her feet. They followed Dema as the rain slowed, then stopped.
Glaki was restless that night. Tris finally settled her late, by telling stories of her time at Winding Circle. Outside she felt the rain slack off, build, pour, then stop. There would be no more rain for two days; this storm had moved on. With Glaki asleep at last, she wished the storm well and gave Little Bear a much-needed combing. Chime was a useful dog’s maid, her thin claws easily working their way through the matted coat.
When the clocks chimed midnight and Glaki did not so much as twitch, Tris collected Chime. Little Bear, worn out by the process of beautification, snored on the bed next to the sleeping child. Once Tris set the usual terms with Ferouze and watched the old woman climb up the stairs to Glaki’s room, she settled Chime in the sling at her back and walked out into Chamberpot Alley.
The air was cool and fresh, the winds that explored Khapik lively and curious. Tris slipped off her spectacles and tucked them in her sash, dropping into the trance she would need to scry the winds. As colour, movement and shapes soared by, she set off into Khapik. She kept to the back alleys, not wanting the sight of arurimi in disguise to distract her.
The winds were interesting that night. They came from the north-east instead of the usual south-east. She caught a glimpse of towering, snow-capped mountains, red stone fortresses and a small, crazed jungle that was once a garden in a dry land. She gasped with wonder at that last. Not only was it infused with magic from root to leaf, but the magic was familiar: Briar’s. She would have loved to know how a garden that was such a mess had anything to do with him, but the wind had carried the image away while she groped for more of it. She leaned against a building with a sigh, waited to regain the calm she needed to do this, and set forth once again.
It was easier to see wind-borne colours and images that night. Darkness and torch-light leeched the colour from her surroundings. Feeling more confident in her ability to navigate, Tris wandered down Woeful Lane, through the mazes of back-of-the-house paths and service alleys to Painted Place, then out along Drunkard’s Grief Street. She saw very few people, which was how she wanted it. These were the paths taken by servants, prathmuni, and those whose business in Khapik was suspect. As she made her way the air showed her things: silk gliding along a woman mage’s arm, the flare of magic at hennaed fingertips, and a metal bird coming to life. She wanted to see that bird.
Not tonight, she told herself. You’re looking for other things tonight. Standing at the intersection of three streets, she turned, eyes wide, searching for any hint of the Ghost. There: the air blowing down Kettle Court showed her a dirty hand fumbling at a ragged tunic. It yanked out a yellow head veil, a yaskedasi veil.
The Ghost. It was him, and he was running into the breeze that took his image to Tris.
She ran, her eyes fixed on that current, following it along Kettle Court. Her feet pounded along the cobblestones. Rounding a corner she stepped in rubbish and slipped, the movement jarring the image from her eyes. A thick hand gripped her arm. A yellow scarf wrapped around her neck.
Dema paced as the arurim healer examined the rescued yaskedasu. If the healer pronounced the girl fit to bear it, Dema would try a spell to enhance her memory of the attack, to see if she could describe the man who had so nearly killed her. In the meantime, he alternated between chewing his nails and berating Keth. For his own part, Keth understood Dema’s frustration, but he was preoccupied. The globe, which had earlier cleared to show the yaskedasu under her willow, had clouded again. Keth sat with it gripped in his hands, Dema’s words falling on inattentive ears. Sparks of lightning flowed from Keth’s fingertips, lancing through the mist inside. There was a new image in the globe. He could see the outlines of it, dark buildings, a back street, wooden fences.
A girl raced down a street, sling around her torso, twin braids flapping against her cheeks. She wore no spectacles, but Keth had no trouble recognizing Tris. If these globes were connected to the Ghost, then Tris