nobleman looked like. I've seen many of the council and their staff on royal grounds."

"Tall, well built, not much older than me," Magiere said. "Handsome, I suppose, with hair to about the chin and tucked behind his ears. Good with a sword but…"

Magiere hung on the thought for a moment, but still could not understand what had happened in the room with the nobleman.

"When I fight one of their kind, at times I pick up impressions—feelings, intentions, or occasionally a name or identity. There were strange flashes from him, as if he wanted to bleed me slowly, toy with me rather than kill me. And then everything wiped away, and I felt nothing from him."

Wynn's head tilted; then she shook it. "Your description does not match anyone I have seen on the council or at their hall."

Magiere shook her head as well. "I'm not certain of his voice, as I didn't hear much of it."

"You've heard the killer's voice?" Wynn asked in surprise.

"A few words… in a vision. Which means we may be looking for five."

The mention of visions gave Wynn pause, though she did not seem surprised, which in turn made Magiere wonder.

"I will return in a moment with food," Wynn said quietly, and left the room.

She returned shortly with a wooden tray carrying three bowls of steaming soup made from yellow beans, potatoes, and assorted vegetables. She passed one each to Magiere and Leesil, set the third upon the floor before Chap, and gestured to the crates around them.

"Perhaps these will help us," she said. "They contain records, some of which are for dwellings purchased in the half year. It is further back than you asked for, and not all are deeds and bills of sale, but I wanted to be thorough. The one you call Sapphire, or some of the others, could have existed in the city before the death of Lanjov's daughter."

"Where do we start?" Magiere asked.

Wynn looked at her. "You wish to sift through records?"

Leesil pulled off the top of a crate, fingering through its contents.

"Chap needs more rest, so there's little else to do," Magiere explained.

At these words, Chap growled and loped toward the door, but he stumbled three times, halting in frustration.

"Get back here. You can't hunt like that," Leesil said without looking up. He piled parchments and a few scroll cases onto a table. "We're looking for a three-story dwelling; that's what Sapphire told me. Knowing Rashed's past arrangements, if Sapphire is with Ratboy, the little butcher will want underground access. Sing out if you find any cellars in the descriptions."

Magiere knew he was speculating, but it made sense.

"Oh," Wynn added, "And if Magiere's theory of a connection to Lanjov is correct, be sure to check any deed you find against the names of the council members."

Chap growled again.

"What's wrong with him?" Magiere asked.

"He'd rather be hunting." Leesil scowled, and then his expression became troubled at some thought. His voice became hesitant. "I lost my shirt."

Magiere shook her head. Since he now resembled a refugee soldier, his lost shirt was rather obvious. "We'll get you another one."

"No, I mean, I lost my shirt. The shreds of cloth from Chesna and Au'shiyn and Sapphire's dress were inside it. Chap may not be able to track without them."

"Oh, Leesil…" Magiere sighed, and sank back down on a crate. Another setback wasn't what they needed. "There's nothing you could've done. We barely got out of the fire with most of our belongings."

Wynn shuffled and organized parchments into new stacks, separating what appeared to be recent deeds from older ones and other papers they didn't need.

"It does not matter," she offered. "You told me Chap can smell the presence of an undead. All we need do is find the right dwelling and bring him near it."

The young sage was right, and Magiere opened another crate.

"Start with the properties purchased in richer districts about three months ago," she instructed. "Or at least what sold for a substantial sum."

Wynn nodded and continued sorting, while Leesil stopped to stir his soup with a spoon.

Chap limped back, ignoring the bowl on the floor, and, without warning, reared up to place both paws on Wynn's table. He sniffed at the parchment stacks, and then suddenly began clawing sheets off the table as he pushed his nose deeper in the piles.

"What is wrong with him?" Wynn asked, voice rising above its normal calm.

She grabbed at papers as they flew or were knocked from the table. Magiere dropped the stack she held, about