Callie had taken advantage of the bathing rooms, which were practically deserted with everyone else already at dinner, or getting ready for it. The heat had seeped into her bones, loosening up the worse of the stiffness from the night before. She had danced with worse bruises, but it hurt like hell to even try it. With a sigh, she eased herself out of the tubs and wrapped herself in her robe. It was a thick plush toweling that she had splurged on her last Quarter Day. Clad only in her robe and smallclothes, she stretched gingerly, testing to see where her limits would be for the night. Reassured that they were about normal, she stepped back and placed a kick over her head, her leg nearly a straight line with her ear. She smiled, grateful that at least one thing was going right today. She would need to get dressed and leave now if she wanted to get to her hideaway in time to return this costume and get the one she needed tonight, not without cutting herself short on the time it would take for her to blacken and set her hair.

At least tonight, I won't get caught. Not with Kero expecting me to dance at the Thorny Brush again tonight. Callie thought with a certain grim amusement as she ran from the stables to the little room tucked in behind the cobbler's workshop. By some trick of fate, tonight was the one night free that she was granted every fortnight by the sort of scum that kept the Thorny Brush. Which would leave any Heralds who might follow her chasing shadows.
She was smiling at that last thought as she shut the little outside door to the tanning shed, leaving the room into darkness almost as dark as the kohl that was covering her hair once she had hidden the dress and grabbed the plain bodice and longer skirt from behind another keg of dye. She had changed in the dark here often enough to know that no one bother her or accuse her of stealing. Least of all the cobbler.
Not that he is a bad sort, given the sort of bastids I normally find.
No, not a bad sort at all. As big as he was, the cobbler was a gentle man with the sort of apple cheeked look that reminded Callie of what someone's granther might look like. He had taken one look at Callie, dressed like a little street sparrow on one of her first runs with this, and given her permission to use the room to sleep and even to use the rinsing vat that was kept for to rinse things that were freshly dyed or tanned to wash up in. She knocked on the door and whistled before stepping out into the closing shop. The cobbler smiled to see her, the relief at seeing her plain skirt and blouse etched around his eyes. Callie felt a bit guilty, knowing that the man felt worried when she was scheduled to dance at the Thorny Brush.
"Night off, guv. Think I might nip off for my regular at the Bird and Bread rather than the swill they serve round my quarters."
"Aye. Well, ye can be sure 'at Rissa'll be glad to 'ave ye round 'gain. Says she makes more'n ye stop and play a tune for 'er than 'hat she gets aft workin' 'er fingers bakin' each day. Ye'r free to 'ave a washup and a few marks a sleep though ere ye 'ead back to your corner, sparrow."
Callie bobbed a curtsey, bending her head to keep the lump in her throat from becoming obvious. Bless the man for his kindness towards the little street brat he thought Callie still was. "Thank ye kindly, sir. Keep 'at in mind me shall. Best be off fore Rissa sells 'er last roll. Rest easy a'night, guv."
"I'll rest as easy as I 'ave since yer las' night orv, girl. Naw, 'ese ol' bones need more rest 'an your legs. I'll be off now. Take care."
Rissa, the barkeep at The Bird and Bread tavern was of a different ilk than any of her other employers.
She snorted at the less than generous thought. Say what you mean, Callie. She is more than some man who makes his living simply leeching life out of others.
In fact, short of the Heralds, she was hard pressed to think of anyone less like the manipulative procurers and managers than Rissa. In spite of having a face like a horse and the personality of a battleaxe, Rissa was as close as Callie could remember to a mother. She was also an excellent source of information with how many people she saw come in and out at all hours of the day and night. Unlike most barkeeps, Rissa was less interested in the quality of alcohol she kept than the food, mostly because the Bird and Bread was at the back of a bakehouse which Rissa ran during the day. Callie walked the brisk quarter of a block to the entrance back of the stage door, grabbing a piece of bread as she wove through the kitchen. Rissa saw her as she approached the bar.
"Heyla, our little songster here again! Thought you'd be in gaol with all the White-shirts roaming these past few nights!"
Oh, Rissa, if you only knew!
"No, they ain't caught me out yet. Sprained my ankle in a bad turn a night or two past. Can dance as good as ever on it, but I think a lazy night twittering out songs might keep my bed and board up a bit better. Ya mind, Rissa?"
"Mind? Are ye daft, girl! Ye come in and play for scraps and I sell more when ye play or dance 'an what I manage in a fortnight elsewise. Ye could just sit an' gab an' it'd be fine by my watch."
So she played for two whole candlemarks, until Rissa came over with the bread and meat she saved for Callie, and a jar of sweetened wine to clear her throat. Callie sat on a box in the corner and Rissa joined her on a nearby stool.

"So, what has them trotting their whitewashed nags through here?" Callie asked, falling back into street cant. This might not be where she was raised, but this section of the craftsman's quarters was just as untrusting of Heralds in their own way as the sort who lived in Exile's Gate.

"Oh, not much as I can tell. Just some making the rounds. Of course, I got all of this from Jeres, and he sometimes sees things from the bottom of the bottle, if ye take my meaning. But he swears that he saw a Herald 'at looks a spittin' image of one a the merchants 'e sells to down near the Broken Arms. Can't picture anyone mistaking one of 'em for a Herald, but no accounting 'at with Jeres. An' then, just yesterday, 'ad a young man stop at the bakeshop for a 'ot pie while he 'as making rounds. Lad was 'andsome enough, but gave me a start for all that he looked like Londer, 'at ran the Hollybush round ten years back now. When Londer was young, of course. Not a body in Haven'd mistake 'em now. And none of Londer's kin look like that, not since 'is sister's boy ran off - oh, at least ten years back come Midwinter. No, more years 'an ten come to think of that. Talamir lived at least a good couple years after that, and Herald Talia has been Queen's Own for only about seven years now. She was new in Whites when that bastid Ancar started the war with us."

Callie digested this information, chewing mindlessly on the heel of the bread as she listened to Rissa talking about other visitors to the bakeshop. Any of the Heralds might have stopped at the bakeshop on their way to the barracks or the Heraldic court. But there was only one that Callie could think of who would be the Herald that the drunkard had seen in Exile's Gate. Still, as Rissa pointed out, if he could not pick out faces well when he was drunk, it could be any of the sell-swords or unscrupulous merchants that hung out in that area. There certainly were enough of them that it was possible that Jeres had found one other than Alberich or Kerowyn.

Relaxed, she asked a little more about the latest tale, this one about one of Rissa's customers, an elderly woman with a wandering mind that was filthier than the bottom of most stables and hands that wandered even worse until she finished the meal and went back to playing.

Half a dozen songs later, she left the tavern and made her way the little tanning shed. Once she was chilled from the icy shower and once more dressed in her Whites, she made her way back to the Collegium. Tiredly brushing down Balin in his stall when she heard raised voices from a few stalls down.

"Keren, no one has found her or her Companion anywhere around for the past five marks and you wonder why half the Collegium is panicking?"

"No, I don't wonder, but it would hardly be the first time that a Herald has left the Collegium to be by herself for a few marks. She probably is just spending some time at the Bell, Talia."

"She was not at the Bell when I came back with Kero and Alberich. Believe me, Alberich would have noticed Balin stabled there with how frantic he was. I have never seen him that angry before, not even before I was Chosen." a familiar male voice from nearby chimed in.

"Skif, that does not seem like our Weaponsmaster, not with him sounding like he meant to meddle like some old village granny." Talia pointed out, a bit archly.

"No, little sister, it is not. But if she is who Kero told you, then that would explain him being in a dark mood like this. He poured his heart out in trying to find the Calmun Golsa and that damned brothel. Losing them less than a sennight after we caught Vatean and that damned mess he was running was like a bone in Alberich's craw. To find out that one of them was still alive - Alberich will not risk having her die in truth this time."

Another male sigh came from further past. "I'll send out the Guard to look for Balin again." It took Callie a second to recognize the rumbling baritone as the voice of the Lord Marshal's Herald.

"Thank you, Griffon. Let us hope Keren is right. I for one do not want to deal with Alberich's temper if we are not."

Callie took care to sneak out of the stables the way she had come and went to bed, letting the conversation repeat in her head until she finally fell into sleep a few candle marks before dawn.