Cerys continued to try and decipher the cryptic jumble of draconic letters in the old leather tome. It occupied her time, at least, until Shandri Kulenov returned to town, along with the other judges of the annual Pig Agility. Her parents were less than thrilled at the way she had confined herself to her bedroom to study in silence and solitude, and they were more than less than thrilled at how she had taken her mother's dressing table and one of the chairs from downstairs and locked them away in her room with her.

So it was fair to say both Ann and Igor were relieved when - after days of isolation - their daughter finally joined them for breakfast and sat down to eat with them rather than retreating to her room before they could rope her into doing something to help around the farm.

Ann watched her daughter closely, ladling porridge into her bowl. She pushed the bowl over to Cerys' side of the table, although her hand hovered nearby as if she might grab it were Cerys to try to make a hasty retreat with it. Cerys returned the watchful gaze, doing her very best to keep her expression blank as possible. Ann was not a stupid woman, despite what her daughter thought, and both were very aware of the game the other was playing. Finally, with a sharp sigh, Ann brought her hand away from Cerys' bowl and sat down in her own usual seat.

The wooden spoon clattered against the side of Igor's dish. He'd managed to finish his own breakfast in the time it had taken Cerys and Ann to decide who would be the first one to give up the staring contest between the two. They looked to him in unison, and sighed the same sigh, in the way that only a mother and daughter could.

"So are we actually going to have a hand today, or are you back off to your room like the insensitive girl you are?" Igor asked.

Cerys turned her head down to the porridge before her and rolled her eyes. "Actually, as I glanced out of my window this morning, I chanced upon Ms Shandri Kulenov," she said. "I need to have a word with her."

"Oh, that's right," Ann said, raising a finger in the air, as if she might have something important to say. "You were going to ask about entering Westra into the agility next year, weren't you?" she asked.

Cerys stared at her porridge, her eyes widening in evident frustration. No. She had not been going in search of Shandri Kulenov to ask about entering any of their pigs into anything. She'd said nothing of the sort. She'd merely asked her parents to notify her if they spotted Shandri Kulenov in town. Admittedly, she hadn't corrected them when they'd assumed her reason for seeking the woman out was somehow related to future Pig Agility contests, but she'd not the time nor patience to explain anything to her parents.

"Well, I don't know how long she will remain in Secomber for," Cerys said. "So I really ought to make haste." With that, she spooned several dollops of the porridge into her mouth, and rose to her feet, still swallowing, leaving the majority of the contents of her breakfast still in the bowl.

"You've barely touched your breakfast," her mother said, and Cerys smiled in a way that strongly suggested she was aware, and did not care to eat any more. "You'll waste away, you know. No man will want that. Men like a woman with a bit of meat on her bones, right Igor?"

"Right, right," Igor grunted affirmatively, though Cerys was not sure if he even knew what it was exactly he was agreeing to. Looking up from his empty bowl, he eyed Cerys' leftovers with a great deal of greed, before turning his gaze to his daughter. Looking her up and down, he tutted and shook his head. "If you're not careful, people will mistake you for a skellington, dear."

"Skeleton."

"What?"

"You said skellington. It's skeleton," Cerys said in a sigh.

"Oh, what… and you're some kind of an-"

"No. I'm not an expert, father, but it's skeleton, not skellington," she said, already regretting ever correcting him. He puffed his cheeks out in anger, his rosy cheeks reddening further, and she was reminded of the fever that may well have killed him had she not given into Diero Astorio's seemingly senseless demands.

"Oh pack it in, Cerys! He can say it however he likes!" Ann snapped.

"He can, certainly," Cerys agreed, glancing down at her father's snaking grasp, reaching for her unfinished breakfast, "but it's still the wrong word."

Ann huffed and glowered at Cerys as she pulled the younger woman's bowl towards her, and out of the reach of Igor, who looked up - startled. This went unnoticed by Ann who rose to her feet in one sharp motion, and stacked the bowls with one hand, flapping the other towards the door. "Get going, you little know-it-all!" she said, but despite her unpleasant tone, Cerys was certain her mother was more teasing than anything else. Regardless, she did not appreciate being teased when she was not the one mispronouncing simple enough words.

Backing away from the table, Cerys dabbed at her mouth with her fingers whilst making her way towards where her boots lay at the foot of the door. Slipping them on, she was about to leave without lacing them up, when she caught sight of her mother's mortified expression. Scoffing, she knelt down and tightened the laces before knotting them in a neat bow. She cast an inquisitive glance her mother's way, and Ann returned a satisfied look of her own, bowing her head and nodding to the door. Cerys shook her own, and pulled it open, letting in a rush of fresh air from the dewy morning outside. She took a deep breath before stepping out into the cool morning sun.

She found Shandri with some ease. The woman tended to attract a crowd. She travelled much for her work, and often brought back interesting knick knacks Cerys would classify as worthless tat. Nonetheless, others in town were only too eager to get a good look at the ornaments Baldur's Gate, Greenest, and Waterdeep had to offer, and so they crowded her. Today was no exception. When Cerys located Shandri near the town hall, she was being crowded by a good dozen people who really ought to have been doing their jobs. Not that Cerys was one to talk.

Standing somewhere near the back, she managed to catch Shandri's gaze. The woman seemed surprised to see Cerys, presumably as Cerys had never shown any interest in Shandri, and she had certainly never shown any interest towards Shandri's hopeless taste in useless ornaments. Smiling to excuse herself, Shandri pushed her way to the crowd and made her way to Cerys.

"Miss Jones. This is a surprise," she said. "Congratulations, once again, for Wilmorn's phenomenal win… last month was it?"

"Something like that" Cerys said, and Shandri smiled apologetically.

"It gets hard to keep track of time when you travel so much," she said. "Anyway, enough about me - is there anything I can help you with?" she asked.

Cerys' eyes narrowed. She wasn't aware that Shandri had said anything about herself, and so the apology seemed out of place and falsely polite. She did not return Shandri's smile. Instead, she nodded firmly.

"As a matter of fact, there is," she said, "and I was wondering if, perhaps, we might speak in private," she said. Shandri looked uncertain, but Cerys kept her expression sincere. "It is about the Pig Agility and Wilmorn," she added. This seemed to sway Shandri who took in a deep breath, and nodded.

"Please," she said, gesturing for Cerys to follow her, before turning and leading Cerys down the wide streets of Secomber and to her cottage - a homely cottage that rivalled Diero Astorio's in beauty. The thatched roof seemed brand new. Cerys could not remember anyone doing any work on Shandri Kulenov's house, but then, Cerys was not particularly fussed about the happenings of Shandri Kulenov's life.

Shandri led Cerys inside, past the freshly painted yellow door, and into a pleasantly bright sitting room. Lining the walls were paintings of oddly beautiful pigs, though Cerys felt only despair at the sight of them, knowing - only too well - her father would have quite happily decorated his own bedroom like this, had he only the money to do so. She was momentarily grateful that she'd given up on her attempt to learn how to paint in her childhood, lest she have been forced to replicate the atrocity that was Shandri Kulenov's sitting room.

Shandri gestured to one of the settees, of which there were two, both draped with matching pale green throws, each embroidered with painfully twee floral motifs. Cerys nodded, though she could think of nothing she wanted to do less than sit down on either of them.

She'd hoped she might be able to hover, but Shandri continued to stare at her until she - with a great deal of reluctance - lowered herself into the seat. As Cerys had suspected, the settee was entirely too soft, and she found herself sinking into the cushions beneath her. Shandri smiled.

"I'll fetch some tea," she said, and before Cerys could protest, Shandri was gone.

Throwing her head back, Cerys took a deep breath to calm herself. She did not want to stay long enough for tea, particularly not surrounded by the disturbing imagery of pigs in petticoats and tailcoats, frolicking beside rivers in the moonlight, or playing upon rope swings. Gritting her teeth, she also could not ignore the undeniably musky scent of a room that had not been aired in a month. Regardless, she waited patiently for Shandri's return.

When Shandri did return, she returned with a polished silver tray carrying two dainty porcelain teacups, painted with similar floral designs to the throws on the settees, and a tall silver teapot. Also on the tray was a small wooden dish filled with sugar, a small jug filled with milk, and three small spoons. Cerys could feel the bile rising in her throat.

Her father had raised the prize-winning pig, and yet he lived from week to week, not knowing if he would have the money to feed his family on any given day. Meanwhile, Shandri Kulenov spent her time travelling from town to town, merely looking at pigs and deciding which one should win the meaningless prize for running the fastest, or looking the prettiest, or tasting the best - and she was paid to do it, and paid quite handsomely from the looks of it. It seemed unjust. Cerys knew it was not Shandri's fault. Regardless, she still resented her for it.

"Tea?" Shandri asked.

Cerys stared blankly, before shrugging with a scoff. "Why not," she said. If Shandri was put off in any way by Cerys' evident distaste for the situation, she did not let it show. Continuing as if Cerys had responded with emphatic affirmation, she smiled broadly, and poured the tea from the tall silver teapot into one of the porcelain teacups, before picking it up on its saucer and offering it to Cerys.

Cerys eyed the milk and the sugar. She did not much care for milk - or for tea, for that matter - but she supposed it would take longer for her tea to cool enough to drink if she did not saturate it with milk. She waited for Shandri to be done with the milk, before taking the jug and emptying the remainder of the contents into her own teacup. The cup filled so much that the liquid was spared from spilling due only to the surface tension.

She did not dare tempt fate by stirring it, and instead lowered her head to sip from the cup, until it was empty enough to risk lifting it.

Shandri watched with a great deal of uncertainty. Sipping from her own cup, she swallowed a mouthful of tea, before placing it back down upon its saucer, and placing the saucer on the ash wood table in front of the settees. She took a seat opposite Cerys.

"So, Miss Jones… how might I help you?" she asked. "You mentioned it was about Wilmorn. Is everything alright?"

With a grim smile, Cerys grunted affirmatively. "Well, that is just it, Ms Kulenov. Wilmorn is dead."

Shandri gasped, her eyes wide in shock. "I… I am terribly sorry to hear that. I do hope you will pass my condolences on to your father," she said. "If you don't mind my asking… what happened?" she asked. "Wilmorn seemed healthy to me."

"And that, Ms Kulenov, is precisely why I wanted to talk to you," Cerys said. "Wilmorn was healthy. He was not just healthy, but - arguably - in his prime. He was fit enough to win a competition," she said. Shandri nodded for her to continue. "Yet, only days after the contest, our beloved Wilmorn passed away."

"Do you know how?" she asked.

"I do," Cerys said. "Wilmorn contracted filth fever."

Shandri gasped again, and looked around the room, as if she might spy a plagued rat amongst her personal effects. Cerys was absolutely certain a rat would have better taste than to make its home amongst Shandri's tacky belongings.

"However," Cerys said, drawing Shandri's attention again, "he was not bitten," she added. "Furthermore… while I have not told anyone this - not even my parents - all three of us were also afflicted by the disease."

"And were you bitten?"

"To my knowledge, no one in my family was bitten," she said. "Which, of course, brings about the question… how were any of us afflicted by the disease in the first place?"

"One could only guess, Miss Jones."

"Perhaps." Cerys paused to sigh. "Though, I think it is rather suspect that none of our other pigs have been diseased. Only Wilmorn. I can think of only one thing dear Wilmorn, my parents, and I each had in common… and that is the cake we all shared after Wilmorn won first prize at the contest."

Shandri hesitated, frozen in place. For a moment, she looked horrified, as if Cerys might be accusing her of poisoning the cake. Cerys forced herself to smile - a weak, half-hearted smile - and that seemed to relieve some of Shandri's fears. No longer fearful she'd been accused of attempted murder, she placed her hands together and looked down at where they rested in her lap, deep in thought.

"Well… it is certainly a theory, Miss Jones."

"A theory is all I have right now. If I am wrong - and I hope I am - investigating this lead further will do nothing to enlighten me as to how I, my family, and our pig contracted such a vile illness," she said. "So… I must ask. Where was the cake kept prior to it being brought out onto stage at the town hall? Who had access to the cake? And finally, did you have any enemies or rivals?" she asked.

"Me? What would any rivals of mine have to do with this?" she asked.

"It is quite possible somebody wanted to ruin you."

"But I never eat the cake."

"Perhaps they didn't want to kill you, Ms Kulenov. Perhaps they merely wanted to see your career fall apart, leaving you without the money to… to sustain this lifestyle," Cerys said, gesturing around to the hideous and woefully expensive decorations littering the walls and sideboards.

Shandri's brows rose up her forehead and she picked her tea up to take another sip. "I… I can't think of anyone who would want to see me fail enough to risk killing someone else," she said. "And my only rival is in Greenest. I have not seen her here in Secomber. I have no idea how she would get to the cake. It is more likely you were the target of this."

Cerys shrugged. "So where was the cake and who had access to it?"

"The cake is kept in a side room - in one of Mr Jassan's cold tins to keep it fresh - and I can't say it's exactly… guarded, but… I'm certain if someone brought a rat into the town hall someone would have noticed. Anyone with the key would have had access to the side room," she said. "Oh dear, Miss Jones… I'm distraught that this happened at one of my contests. I cannot believe someone would target you!"

"Nor can I," Cerys said, then paused, before correcting herself. "Nor do I."

"I… sorry?"

"Every year, Mrs Lavinia Greenbottle wins the cake," Cerys said. "You are right - someone would have noticed if a live rat had been brought into the town hall - and furthermore, we'd have seen someone else diseased with filth fever, unless they had somehow worn thick clothes to protect themself from the rat's bite - and then we would have noticed that, too. I mean… can you imagine someone wearing thick clothes in such heat?"

"Are you sure no one else has had filth fever?"

"Diero Astorio is trying to get to the bottom of this. He is, of course, one of the few people in this town who can cure filth fever - and so he would be aware if someone else had contracted it."

"So then, what?"

"I suspect my family, I, and our pig were not the targets of this malicious crime," Cerys said. "At first, my gut reaction was to suspect Mrs Greenbottle, but she could not have had a chance to poison the cake, and I am beginning to wonder if perhaps she was the target. After all, she is normally the one to win, is she not?" she asked.

Shandri nodded. "Yes. I… I mean no offence, but it took us all by surprise when Wilmorn took home any prize, never mind first place," she said. "Your father has never entered into a contest before, so we certainly had our doubts."

Cerys snorted. She had tried to make that point to her father when he'd insisted on entering Wilmorn into the contest. She'd attempted to explain to him how hard it was to win such a contest anyway, but he'd asked her when she'd gone to study Pig Agility contests, and had disregarded her input. Cerys might have even gone so far as to say she was more crushed by Wilmorn's win than Lavinia Greenbottle. Ever since the contest, Cerys' father had challenged her on almost everything she'd tried to say.

"Trust me," she said, "we were as surprised. But if no one thought we would win, it stands to reason we were not the target."

Shandri nodded. She leaned back in the chair. Cerys had to admit the pale green complimented Shandri's dark complexion quite favourably. It did nothing for her own pasty skin tone, however. She loathed to admit it, but she was warming to the woman.

"This is very concerning," Shandri said. "There hasn't been anything like this since the Hydrangea Heist of fourteen seventy nine," she added, "and that wasn't something so serious as this - not even close. I feel terrified to think there is someone walking our streets who has a vendetta against poor Lavinia."

Cerys didn't feel terrified. She thought, perhaps, she ought to. Especially considering she was starting to pry, and if someone would try to kill Lavinia Greenbottle over some feud, she could only imagine what that same person would do to someone actively hunting them. She hadn't ruled out that it might be the very woman sat across from her. It was, after all, awfully convenient that she had left town the evening following the contest. Still, she knew Lavinia Greenbottle would never talk to any of her family, and she was most likely to speak with Shandri Kulenov. Cerys was certain they were friends.

"Would you speak with Mrs Greenbottle?" Cerys asked. "Could you find out if she has had any trouble with anyone recently?"

Nodding in response, Shandi sighed. "Of course. I'm assuming you'd rather I didn't divulge what you have told me here today," she said.

"Naturally," Cerys said. "If you were to tell Mrs Greenbottle, I worry she might go after this person - assuming it is even the right person - and that will only make matters worse," she said. "No, if you could speak with her, and then let me know what you find out, I can forward that information on, to Mr Astorio."

"Would you rather I didn't go to Mr Astorio?"

"Well, only that if someone is watching us - it makes far more sense for you and I to have a chat than for you and a Mr Astorio. After all, it was my pig who won the Pig Agility," she said, and after considering it for a brief moment, Shandri nodded. "Speaking of which, my parents wish to enter Westra next year."

"Westra?" Shandri asked, cocking her head to the side. She scratched her cheek, and stared at a blank space on the wall behind Cerys, as if the name seemed familiar. "Oh! Westra is the one with the black ears, is she not?" she asked, leaving Cerys stunned. Cerys barely knew the names of a handful of her father's pigs, she could not fathom how a woman who was barely in town would know any of them.

"Well… I… yes."

"Oh… oh no. I wouldn't submit Westra," she said. "Her legs are very short."

"My father thinks her small size will work in her favour," Cerys said, but Shandri simply shook her head.

"Personally, I would err on the side of caution with a pig like Westra," she said, then paused. "Mind you… no one expected Wilmorn to win; he certainly wasn't a typical pick for an agility contest, so perhaps your father has an eye for something I don't," she added with a chuckle. "Who knows, perhaps he should be doing my job?"

Cerys laughed. "Don't tell him that. He's already rather bitter that I shan't be marrying Madevic Vargoba, and that we therefore shan't be moving to Waterdeep. If he had a chance at moving to a big city to judge pigs for a living..." She didn't finish the sentence. Shandri smiled fondly. "Well, while I thoroughly enjoyed our chat, Ms Kulenov-"

"Shandri. Please."

"Certainly. While I thoroughly enjoyed our chat… Shandri," she said, casting Shandri a pointed look as she said her name, who scrunched her nose up in a smile, "I had best be on my way. I have some important things to attend to."

"Of course, Miss Jones. It was an absolute pleasure to have you around. Please feel free to drop by any time, and I will seek you out when I have had a chance to speak with my dear friend, Lavinia."

Nodding in appreciation, Cerys finished the last of her tea, and pulled herself out of her seat - although she struggled a little, with how far down she had sunk. Shandri stood up, leaving her cup on the table. She took Cerys' cup from her and placed it down beside her own. She led Cerys back through the house, and to the front door, waving as she saw her out.

Cerys waved back, and headed back towards the village centre. Nodding to herself, she found herself surprised at how well the conversation had gone.