A sharp crack echoed down the alley – the sound of a supple cane slamming against some solid surface. A handful of heads turned towards the harsh noise; others stole glances, but none stopped or came forward to see what was going on. The pedestrians went about their business and even the sentries in the nearby square seemed to pay no mind.

"I have eyes, brat!" The blind beggar snapped, "Tell me something I didn't see, or don't be wasting my time."

Liam looked to where he had been standing just a moment before and swallowed: the cane had struck a row of old wooden planks, and some now lay fallen and splintered in the muck. If he had not reacted quickly enough to leap away, it would have been his legs instead.

"There were nobles, sir," Liam said.

"Nobles?" The beggar leaned forward, "How many?"

"There were four in a coach – three coaches."

He paused as the beggar's mouth fell open into a confused expression as he cocked his head.

"Twelve Nobles, sir," Liam added hurriedly. "With big men on horses guarding them."

"I can count, you little shit!" The man hissed, his putrid breath washing over the boy's face, "Nobles don't grow on trees! How can there've been twelve at once?"

Liam backed away, eyeing the once-again brandished cane warily even as his mind worked to turn out something of value.

"I-It was twelve ladies," the boy said tentatively, "dressed all clean and fine. The men were in colours too: armed with steel. That means they were guarding noble ladies, right?"

"You followed them?" The beggar asked.

Of course he followed them: how else could he have counted who was inside such high carriages? The retort would have the cane flying towards him again, however, so he just followed the beggar's line of questioning.

"They turned on the lord's road, sir," he nodded. "I followed and watched from near the manor."

"Then you saw them come out," the beggar's eyes narrowed. "What did they all look like?"

"All young and pretty, sir," the boy replied. "There were Elf women too!"

That detail was rare enough to be important, but the beggar only scowled in return.

"There's no such thing as Elf nobles, you nit! How were they dressed? Was there anyone made better than the others?"

Liam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force out the details from his memory.

"Three, sir," his eyes popped open again. "Three ladies in better dresses than the rest, all from the carriage in the middle. They didn't look too good when they came out, sir. The…servant? The other one that came out with them ran to a hedge and got sick."

The beggar frowned. Perhaps that detail wasn't so important.

"Was there anything on the side of the carriage?" The beggar asked, "Any pictures on the coloured men?"

"There was…a silver wheel on brown, on the side of the carriage," Liam answered. "A silver cup on blue, too."

The man's expression twisted sourly.

"Easterners," he spat. "What was the last one?"

""There was only two on my side, sir," Liam told him. "The other side was facing the manor."

"…useless."

The beggar dug his fingers into the cracked wooden cup in front of him. There were several copper coins within but, when he withdrew his hand, only a single coin remained.

"But–!"

Liam stilled his tongue as the cane drifted up again. He snatched the copper coin out of the cup, and scurried away with his head down. A passing woman clicked her tongue at the sight of a waif stealing from a blind beggar.

Twilight had fallen on Fassett Town, the ancestral seat of House Fassett. It was plain that things weren't going so well. The wagons from the west stopped coming since the taking of E-Rantel, save for a handful which had headed straight through. The shops and inns were still and empty, and every day it seemed the air over the streets grew heavier.

The county's vast expanse of dense forests over rugged hills meant that there wasn't an abundance of farmland, and the distance from markets both east and west made things more expensive to ship goods out and in. A long time ago, the nobles tried opening quarries and mines, but failed – and so the highway became the life's blood of the town over generations.

Palming the copper coin in his hand, Liam made his way quickly through the narrow back streets and muddy alleys strewn with filth. New information was valuable, and news about nobles made the brokers more open-handed than they would otherwise be. Through the gloom, he spotted the ghostly figures of other children like himself, looking to pawn off what they had learned to those who could make sense out of what they had to share. It was a race to see who could collect the most coin before knowledge of the events grew old and stale.

After meandering a block or two, he spotted his next mark.

"Miss, miss!" He said excitedly, "Did you hear the news?"

An old lady that had seen too many years turned her pruned face towards him from where she looked out of a window.

"Oh my," she said, "what's this about now, my dear?"

"Nobles have come to town," Liam replied, "with fancy coaches and armed men!"

The wind blew stale air through the streets, tossing wisps of the woman's thin grey hair about. A crack opened in her squinty eyes.

A few minutes later, he left the old crone with another coin.

One more. I need one more.

Liam searched for one more broker on the outskirts of the town. He made his way halfway around before his steps slowed at the edge of the highway and he looked to the fading horizon. Too much time had passed, and there was little chance what he knew was worth anything at this point.

He looked down and uncurled his fingers. Two coins could buy two chunks of bread, a third would mean a small strip of salted meat. They needed at least that much. He needed to find something else of value. An angry shout in the distance drew his attention: a small crowd was spilling out from a warehouse into the street nearby.

An oppressive atmosphere filled the dimly-lit surroundings as he came close. With crossed arms and clenched fists, grown men of all sorts pressed in on the warehouse door. Angry mutters filled the air. In the shadows around the crowd, women and children had backed well away from the building, sensing the tension that mounted around them.

"If you don't like it, leave," a loud voice sounded over the crowd.

There was a rough-looking man at the entrance, flanked by several of the town militia. They did not share the thin and ragged look of the people gathered around them on the street.

"It ain't about liking it or not!" A man shouted back, "We got mouths to feed – you can't just double the price of bread like that!"

Liam's steps slowed. He stopped at a corner near the edge of the scene.

"We just did," the man standing in front of the warehouse said. "If you can't pay, then you can work for the town. Fighting men get food."

Liam left as shouts once again rose. From street to shadowed street he ran. All the stores of food told the same story: the price of bread had doubled – the third time in as many weeks. He needed something he could sell. He looked about desperately, eyes darting over the streets and alleys, searching for opportunities. His gaze crossed over the town square and the row of bodies swaying from the large gibbet in the middle. Man or woman, young or old, it didn't matter: the starving weren't even allowed to hunt or forage on the lord's land – on pain of death.

In contrast to the macabre scene, brightly coloured flags and banners fluttered over the magically illuminated pavement. The highway and main roads had been scoured clean, the storefronts renovated and repainted. Countess Fassett had announced that it was an order from E-Rantel, preparations for the trade that would once again flow through the duchy, returning prosperity to their town. He wondered what sort of sick joke this was. Beneath the thin veneer of celebration, its people were desperate and starving and things only grew worse.

Liam shed his angry thoughts: the fuming of a child could not be turned into coin. He recalled the nobles in their luxurious coaches that went to visit at the Fassett manor and decided it was his best chance to learn something that could go towards earning food.

The lord's manor was constructed up on a hill overlooking the town, ringed by a tall hedge. Footmen stood guard at the entrance where the dirt road led into the estate but, for the most part, they would not bother chasing after curious onlookers unless they came too close. It was from his current vantage that he had watched the carriages roll into the estate and the noblewomen step out.

To his relief, the carriages were still parked in front of the manor. The estate's grounds were brightly lit and, occasionally, pairs of manservants appeared to look around. He needed to get closer, but he had never been beyond this point for fear of being caught and beaten by the sentries. A dancing light appeared in the darkness – two footmen patrolling around the outside of the grounds, one of them holding a pole from which a lantern hung. They stopped to talk with the men at the entrance to the estate.

After waiting to see how long they would stay to continue their conversation, Liam slipped into the trees that ringed the base of the hill. The land between the hedge and the treeline was purposely cleared so that those intruding upon the grounds could be easily spotted, so he had to spend time picking his way around through the undergrowth. As the sounds of the town grew distant, faint conversation from the estate could be heard. He stopped and strained his ears as the voices of women floated over the hedge, but no words could be made out.

Out of the darkness, the bobbing light of the patrol appeared again, tracing the edges of the estate. He peered at the hedge. Was it thick enough to hide him entirely? Or would he be left with his arms and legs awkwardly sticking out? There should be more than enough time to return if that was the case. After the light passed and disappeared out of his line of sight he loped forward, low over the ground as he made his way towards the part of the leafy wall which was letting through the least light. The voices grew louder, and he changed his direction to get closer to them. He jumped at a sudden noise and dove under the hedge.

Too loud!

Too loud; too sudden. Surely someone had noticed. He opened one eye cautiously, then the other, as if doing so would make him less conspicuous. Before him he saw a portion of a pristine, blossoming garden illuminated by magical fixtures, carefully cultivated and well-maintained. The shadowed portion he had been startled into was cast by a large tree in the corner of the grounds.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips. He couldn't see anything past the tree, so no one looking out in his direction would have seen him either. He inched his way around under the dense bushes – if he could match the different voices with the speakers within, surely he could get more than enough for his trouble.

No one had come out to check on the source of the noise which accompanied his clumsy entry, so he settled his nerves before edging out into the shadows cast by the garden lights. Liam looked at the hedge behind the tree, seeing how the shadows were cast to best conceal himself. He took several deep breaths before looking around the massive trunk.

In the garden beyond, not fifty metres away, several women were reclining around a polished marble table near to an open fire. Upon the table was a shiny tray, plated with slices of sausage and cheese alongside rows of light crackers and a ring of candied fruits. The boy's gaze lingered on the food; he forced himself to ignore it lest his hunger give him away.

Seated facing one another, the finely dressed women he had seen from before basked in the warmth of the flames as the coolness of the evening fell around them. He could finally clearly hear their conversation. Squatting in place, he tried to match their voices: he didn't even know who the noblewomen were, so appearance would be the best he had for now. His gaze went from figure to figure until he realized one of the servants – the one who had gotten sick – standing near the trio on one side was looking directly at him.

Her dark eyes reflected the flickering flame and the corner of her mouth turned up in a bemused expression. His breath caught in his throat – there was no way she did not know he was there…but how? Liam withdrew behind the tree again before turning to press his face to the ground: looking under the border hedge for signs of the patrol outside. He needed to get away before she raised the alarm.

"Camilla, is something the matter?" A woman's voice floated over from the garden, "There isn't something frightening out there, I hope."

"Not at all, my lady," came the reply. "An amusing thought crossed my mind."

"Only someone like you could find amusement with such dreadful business at hand," the first woman said. "We can't afford to be distracted here."

"Of course, my lady," Camilla replied again. "My apologies."