The next day, Courfeyrac had been feeling quite cheerful that morning. The weather had been positively balmy and the mood in the city had lightened. There were rumours that the blockade may be slowly lifting and the distinct possibilities of food in the shops of King's Landing at last might soon come to pass.

"You staying out of trouble, are ye?" he said noticing the urchin in his over-sized clothes as he approached him. He couldn't help liking the plucky little urchin, always stopping to chat if he had time or slipping him some coin or a treat if he could afford it.

"I'm awright. Thing's ain't so bad-" he broke off, as if distracted by the approach of someone else. Courfeyrac turned to see a ragged urchin with haunted eyes staring at them from the entrance of an alleyway.

I'm sure I've seen that one before, or kids that looked a lot like that. This is the second time this week I've noticed it.

Gavroche bared his teeth, and growled rather like a little savage warning off a rival. The ragged child got the hint and disappeared down an alleyway, but not before giving him one last lingering look as if committing his face to memory.

"What was that all about?" he asked Gavroche, ruffling the lad's messy blonde hair to hide how disturbed he was by the incident.

Gavroche gave him an odd look, still searching for the urchin. "Did ye not noticed you were being followed, guv?"

Courfeyrac had convinced himself that he had been imagining it and those small children with haunted eyes were a fragment of his imagination. It was more than disconcerting to realise that they were very much real.

"Followed? By who?"

"Them kids." Gavroche looked up at him with an impatient gesture.

"They're not one of yours?"

Gavroche scoffed. "Nah, they're not. Ain't seen them before but I know their type, ennit? There's a bunch of them encroaching on our territory. The rest of us don't like it, not one bit. This is our patch!"

"Have ye seen them before?" Courfeyrac asked him.

"We caught one of them, trapped them down an alleyway and started asking questions." he leant forward to confide in the older man, little grubby face worried. "-you wouldn't believe but they couldn't speak!"

"Couldn't speak?"

Gavroche nodded. "Nah, they couldn't. Not a peep! No tongue, you see-"

If that was not ominous he didn't know what was. Why would he be followed though? What would they want?

Do you think this is to do with our group and it's aims? Or is this connected with the beautiful high-born maiden Enjolras was aiding and seemed more than a little intrigued by? Things were getting more complicated by the second.

"I think you'd best tell the others guv...it might be nothing but ye'd better not risk it." Gavroche counselled.

Courfeyrac wasn't so sure, he worried about being seen as being as cagey and paranoid as Enjolras could be at his worst, but the lad had a point.

Courfeyrac had just decided not to broach the subject of these mysterious followers lest he be deemed paranoid when Grantaire of all people brought the issue up while they were waiting for their meeting to start. It soon turned out the situation was a lot worse than he'd first suspected.

"I feel like I'm being paranoid but I would swear I was being followed." Grantaire remarked on his entrance. He sat in his usual spot, bottle of Arbor red already open by his habitual table.

"Followed, by whom?" Enjolras asked.

"Little ragged kids with big haunted eyes. Saw at least two of them tailing me down the street. Had to make a long detour to shake 'em off."

"Are you sure this wasn't just some hallucination? You weren't drunk were you?"

"No!" Grantaire protested. "For once I was sober, albeit nursing a sore head. But it happened more than once and there was more than one of 'em. Creepy little buggers they were."

Courfeyrac felt impelled to speak now, backing up the artist's claim.

Something was definitely going on, it might be nothing but the rest of the group had to be warned. This was far too much of a coincidence to ignore.

"Same thing happened to me this morning. Two of them tailing me." he admitted. "Little Gavroche noticed as well. I asked him whether they were one of his gang, but he didn't know them. They're intruding on his patch-"

"He's got a point. I think I was followed by one as well. A little girl in raggedy tunic and shorts-" Joly said, looking troubled. "She looked rather ill, but didn't speak when I turned and questioned her. I suspect she'd lost her tongue."

"Lost her tongue?" Jehan said a faintly horrified tone. "How dreadful!"

"Aye! Gavroche said that his team caught one of them and-" Courfeyrac's voice fell to a conspiratorial whisper. "-their tongue had been removed."

"Why would anyone be so cruel to do that?" Jehan looked positively distressed at the thought of a child being maimed on purpose. "Those poor, poor children-"

Combeferre chewed thoughtfully on the end of his quill, thinking carefully.

Enjolras was alarmed at the look on Sansa's face. She froze, her face drained unpleasantly pale.

"What is it, Milady?" he asked her in a low urgent voice. "What do you know?"

She gave him a hesitant look, biting her lip. "Have you never heard of Lord Varys and his 'sparrows'?" She lowered her voice, as if she were afraid to speak loud for fear of being overheard.

"His sparrows?"

"The Master of Whispers, they call him...He employs little boys and girls to spy for him. The tales say he cuts out their tongues so they can't be questioned if they are caught. They are loyal to him alone-"

"And these are his own personal spies?"

She nodded.

"So why are they following us?"

"Do you think they suspect our aims?" Enjolras fretted.

The threat that they could be watched by their enemies without even realising it, chilled him. The authorities tailing our every move, compiling evidence against the group. Damning us without us even knowing...

"I don't know but I'm afraid. Those items I gave you to sell...what if they were on the look-out for them?" Sansa fretted.

Enjolras didn't like the sound of this at all.Who were these people who searched for this maiden so assidiously and why was she so terrified of being found?

Why was she so keen to go undercover and accept the humble help that she'd been offered by the group. To work in a humble tavern and crop her hair in order not to be found?

She'd confided that she'd run away from home and that she would be be hurt if she was found.

How did everything link up, these mysterious spies Sansa seemed to fear and her flight from the palace- he presumed she must be linked to the place now, all the pieces of the puzzle so far seemed to fit?

Who was this maiden?

"You think the silversmith would have betrayed us? You suspect they might be looking for you, milady?"

She quailed at the sharpness in his voice but she held her ground. "I don't know, ser-"

"Oh seven hells!" Grantaire downed his drink.

"It doesn't sound good, does it?" Combeferre said.

Sansa had to go back to work behind the bar, but the friends were still discussing this very unwelcome turn of events.

"So we're being watched. This is not good, none of this is good." Enjolras said on a low voice as they huddled in their usual alcove downstairs.

"We should have suspected something like this was going to happen. Whoever is searching for the girl probably realised those were the only things of value she possessed. As soon as they went on sale-" he didn't even need to finish off his sentence. Those items led them straight to us.

"We were very careful about selling the items in different shops. The cover story was good...I thought of it myself." Combeferre frowned. "-how long do you think these 'little birds' have been following us all?"

"Who knows but if even Grantaire noticed something was amiss...it could have been days!" it was not a pleasant thought.

"It's done. We can't fret about it now. But I have to say 'tis very unfortunate. This is the last thing we need right now, with the Goldcloaks on the prowl and the authorities probably seeking reprisals for the riot."

The group looked at each other all thinking the same dark thought, what if? What if she's a spy? After all she did seem to know one hell of a lot about the Master of Whispers and his troupe of juvenile spies...

"Who is she, and why are they seeking her so thoroughly?" Combeferre asked. "What has the girl done?"

"I don't know. The lass keeps her secrets very close."