I didn't want to spend any more time in this house than I had to. I hurried out of the basement. I almost went back out the window, then rolled my eyes at myself and threw the front door open. The crowd gasped. Someone instinctively threw a rock they had been holding. I jerked back and it hit the door. Taervelaine called, "Valac! You've returned."

The crowd parted from the gate and I hurried to it.

He pulled me aside, but the crowd was eager for news and everyone strained to hear. I looked around nervously. I couldn't think of the right words to say. I said, "There are a couple guards in there that need to be arrested. But the house should be safe now. No sign of the werewolf."

"Good work, Valac. We'll talk more later," Taervelaine promised me, before he turned back to address the mob. I slunk away to Aela.

She said, "Did you find anything?"

I rubbed my temples. "Yes. No? That thing in the well is gone. Talia went to see if she could find out where it's left to." I looked back at the house, then at her. "We have to find evidence against van Umber, before the guard quashes the riot."

Her expression darkened to anger. "Isn't our accusation enough?"

"I doubt it. He's backed up by nobles." I inclined my head. "We should hurry." While there was still momentum against the Fangbergs, we had to use it.

I did not have a very good plan, but I did have a plan. As we got to the Gauntlet, I said, "Aela, can you make a distraction? I need to get up to his office."

She thought for a moment, then nodded determinedly. We hurried past the outer guard, into the fort. As Aela strode forward, loudly addressing the disciples, I snuck around her. My heart pounded and I hurried to the door. It wasn't locked. Grateful, I slipped inside. I didn't know how long she could occupy everyone.

I hurried up the steps, but paused at the case with Saint Listra's effects. I looked at the ring on my finger, that I had found in the house, and at the counterfeit. It was more evidence against van Umber, but I worried it would be turned on me, since I held it now. Besides, returning it was the right thing to do. I slipped the ring off of my finger and set it on top of the counterfeit, before I hurried past. This door was locked.

I pulled out my lockpicks and went to work. I was sweating with the anxiety of what I was doing and my fingers kept slipping, but I managed.

It opened. I put the picks back and shouldered open the door, closing it behind me. I looked around. If I were hiding something incriminating, where would I hide it?

I strode around the desk. I left the unlocked ones alone and grabbed my picks to work on the locked drawer.

Pounding hooves. An armored knight, lance lowered. Banner whipping in the wind.

I shook my head, trying to banish the vision. Not now! Something clanked and I looked up. My eyes widened. The suit of armor was entirely empty, yet it walked. My master had such devices, and I paled. What could I do against it?

It moved slowly toward me, its movements janky. It lifted a heavy pike. It stood before a window.

I leaped over the desk and my shoulder hit it in a tackle. I grabbed its breastplate and heaved. Glass shattered as I tossed the entire thing bodily right through the window. It hit the ground with a resounding clang that had to have been heard all around the keep. I had minutes at most. I heaved the bar over the door and shoved it into place. That would delay.

I went back to the drawer. When the lock jammed, I dropped the picks, gripped the handle, and yanked backward. Something inside snapped.

My master had a drawer with a false bottom. He kept documents under it. I checked the depths of the drawer, yanking the items within out after a cursory glance. I pried at the bottom. It lifted upwards. Carefully, lest I drop it, I peeled it back. What had made the false bottom rock had been a plain iron key on top of a packet of documents. I snatched it off of the papers. I didn't have time to review my find, so I stuffed it into my shirt and moved to the trunk. The key fit in the lock and I flipped the lid back.

I heard people coming up the stairs, clanging in armor. Shouting. I threw a variety of effects behind me in my haste to find something, anything. I stared at the bottom. I didn't see a seam along the bottom and nothing rocked when I applied pressure. A fist pounded on the door. They'd break it down soon.

There was probably some mechanism for opening the bottom. I checked the depth, trying to measure with my hand inside the box to the bottom of the floor. There were a few inches to give. I tipped the trunk on one side and heard something shift.

I set my jaw determinedly and grabbed a dagger. No time to be gentle about it. I blunted the blade ripping up the lid. Something snapped when I pried it back. My heart thudded.

A heavy bang on the door made me jump. Had the bastards gotten a battering ram?

I looked back, swallowed. A pouch. I opened it. Money. I dropped it back in. A charter of accounts. I grabbed that, then found a journal. I snatched that up too. I had to get out. I looked desperately around the chamber, but if there was a hidden room, it eluded me. I threw open the broken window and looked down. The armor was nowhere to be seen, probably running around back up the stairs after me. The wall was about ten feet from the window, five feet up.

I threw across the grappling hook. It didn't stick. The doorjam splintered. With the greatest of efforts, I didn't panic.

I tried again, gave a yank. It seemed steady.

I swung across, my feet raised to absorb the impact when I would inevitably slam against the wall. I guessed the timing wrong and lost my grip on the rope. I slid downward, tried to grab it again but it slipped right through my fingers.

I fell.

#

The first shock was that I wasn't dead.

The second was the unspeakable pain shooting up from my right ankle. I knew the moment I tried to pull myself to my feet and my leg buckled that it was broken. I could still try to get away, but I didn't think I'd make it far. I dropped back down and pried open the journal. My only hope, now, was finding something incriminating.

I flipped toward the back, working my way forward. I skimmed the words, half as much waiting for a vision to trigger as actually reading.

Something slipped out of the pages and fell into my lap. What looked like a large coin on a chain. On one side of the coin was an embossed image of van Umber. When I flipped it to the other side, the vision came before I understood what I was looking at.

Teeth. Claws. Hunt. Two eyes catching the meager light so they shone.

I shuddered, touching the scar along my eyebrow.

Some occult symbol I did not know, but could guess, marked the back of the coin.

Aela reached me first. She said, "You're all right. Valac, we have to get out of here—" I lifted the medallion on the chain. It twisted, exposing the symbol. Her lips parted in shock. "Malar."

I said, "They've infiltrated the Gauntlet." I flipped open the journal. "There are probably others—"

"The thief is over here," someone yelled from the mouth of the alley. I grimaced.

Aela turned, furious. "Cultist," she accused.

I said, "No, we don't know that—"

But the guard did not understand, thought she was calling me that, and two came running, holding a set of manacles to arrest me. "Cultists broke in?" he said, looking at me, at the Infernal writing across my face.

She raised her mace and struck the guard in a peak of her fury. He fell back, confused, but turning toward the new threat. I lunged forward, lurching to my feet. I dropped the journal to the ground and shoved myself forcibly between them.

I said, "Aela, stand down. We don't know that they're cultists."

"What's this about cultists?" A new voice said, from the other side of the alley. By her uniform, I guessed an officer.

My shoulders sagged. "I have evidence of occult activity. Malar." I showed her the medallion, gestured to the journal, and handed over the ledger, the documents. "In connection with the evidence of Malar worship found at House Fangberg."

She paled as she held the medallion. "I need to ask you some questions." She looked at the guard, at Aela. "Arrest her for assault of an on-duty guardsman."

"Wait, she—"

But there was nothing I could do, nor say. In a private room, she asked me for my version of events, taking careful notes. My ankle throbbed something awful. They had put it in a splint, which helped.

I tried to convince the officer to change her mind about Aela, but she said, "You broke in, with good reason, had good reason not to trust the Gauntlet or the city watch. You have excellent standing with the town, and on a thorough search, you clearly didn't steal anything that you did not promptly return as evidence against van Umber." She knitted her fingers together. "Given the circumstances, and the consequences had you not acted so rashly, I see no reason to keep you further. Aela, however, acted impulsively and assaulted a guard."

The guard recommended that, given all I had done, the Temple of Ilmater should help me with my ankle. I made my way there, gritting my teeth against the pain, where I had to explain to an acolyte, then a priest, why I could not wait for my ankle to heal; I had to act quickly.

"This is a task you must undertake alone." The priest showed me a natural stone hallway. "At the end of this hall, there is a door to a pool. The waters will heal, but you must set the bone yourself."

I was sweating with the effort of continuing to walk against the pain in my ankle. "Can't anyone who actually understands this help me?"
The priest gave me a long-suffering kind of smile. "There is a holiness in suffering, that it brings us closer to Ilmater."

I didn't think I was likely to get much more than that. I withheld my sneer until I was halfway down the hall, gritting my teeth. My eyes watered. I was angry about the entire situation.

Once inside, I dropped down on a wooden bench to remove my clothes. I was alone in the room. A plaque detailed the history of the spring, which was that, allegedly during the Time of Troubles, Ilmater had stepped in it and when his blood from his never-healing wounds touched the water, it became a healing spring.

I think a part of me hated all of the gods. I wasn't about to turn down having my ankle healed, but the idea that suffering was necessary, that being in pain and hurting was holy, disgusted me. I couldn't get the angle I needed sitting on the mouth of the pool, so I lowered myself into the cool water. Keeping my bad ankle under, free of the splint, it was swollen and looked nasty. I didn't know how to do this more easily, but when I pried at it carefully, flinching all the while, I could feel the breaks in the bone. I needed to push them into place so they healed correctly in the spring, and let it do its work. I couldn't delay or it would heal incorrectly.

Using the smooth bottom of the spring as a prop, I forced the bone into place with brute strength, teeth gritted. I wanted to scream. I heard myself sob. My hands and arms shook. My breath came in ragged pulls. I knew how long I had to hold it because I could feel the bone knitting back together. I could feel every tiny bit. None of the pain of this was eased. It was like the months it would take to heal on its own all compressed into one tiny moment, all the pain in one moment.

To muffle my scream, I bent until my face was under the water. Bubbles poured around me. I came up breathless.

When the pain had passed, when it didn't hurt to keep holding my ankle, I let it go. The swelling was gone. The bone seemed set correctly. I pulled myself out of the water laboriously, dripping dry on the stone. I guess suffering meant no towels too.

I doubted it had healed the lycanthropy. I thought of Aela.

Maybe Taervelaine could help.

I thanked the priest on my way out and went to Taervelaine to ask him about Aela. He said, "I don't have that kind of political capital to just wave my hand and do something like that. Maybe that was how it worked in Thay." At my expression, he said, "But what Aela needs is a good lawyer. I have a friend in Easthaven. Tell him it's a favor to me, and he'll come. Name is Matthias Bartholomew."

I repeated the name in my head, trying to memorize that mouthful. "Thank you."

Armed with this knowledge, I left Bryn Shandor at first light.

#

The town was a welcome sight amidst the wilderness and the tundra. It was picturesque against the lake, a silvery shimmer amidst the snow. Thin smoke rose from chimneys.

I approached by way of the road. I had met several travelers upon it, but none came from Easthaven, so I had no news of the town.

An old woman stood on a small rise, resting on her walking stick. She watched the town. I called to her, "Well met."

She cupped her hand to her ear and beckoned me closer.

She smiled warmly, as if my appearance did not frighten her. That was strange to me. She said, "What's your name, child?"

"Valac, marm." Her accent made me slip into rural, something my master had always struck me for doing. He preferred that I speak properly. "And yourself?"

"Gertruda."

"Do you come from the town?" I nodded toward Easthaven.

"Oh, no. I am a wanderer." She smiled. "It keeps me young, you see."

"These are dangerous times for an old woman to be on the road alone, marm."

She waved her hand dismissively. "Dangerous for some. I'm more spry than I look." She smiled, but I wanted to shake her. The werewolf on the loose in the area worried me. There were giants too, and who knows what else? She turned toward the town and gestured toward it. "In the town below, there is he. I used to come to this town, and they welcomed me, and I would tell them my stories, and they would give me food and rest."

Was she more than she appeared? "These are dark times for a wandering storyteller."

She ignored my musing and said, "But now he fills up their heads and takes away their desires."

I glanced toward the town. "Who is he?"

"He dwells below. Under the fishery."

I paused. "Don't suppose there's a basement apartment?"

"For someone like you, you are surprisingly slow on the uptake."

I almost laughed, but it wasn't funny. "Just optimistic. So something unpleasant under the fishery."

"It takes away their will for dreams and they welcome it into their homes."

"If they want it there, they're as likely to run me out of town."

"I'll pay you then, you need not demand payment from them." Gertruda smiled. Her teeth were yellowed but she still had most of them. "I will give information. Something within my power. You may ask for knowledge, or where to obtain something. I would hope you do not wish for power, but I can tell you where to find that too."

I was quiet a moment. There was so much I needed help with. I had a limited amount of time before the werewolf curse set in and I needed to help Aela. "I'll see what I can do. Where can I find you, Gertruda?"

She turned and started walking past me. "I will find you, child."

I waited until she had set off on the road, moving quickly for a woman of her apparent age.

I'm a damned bleeding heart is what it is, I cursed myself.

The farmlands around the village were empty, the fields vacant. Errant animals mostly tended themselves.

The village wall was a simple palisade wall with minimal guards posted. They hassled me only a little at the gate, then waved me through. The town, despite it being in the middle of the day, was quiet. Few people, if anyone, seemed to be about, even in the town square. A little perturbed, I wound my way down the main street, looked over an empty house with lightless windows and a smokeless chimney.

My breath frosted in the air. Maybe they weren't home, but a big house like that would have a servant to tend it. My tail flicked in thought. Further down the street, a little girl with hollow eyes stared at me. She'd probably never seen a tiefling before. Not too many liked the cold.

I passed the promenade, along the lake, counting fishing ships in the harbor, looking back out at the flat, glass-like lake. An inn with shuttered windows still seemed active.

The door opened at a touch, and a man was scrubbing down the bar. He jumped in alarm at my appearance. I gave a tight-lipped smile and said, "Busy with the season?"

The simple joke seemed to put him more at ease. "You jest, but we usually get an influx of people, seasonal workers come to fish." He scratched at his beard. "Little early for drink, isn't it?"

I sat down at a barstool. My tail looped over a crossbeam to rest. "For some." I rested an elbow on the table. "I'll need somewhere to stay the evening."

"What brings you to our quiet town?"

Given all I had seen, and Gertruda's words, I wasn't sure being forthright was wise. "The quiet."

The man laughed. "What'll it be?"

I reached into my depleting purse and pressed a gold coin to the table. "A room for the night."

He swiped the coin and counted out change.

While he was counting, I leaned against the bar, then lifted my head as if something just occurred to me. "I'm curious about why the town is so empty. There are no workers in the fields, and they need to be plowing and planting in spring. The fishing ships are in the harbor."

"No seasonal workers yet. That's all." He plopped down a stack of silver coins before me. "If you're looking for a mystery, stranger, Mr. Bartholomew and Mr. Esper went fishing a couple days ago. Never came back. Awful long fishing trip."

Bartholomew. It would be just my luck if it was the same fellow I needed for Aela. "I'll look into it. Where do they live?"

He told me where each lived, and a bit about their family's friendships. He showed me a map of the lake and pointed out a few good fishing holes they might have gone to, away from the more commercial fishing spots. One wasn't too far, and he added, "This one's by the trapper's lodgings. Seasonal cabins for the workers comin' in or winter trappers. They've been gone for days, might've gone there."

It was as good a place as any to start. I frowned. "You said Bartholomew? The lawyer?"

"Very same."

Shit.

"Did I get your name, stranger?"

"Valac."

"Name's Allen. I'll get your sheets turned out by evening."

I nodded to him. "Thank you, Allen. If you don't mind, I'd like to leave my pack here."

Allen found me a keyring with two keys. The second was to a footlocker, which I dropped the heavy pack into and turned the lock. Nothing was in it that I couldn't replace.

I stretched until my spine popped and checked the window for the possibilities of an escape route. This far north, most lake-facing windows, if there were any, were narrow, due to the cold. I wasn't fond of not having an alternate means of escape, but tested the bed. I could move it up against the door, but if something did get in through the window, I'd be pinned in. I liked two exits right now.

I could push the chair up against the door. It wouldn't stop a determined invader, but it would make a racket, and wouldn't be much for me to move in an emergency—this place sent shivers down my spine. I hoped I wasn't here long.

My trusting nature had bitten me hard once—literally—and it was hard to want to trust again.

I couldn't let myself do that though. I couldn't live being suspicious of people. I took several calming breaths, reminding myself that most people are exactly that—people. Everyone was just doing their best, the best they knew how. I couldn't let myself become untrusting.

Allen had moved on to bringing down chairs from the tops of tables. I leaned against the bar. I said, "The town is awfully quiet. Do you get outside much?"
"Nope. Garden out back and the butcher delivers."

"I'd never known a butcher to have time for house calls."

He laughed without joy. "Ah, we're friends and it's a small town, so when he has time, he'll deliver a few cuts and we share a bottle."

I tried to lay my misgivings aside. I said, "So people come in and talk sometimes, yeah? Are there any stories, I wonder, about the lake?"
The innkeep waved a hand. "Oh, sure. Everyone has ghost stories. People missing, bodies never found. Ask me, it's a big lake and it's cold. People drown. Then the story just gets bigger."

I nodded. "Do people drown a lot on the lake?"
"No more than you'd expect. But if you go out there looking for a conspiracy, stranger, you're wasting your time chasing old bones. It's a quiet town."

"I hope you're right." My tail almost brushed the floor. "But I like stories. Any recent ones, told by the fishermen perhaps?"
"Yeah. Haven't come around in a while, but their latest was about some monster in the lake drowning people. Not that different from other stories, really."

"Any particular area?"
"Yessum. That'd be the hunting cabins, on the east side, where I mentioned. Go up there sometimes in the summer, nice spot to fish."

"Maybe I'll walk over there."

"Faster to row."

I thanked him and headed toward the door. Allen had given me addresses, and I wanted to look there first. Given that everyone was a shut-in, it wasn't impossible that they were just cooped up indoors. I wanted so badly for there to be a mundane answer.

I was entirely too heavily armed for a quiet town, and yet still people stared no more than as if I were anyone else. If it weren't so disquieting, it would've been nice not to draw stares.

Bartholomew lived in one of the stately townhouses toward the city center. It was vacant, dark with no smoke in the chimney. The curtains were drawn. I stalked around it, but didn't see any abnormal tracks around the building, no scratches on the walls. I tested the back door and found it locked, with no sign of forced entry. The front was also locked.

My hand fell away from the handle. My eyes glazed as the vision rushed on. It told me nothing—an empty house, a smokeless chimney, lightless windows. Only what I had seen with my own eyes. A fair number of my visions were useless. This one would be, but it confirmed what I already thought; the house had been empty for a while. Or there was some other meaning I didn't understand.

This kind of blatant poking around on my part really should have drawn attention from neighbors, and I was a little on-edge that it didn't. In fact, no one had even come out.

There was definitely something off about the town.

The Aspers had a farm outside the village, and given Bartholomew's house, I assumed it was one of the estates. Following Alfred's directions, I went back outside, past the listless guards.

Gertruda wasn't exaggerating when she said no one had any will any more.

The large farmhouse hailed from old money, but the fields were unworked. The farmhand houses were empty. I was relieved to see smoke in the chimney of the house though. I knocked at the front door. The door did not open and a child's voice said, "Who's there?"

"I wanted to ask some questions about Mr. Asper."

There was a pause, then the voice said, "Well, I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"Well, my name is Valac. Tell me your name, and we won't be strangers."

There was a silence, then there was a series of locks opening. A young boy, no older than ten, stared up at me with wide eyes. There was a lot to stare at. "I'm William. Papa isn't here."

I knelt down to William's level, on one knee. "I'm trying to find him. How long has he been gone?"

"F-Five days. I've been counting."

I blinked, shocked. "You've been alone for five days?"

He shook his head. "No. Bette was with me." He paused. "That's my governess. But she said it was too long, and went to town." He looked down. "That was three days ago."

My tail drooped down to the ground, but by sheer force of will, I kept my tone mild. I didn't want to scare the boy. I nodded. "That's a long time to leave you alone. Where did he go?"

"He said he was going fishing."

I paused. "With anyone?"
"With his friend, Mr. Bartholomew."

"Did they take a boat?"

The boy nodded. "Yes, they would've taken Papa's boat. We named it Ravenwind." The boy pointed at the door, to the ornamental raven's head crest. "I helped carve it."

I smiled, never showing teeth. "I'll be happy to see your work. Do they keep the boat at the docks?"
The boy nodded. "Yeah. I'm not supposed to go into town alone."

"Are you here alone?"
The boy showed me his teddybear. "No. Mr. Bear is with me."

I frowned. "Does your father often leave you alone?"

He shook his head. "No, never. He won't even let me go into town by myself."

I fought an urge to lick my lips, to better taste the boy's fear in the air. The boy was frightened, but just in general. Not of me, exactly. He worried that a stranger was curious about where his father had gone. "He'll keep you safe. Look, I'll look for your father, and Bette. But don't open the door for anyone, okay?"

The boy turned his head, looking back into the house over his shoulder, then again toward me. He hugged his bear close.

I rose and stepped back. "I'll bring back your father, William."

"Thank you."

I had some time to piece together what I had learned on the walk back. The town was off somehow. People were missing, and I knew there was something under the fishery. Both tied back to the lake. I walked back through town almost unnoticed by the guard.

My steps were sure, even if I wasn't. The reek of the fishery was evident as I approached and the smell turned stifling as I stepped onto the quay. A breeze carried the smell and the frigid temperatures off the lake. An internal fire kept me warm.

A man was outside with a few fish strung up on a rack. The man wore a heavy apron covered in fish guts. His boots sloshed over a surface coated in the insides of fish. Birds pecked among the feast and barely moved when I walked past. The man used a metal scoop to spoon salt out of a barrel, onto a rag, which he used to fling at the fish. Just under the rack, the ground was covered in wasted salt.

It was grossly inefficient. I watched him for a moment, then approached. "Hi, I'm Valac."

The man did not respond.

I stepped so that I was behind the rack, but within the man's field of vision. His eyes were a little glazed, almost membraneous. I repeated, "I'm Valac. I'm a traveler."

The man barely nodded. Usually, my appearance got a bit more of a reaction than that. I pressed my lips together. Maybe he was just tired.

"You're doing all this yourself?"
The reply came as if he were speaking around a mouthful of plum pudding. "No one else to do it. No seasonal workers."

"Don't you have regular workers too?"

The reply was slow. "Not right now."

I waited, but no more information seemed forthcoming. "Are these your boats?" I gestured to the boats at the docks. I couldn't see a single boat actually out on the lake.

"No."

A pause. "Whose are the rowboats? I need to borrow one."

"Best ask the owners."

Another long pause and I had to step back to avoid a shower of salt.

The man said, "You in town looking for a job?"
"Of sorts."

The man's eyes did not really fix on me. "Pays well. I need the help. Tonight, gutting fish."

I paused. "You gut the fish at night?"
"Most of the work is done at night."

I glanced at the fishery. "I'll see."

"Pay you twenty gold a night."

"Twenty?" That was entirely too much. "I'll see." I stepped back, poked a little through the guts and fins, but couldn't find anything distinctly out of place. I couldn't smell anything but the stench of the fish. I walked past the man, who continued as if he had forgotten me entirely.

Something was going on.

Along the docks, I found the Ravenwind. It was inexpertly carved, but still proudly displayed. Wherever they were, they hadn't made it out. Or they had taken a rowboat.

I watched the water. Something was under the fishery, and something was happening at the fishery tonight. I wasn't sure about the water, but I had an idea.

My tail flicked. It was something about fish. I looked at the pale blue sky.

I trotted down to the dock. I could have taken the Ravenwind, but I knew as much about sailing as I knew about mining—which was to say, not at all. I looked around, but no one was watching. The sailor's knot tying off the rowboat proved a tangled mass. It was easier to cut through it with a knife instead of untying it and tossed the rest of the rope into the boat. I dropped down and picked up the oars.

The simple activity felt good, gave me something physical to do while my mind worked. This was the absolute worst place to be if there was something in the water. Simultaneously, this was likely its lair. But what was it doing?

It was taking away their dreams and aspirations, so that was likely its preferred diet. Too vague. It was tied in some way to the water. But why eat the dreams of some and disappear others? It could be two different creatures.

Something was floating in the lake.

I hadn't seen it from the shore, or perhaps I had and dismissed it as driftwood because it was so far at the time, but as I approached over the course of the next hour, I saw that it was another rowboat. It was waterlogged, as if it had been sitting out here unattended for days. The water was still and it had not drifted far from the shore. I rested the oars and pulled the derelict rowboat toward me. Balancing carefully, tail still and working as a counterweight, I looked over the contents. There were a few minor fishing implements, some rope, but nothing identifying. Had someone fallen in?

I eyed the water. It was still, and this far north, it was clear. Peering over the side, I saw something glint down below. It was only about ten feet or so deep, so I snatched up the fishing pole. After about ten minutes of trying to grab whatever had glinted, I set it aside. I wasn't much good at fishing either, and the net did not look quite long enough.

I groaned aloud, cursing as I removed my heavy cloak, pried out of the leather armor. I kicked off boots and the wool socks. Despite all that, I still wasn't shivering. It felt a bit chilly. My weapons lay bundled under the cloak.

I plunged into the water in a dive. The shock of the cold made my teeth clench. I kicked downward, creating tiny bubbles with my passage.

I jerked back. What I had thought were stones and driftwood from the surface were bones. I stayed just above them, looking at the skulls, the ribcages. It was mostly animal, but I found the odd human one too, rusting metal around the bodies, the bones picked clean by fish. Around the neck of one of the human ones was a glittering amulet with a sparkling jewel.

Knowing what a trap looked like when I saw it, I swam back to the surface. Getting back into the rowboat took some maneuvering, but I rolled into it without capsizing it.

I stared upwards. "Fuck."

I sat up, shaking water out of my hair. Whatever was here had been here a long while. But if that were the case, why was it suddenly so active now? Or maybe they were different entities entirely?

I towed the abandoned rowboat toward the cabins. There was a small fishing dock there. I stuffed my feet into my boots and pulled both boats partway out of the water. I grabbed my things and marched, dripping, toward the nearest cabin. I stalked around it, satisfied at the lack of markings, and shouldered open the door.

It was sparse, but there was a woodshed nearby with dry enough wood to get a fire going. I stood, dripping, in front of it. My tail flicked back and forth. I wanted to pace, but the space was too small.

I rubbed my temples. This was infinitely more complicated than "get a lawyer for Aela". What I should do is report back to Bryn Shandor. But what could I say? That the whole town seemed fishy? They had enough to deal with right now.

When I was dry enough, I pulled on my clothes and put the fire out. I poked around the other cabins for signs of life. Someone had been fishing nearby. Maybe they had been staying in the cabins.

There was some activity toward one of the backmost cabins, furthest from the water, at some point. The tracks were beginning to melt with the spring thaw, but still visible in places between dry mud and partially melted snow. Some time in the past winter, but at least in the last month, someone had run in here from the forest.

My sword in hand, I opened the door. It was quiet. I looked inside. It was a mirror of the others, except that wedged between the bed and the wall, I saw a book with an ochre cover. I pried it loose and sat down on the bed. Sword on the floor, I unwound the string binding the journal together.

It was in the harsh barbarian tongue and I couldn't read their runes. Whoever had kept it had a steady hand at first, and sometimes drew images and small maps. I guessed it was a hunting journal, so they could remember where they had gone or seen. Why leave it behind? I flipped toward the back.

The writing here was frantic, scribbled, a few marks as if from stray fire sparks. I glanced at the ash in the fireplace, then back at the pages. There was a series of charcoal drawings. The first was a small cabin, something nameless and dark encroaching around the cabin's single fire, the light.

The next page, two figures. A tall humanoid thing with what looked like too many eyes, holding hands with a child. The child's other hand was displayed, superimposed to look enormous, but clearly had six fingers.

The third was done in negative, all the image blackened by charcoal, except along folded and creased lines. The paper had been torn from the journal to fold it, then shoved back in place. When I held it up, it looked like the window.

Chase. Panic. Light and warmth—safety. Then the light went out.

I took a long, deep breath and reinserted the paper. Something had chased the tribesman here. A light had kept it at bay, but the light ran out.

I couldn't guess what the connection to the lake was. Perhaps it had just dumped the bodies into the lake.

I looked toward it. A bit far for something to drag the bodies out. It might be strong enough to throw them, but then why the trap?

I tucked the journal into my belt. The runner had been running from the forest, so the creature stalked the wood. There were a few signs of a struggle now that I knew to look for it, but not enough blood to have eaten him here—at least none that still remained.

I almost missed it, but sticking out of the melting snow was the pommel of a dagger. I removed it from the snow and looked it over. It was crude bog iron, the handle elkhorn.

Beyond, barely visible, there were track marks, as if of a body being dragged long ago.

Wherever the poor sod was, they were dead. The tracks weren't in the dirt, but seemed to have been made when the snow was fresher, then it had partially melted and frozen, which put this back quite a while. It would be gone in a few days.

I felt pulled in two different directions. If I ran after the barbarian, I knew already what I would find even without a vision; some bloated monster feeding, or a site where it did anyway, and it was not causing immediate danger to people. This one with the town was, and increasingly urgent.

Given the timeline, the creature could have even started out here, then moved into the town later. I couldn't really say for sure.

I just had time to make it back before nightfall, if I hurried.

I'd be out here at night if I didn't.

The longer I couldn't find the missing people, the less likely it was that they ever would be found. I had no evidence that they had made it here, except that boat.

I looked back at the water. Poor evidence, really. Asper would have taken his sailboat, not a rowboat, but I suspected that whatever had happened to Asper had happened before he had left the town.

Based on what William said, I didn't think Asper would have ordinarily left him. This incident at the cabins and the fishery seemed like separate events, and one had a trail far older. The tribesman was gone. Asper and Bartholomew might still be alive, so it was they I had to prioritize.

Or so I told myself. I knew part of it was pure selfishness; I needed Bartholomew for Aela.

I flipped to an empty page in the journal and used a bit of charcoal to make a crude map, so I could pick up this trail again too. I dusted the charcoal powder off and made my way back to the docks. I judged it would take too long to tow the old rowboat, so made do with hauling it out of the water entirely so it wouldn't rot. I dropped into the boat and rowed steadily back to the village.