He drew back and stood still for a moment. I could tell from his eyes that he took no offense from my caution. Instead, he said carefully, “A lot of mail has arrived from the west. A washed-out bridge on the road had caused a great bottleneck of wagons and travelers. Perhaps there is some for you. My own lady wife has been very pleased to hear from her young cousin in the Midlands.”

Now it was my turn to practice restraint. I wanted to demand to see the letter from my sister immediately. Instead, I kept my voice steady as I said, “I trust all is well with her family, sir?”

“Oh, excellent,” he replied, but his eyes said differently. “She wrote that they were enjoying a long visit with houseguests from Old Thares. Her father seems to think that the young man would be an excellent match for her, and his uncle is prone to agree.”

I racked my brain for whom he could be describing. No one came to mind. At last I said, “Well, for her sake, sir, I hope the lad is of a good family.”

The pleasant expression on his face looked forced and sick. “Oh, they are not of the first quality, but they are still well placed. His father was in charge of the King’s Cavalla Academy for a time.”

That shocked me out of my pose. “Caulder Stiet? Impossible.”

Spink’s smile grew wider, but there was nothing of pleasure in it. “There Yaril agrees with you. It’s a desperate letter, Nevare. She still thinks you are dead. She risked her reputation to slip away from the house and go alone to a little town to post her letter to us.”

“What am I to do? What can I do?” I felt frantic with worry. The thought of Yaril being given over to that shallow, trembling boy filled me with loathing. I hated the idea of him being near my sister, let alone claiming her as his wife. I wondered if my father was mad, if this was his vengeance on Yaril, or if he genuinely thought it was a good match for her. Caulder wasn’t even a soldier son anymore. If Yaril married him, her sons would be “gatherers of knowledge” like Caulder’s geologist uncle.

“Write to her. Tell her you’re alive. Give her a refuge, or at least the strength to defy your father and refuse Caulder.”

“How can I get a letter to her?”

“Write to your father. Demand that he tell her. Write to your priest-brother. Write to her friends. There must be some way, Nevare.”

Were the fates listening? I looked past Spink’s shoulder. Carsina was crossing the street. “You see that girl. That’s Carsina, Spink. My erstwhile fiancée and once Yaril’s best friend. She’s the best chance I have of slipping a letter to Yaril past my father. Excuse me.”

“We need to arrange a meeting later,” Spink hissed after me, but I didn’t pause. I strode hastily down the street, on a deliberate course to intercept Carsina. She hadn’t seen me yet; I had to reach her before she did. I cringed as I thought of my appearance. My uncut hair hung shaggy around my ears. My boots were starting to crack at the sides. My trousers showed wear at the knees and seat, and I had to buckle my belt under my belly these days. Above my belt, my gut bloomed out in a swell that my shirt strained to cover. I didn’t blame Carsina for recoiling in horror from the thought that she had once been betrothed to me. But I didn’t desire any acknowledgment from her, only a small and simple favor. All I needed was an envelope addressed in her hand to my sister.

My hat was shapeless and dusty. Nevertheless, I removed it as I approached her. I’d give no one any reason to think I was being less than courteous to her. “Excuse me, ma’am,” I addressed her respectfully. I kept my eyes lowered. “I’ve a favor to ask you, not for myself, but for my sister, once your friend. Grant me this, and I promise I’ll never ask anything else of you again. I won’t so much as nod at—”

I got no further in my humiliating plea for her aid. A sudden blast of sound assaulted my ears. I clapped my hands over them and lifted my eyes. Carsina had raised a brass whistle to her lips and was blowing blast after blast on it as if her life depended on it. Her cheeks were distended with the effort, her eyes almost bulging. If her action had not been so irrational, it might have seemed humorous. I stood transfixed, staring at her.

But elsewhere on the street, others had sprung into motion. My first warning was when a small woman in a white apron brought a broom down firmly on my back. It stung and raised dust. “What?” I asked in consternation as I dodged away from the enraged shopkeeper’s wife. But that only brought me into range of a young woman with a furled parasol. She whacked me solidly with it on the back of my head, shrieking, “Get away from her! Leave her alone! Help! Help! Assault! Assault!”

All the while, Carsina continued to shrill on her whistle and women continued to converge on me, also blowing whistles. I gave ground hastily. “I’ve done nothing wrong!” I shouted at them. “I said nothing ill to her! Please! Listen to me! Please!”

Men were gathering as well, some to laugh and point at the sight of the big fat man beleaguered by a flock of angry women. Others were striding more purposefully toward the scene of the confrontation, anger on their faces. One tall, thin man was being dragged angrily toward me by his fussing, scolding wife. “You get in there, Horlo, and you teach that rude fellow what happens to men who say foul things on the streets to good women!”

“I’m leaving!” I shouted, not wishing to be attacked by the ineffectual-looking Horlo or anyone else. “I’m going. I’m sorry the lady took offense. None was intended. I apologize!”

I’m not sure that anyone heard my words over the shrill whistles and shriller voices that surrounded me, calling me names and raining abuse on me. I lifted my hands over my head to show that I was not returning any of the blows from the brooms, parasols, fans, and dainty fists. I felt both a coward and a buffoon, but what could I do, assaulted by a mob of angry women? I had broken clear of the circle and thought I’d escaped when I heard an angry voice shout a damning accusation. “He’s the one they say raped and murdered that poor whore! He’s the big fat scoundrel who killed that Fala woman and hid her body!”

I turned back in horror. “That’s not true! I’ve never hurt anyone!”

The mob of women surged toward me. A flung stone struck me in the face. A larger one rebounded off my shoulder. I didn’t know the man striding fearlessly toward me through the hail of rocks, but he was well muscled, fit, and grinning the snarl of a man who loves a good fight. A wash of cold rose through me. I could die here, I suddenly knew. Stoned, beaten, kicked to death by a mob of folk who didn’t even know me. I caught a sudden glimpse of Sergeant Hoster. He stood to one side of the crowd. His arms were crossed on his chest and he was smiling grimly.

Spink had always had more guts than common sense. Even when I’d been a lean and fit cadet, Spink had looked small beside me. He charged into the fray, shouting, “Desist! This moment! Halt! That’s an order!” He reminded me of a barking, snarling terrier protecting a mastiff as he spun to face the oncoming tide of roused people. “Halt, I said!”

They didn’t exactly halt, but they stopped advancing. The crowd roiled, and another stone came winging from someone in the back and bounced off my chest. It didn’t really hurt, but the fury it symbolized was frightening. The women were all talking, and several were pointing at me. I no longer saw Carsina anywhere. The large man I had glimpsed pushed his way to the front of the mob.

“Halt!” Spink barked again.

“Sir, are you going to let a filthy lout like that get away with insulting a decent woman? The least he merits is a good beating, and if the rumors are true, he ought to be hanged.”

Spink’s shoulders were very square. He kept his eyes on the crowd as he spoke in a stern voice. “I’d like the woman he insulted to come forward, please. I’ll take her complaint right now.”