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“He’s missing.” Lady Windermere turned sunken eyes to Osric. “My deofol can’t get through—can’t even find a trace of his seith.”

“Neither can mine,” said Tristane. “Which means he unlinked us—”

“Brythe wouldneverunlink me,” said Lady Windermere in a fierce hiss.

“—or he’s dead,” finished Tristane.

“Dead? Brythe?” Osric scoffed. “Impossible.”

Lady Windermere wrapped her arms around herself. Her thin form swayed. “Then where is he?”

“The alternatives are limited and unsatisfying,” said Tristane. “Few could kill Brythe. Perhapsdes circonstances insolites—a freak accident of some kind.”

“I refuse to believe that,” said Lady Windermere. “But you’re right—few could kill him. If he’s dead, that will narrow down my list.” She gave both Tristane and Osric a look, and he knew that the two of them had just made it onto her list.

“Cast your suspicious gaze elsewhere,” said Tristane, pressing a warning fingertip to the hilt of her blaecblade. “Your lover may be dead, but I remind you that I’ve also lost one of my Fyren. And Osric a friend and colleague.”

Osric, who had been personally responsible for converting the dear friend and colleague into ash, nodded gravely.

Lady Windermere lowered her gaze to the floor.

One of the wheezing, upside-down men—a redheaded, skinny fellow—created a timely diversion by burbling for mercy. Tristane poked about through some crates, muttering about gags. She found a harmonica in her apron pocket, which she jammed into the man’s mouth.

“There,” she said, patting him on his upside-down chin. “You may do something useful with your breathing. Give us a bit of ambience.”

The harmonica’s discordant whistles filled the room.

“Kind of you,” said Osric. “This is cosy.”

“I know,” said Tristane. “I’m a real softie when it comes down to it. That’s my trouble.”

Amid the harmonica’s sepulchral melody, Osric asked, “Will you launch a search for Brythe?”

“Windermere will be leading it,” said Tristane. “Beaufort and Sacramore will help her.”

“If I hear anything through my contacts, I’ll let you both know immediately,” said Osric.

“Thank you,” said Lady Windermere.

She left. The harmonica turned melancholy.

“You said you last saw Brythe at the Harmacy?” asked Tristane when Lady Windermere was gone.

“Yes—Sacramore was there, too.”

Tristane sighed. “He was heading out on a job that day. I think he’s dead. He can’t be on the run. He had the payout of a lifetime coming his way.”

“What job was it?” asked Osric.

“One that it was imperative he not fail,” said Tristane.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to look for him?”

“No,” said Tristane. “That’s not the priority. The priority is completing the job.”

“Shall I take care of it? I do like a payout.”

Tristane listened to the sad harmonica. Her triangle of hair swayed mournfully. “It wasn’t a job I would normally agree that we would take on. It involves another Order.”