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There was the clearing of a throat.

Osric and Fairhrim looked up to find a round, bald man at the door.

The man had a colander on his head, which did not immediately inspire confidence.

Fairhrim resumed her usual impassivity. She took in the colander with the mere twitch of an eyebrow. “Forgive us for disturbing you at this late hour. We’re looking for Mr.Widdershins.”

“I’mMr.Widdershins,” said the man, with an angry sort of emphasis on theMr.“What d’you want?”

“We’ve got a few questions about the Monafyll Stone,” said Fairhrim. “We’re conducting a bit of an investigation.”

“An investigation, is it?” asked Widdershins. His anger faded. He looked at a spot somewhere above Fairhrim’s head, and said, “From the Latinvestigium, a footprint or trace.”

Fairhrim took the unsolicited etymology in stride. “Yes. Precisely.”

Widdershins blinked and came back to his tetchy self. “And what are your qualifications, pray? Are you runologists?”

“No.”

“Philologists? Dialectologists? Etymologists? Semioticians? Archaeologists?”

“Erm—I’m a Haelan,” said Fairhrim.

Widdershins made an unimpressed moue. Fairhrim looked offended.

“If the Stone had an injury, I’m sure she would appreciate that.” Widdershins turned to Osric. “And you, sir, of the jism white eye?”

This reference to Osric’s Cost might have earned the man a punctured lung, only Fairhrim was there, and would doubtless raise objections.

“I’m an Interested Observer,” said Osric, instead of Assassin-for-Hire.

“An Observer?” repeated Widdershins. “With half the usual amount of eyes? Like Woden, did you give your right eye so your left could See?”

“Never mind about my…companion’s…eyes,” said Fairhrim.“You published something on the Monafyll Stone some time ago, but it was retracted, and we’d like to get our hands on a copy—”

“It was retracted, yes,” cut in Widdershins. “Do you know what else was retracted? My funding. My position. My reputation. Mydoctorate. That paper ended me. That is the nature of the academy, you know. You mustn’t go too far beyond the bounds of the Accepted. You may lose everything.”

Fairhrim grew grave. “I am aware.”

Osric felt a wave of accusation wash over him, because it was his fault she was straying beyond the bounds of the Accepted.

“Why, then, is a Haelan looking into the Monafyll Stone?” asked Widdershins. “It’s nothing but an archaeological bagatelle for your sort, isn’t it? Or are you intent on running your career directly into a shitpit?”

“Personal curiosity,” said Fairhrim.

Widdershins studied her as though she were a mysterious bit of text to decipher. Then he said, “I’ll give you two silly plums some advice. Hard-earned advice.”

He waved Fairhrim and Osric towards him. They approached. Osric could see Widdershins’ single remaining hair, white, escaping from a hole in the colander.

Widdershins gestured them in farther. They leaned in even more.

“Fuck off,” said Widdershins, loudly, spraying them both with spittle.

He slammed the door shut.

Fairhrim stared at the door. She wiped a fingertip below her eye. A knife danced across Osric’s knuckles.

They heard another door open and close, this time round the back of the cottage. Osric and Fairhrim looked at each other, then cut through a bed of stringy lavender to reach the back garden.