the prints of boots and sandals. She sighed and looked around the courtyard, then turned her gaze upward to the walkways and platforms above it.
Two levels up, light glimmered and rough sounds of merriment drifted downthe backside of a tavern, she guessed. She stepped all the way to the opposite side of the courtyard and peered closely at the wall, risking an upward flash of her magical light. It barely reached that high, but she could make out long, wet stains streaking the walland the figure of a man who staggered and slurred obscenities, twisting around to peer over his shoulder as the faint light caught him. Feena flicked the light back down and wrinkled her nose. The tavern's toilet facilities, such as they were, overlooked the courtyard.
It was a place to start. Some regular patron of the tavern might have seen or heard something to give her a clue. She dismissed the light with a whisper and waited for her eyes to adjust again, then slipped back out onto the street and looked for a way up. A simple ladder two buildings over led up one level; a steep plank ramp led up another. She doubled back along a narrow, creaking platform and found the front of the tavern. It was hardly an inspiring sight. Narrow windows, any glass in them long since broken away, spilled light and the blue smoke of pipeweed into the night. The door of the place had been a window at some point in the pasta frame of rough wood covered the rounded edges of long broken bricks. The narrow alley that led to the courtyard reeked of urine. The tavern didn't smell any better.
And only a short time ago, Feena thought, I was walking in a beautiful garden and shaking hands with the great and glorious of Yhaunn.
She crinkled her nose and stepped through the open door.
In spite of its appearance and odor, the tavern was packed with customers. A few glanced at hersome wearily, some suspiciously, some with an unnerving las-civiousnessbut most ignored her presence. The crowd was a surprising mix of rogues off the streets, sailors up from the docks, respectable craftsmen, and well-dressed merchants, all of them squeezed in and sweating together. A bard was giving a raucous performance in one corner. In another, a big, muscular woman in shining bracers was arm-wrestling a burly dwarf to the encouragement of the crowd. Their chants 'Lahumbra! Lahumbra!' mixed with the screeching of the bard to create quite a din. Feena forced her way through, trying to guess who might be a likely patron to have witnessed something in the courtyard.
She settled on an old man wedged into a corner near the thick plank that served as the bar. He looked as comfortable as if he had grown there, but his eyes were bright and sharp, not addled with too much ale. She stepped in close to him.
'Good evening to you, sir!' she said over the noise of the tavern.
His eyes went wide and Feena bit her tongue. She'd gotten too used to speaking in the stilted, precise register of a high priestess. She forced her voice back to its normal tones.
'Well met, old father!'
The man's long eyebrows twitched. 'Well met, young daughter.' He switched the stem of a clay pipe to the other side of his mouth as his eyes traveled slowly up and down her body. Feena fought back an urge to growl at him. He sighed regretfully. 'Lass, if I were thirty years younger, your virtue would be in danger.'
She gave him a sharp-toothed smile. 'Really?' she asked. 'From what?'
The old man choked on his pipe smoke and let out a long, rattling laugh.
'Well, aren't you a shark out of water,' he wheezed after a moment. His eyes fixed on her face. 'Eyes like an angel, tongue like a guard. You've got questions, don't you?'
'Is it that obvious?'
'When anyone comes into the Cutter's Dip and doesn't belly up to the bar first thing, they've got questions.' His pipe switched sides again and smoke drifted out of his mouth with his words. 'But you're lucky. I've got nothing to hide, especially from a woman as lovely as you.' His eyes began to wander downward again. 'Ask away, daughter, ask away.'
Feena ground her teeth and crossed her arms over her bosom. The old man puffed smoke in disappointment. Feena drove straight to the point.
'The walkway behind this placeit looks over a courtyard,' she said. 'I'm trying to find someone who might have seen anything happen there five nights ago.'
The man's pipe drooped in his teeth, then snapped up as he clenched his jaw. His fingers made a sign against evil.
'Beshaba's ivory arms,' he hissed. 'Are you mad? It was a werewolftore a man to bits down there.'
'I've heard that,' Feena said. 'I'm looking for more information. If anyone was back there and looked down or if anyone in here heard anything, I'd like to know.'
'Listen for yourself, girl! You can't hear from one side of this place to the other!' The old man reached for a mug of ale with a trembling hand. 'I was in here that night. Sat right here while a man was slaughtered not sixty feet away. If I'd gone out to have a splash at the wrong time, that could have been me down there!' He gulped from his mug.
'Here, Noyle, what's wrong?'
The barkeep leaned over sharply. Other patrons standing by the bar turned to look as well. Before she knew it, the old man had become the center of attention, and Feena along with him.
'The wolf of the Stiltways,' Noyle moaned. He glared at Feena. 'I don't know what a woman like you would be doing looking for a beast like that, daughter, but let me tell youI've a friend and his grandson's wife saw the monster prowling that night.' He slammed his mug down. 'Aye, she chanced to be awake and look down from her window as it stalked out of the Stiltways, its fur slick and red with blood by the full moon's light, and in its claws' he stuck out his hand, his fingers curled up' it carried the heart of its victim!'
Feena swallowed. The Sharran's flask, of course, and her own russet fur, altered by the sleepless woman's tales She ran her tongue around her lips.
'Actually, the full moon was a tenday ago,' she said awkwardly.
All eyes turned to her. Noyle shook his curled fingers under her nose.
'Have some respect for a murdered man, girl!' he said. 'By the twin gauntlets of Torm and Helm, I hope that when they catch that monster they stretch its skin over Yhaunn's gates and sink its bloody corpse in the harbor!'
'Here, here!' cheered the spectators around the bar.
A shudder of discomfort ran down Feena's back. As the spectators raised their mugs and drank, she slipped away.
Or tried to. Her back bumped up against a man's firm chest.
'Well, would you look at this, Drik! It's our feisty missus from the other night!' Hands spun her around and Feena found herself staring into Stag's leering face. He bared his teeth in a nasty smile. 'Well met, red bird! Going to show us your legs again?'
Feena clenched her jaw, hissed, 'With pleasure!' and jabbed her knee up at Stag's groin.
The bandit twisted deftly out of the way.
'Not this time, red bird,' he said. 'Not so easy to surprise us when we know you've got fight in you.'
He shoved her back hard and another pair of hands clutched at herDrik. She slapped at him, but he ducked. Her blow clipped another man across the back of the head.
'Hey!' the bystander snapped, and spun around to glare at her.
'Your pardon, sir,' Feena gasped quickly in her most polite high priestess voice.
She tried to duck around the man, but Drik was already there, boxing her in.
'Not going to leave so soon, are you?' he asked.
There was movement behind her as Stag closed again. Feena flung an elbow at him, but once again he just stepped out of the way and she was forced pull back or hit someone else. In the moment that she hesitated, Stag popped up inside her reach. He grabbed her arm and twisted it, bringing her into a close, painful embrace. She snapped at him but he only leaned away and laughed. She tried to wrench free, but his grip was too strong.
'Let me go,' Feena spat, 'or I'll scream so loud everyone in this bar will hear me!'
'Sing your lungs out, missus,' Stag said with a nasty grin. 'This isn't a country clearing.' He nudged the man Feena had accidentally slapped. 'Is it, Kor?'
The man turned and glared again. 'Some of us are drinking, Stag,' he growled, then looked away as if utterly unconcerned with Feena's captivity. Her eyes widened.
