“Courtemanche,” I said, using the lilting Lorandian pronunciation. It added another syllable, dropped some consonants, and revealed the words within: Courte for short, and manche for sleeve.

   I’ve got several wagons heading out to Alma today . . . we’re barely going over the border.

   I glanced farther down the page and reread our corrected line: He will supervise usual transfer so that you can deliver to Green Bend. I pushed the letter aside to look at the map I’d noticed earlier in the stack. It showed all the Osfridian colonies and had been marked up by both Grant and Silas. There was Green Bend, the first major city just inside Alma Colony when coming from Cape Triumph.

   I closed my eyes and put a hand on the desk to steady myself as I strung all the pieces together. Tom Shortsleeves—Courtemanche, the traitors’ chief Lorandian financial supplier—was transporting wagons of valuables to other conspirators in Green Bend. Most of those valuables probably consisted of pure gold currency. Tom never kept anything else around for long—except goods that might be useful to an army, like ammunition and camp silverware. He gave away common items to Mistress Smith and sold his luxuries to people like Cornelius Chambers, rich collectors who eagerly handed over large sums of gold in exchange for rare Balanquan art . . .

   I opened my eyes. Elijah had been the one to tell me about those sculptures, Elijah who’d spent his childhood with a trading group in the Balanquan Empire. Tom wasn’t the one translating the Balanquan portion of the code.

   I could scarcely breathe. With shaking hands, I jotted out a quick note to Silas: Courtemanche is Tom Shortsleeves. He may still be in the city. I’m going to the Dancing Bull to try and find him.

   There was no time to explain my deductions, no time to even get Silas. The courthouse was out of the way from the Dancing Bull, and Silas could be off with the governor or the army. And Grant . . .

   I slowed for just a moment as I descended the stairs back to the street. Grant. Was he at his store? Checking would delay me from getting to the tavern. If he was there, he wouldn’t be for long. I would miss him if I didn’t go now. But Tom was leaving—or had left—the city too. He’d said he was going right after the verdict, and Warren’s outing as a conspirator would probably have hastened that departure.

   My steps quickened again. I wanted Grant. I wanted to find him before he disappeared behind another mask. But I couldn’t let the traitors’ greatest source of gold get away, not when he had the potential and wealth to resurrect another plot. This was a sacrifice for the greater good that I couldn’t refuse. I had to try to protect Adoria from the blood and destruction of war that still engulfed Sirminica.

   Ignoring the ache in my chest, I pushed Grant from my thoughts and ran to the Dancing Bull. No one in the city gave me a second glance, not in a day filled with so much tumult. In fact, when I burst breathlessly into the tavern, my ankle hurting once again, it seemed as though no one had the time to sit down for a drink either. The common room was empty, aside from a sallow-faced bartender I didn’t recognize. I was never here during the day. He stopped polishing a mug when he saw me.

   “Where’s Tom?” I demanded.

   The shock on his face smoothed to neutrality. “Tom who?”

   “You know who!” I stormed forward. “Is he still here?”

   The bartender set down the mug and fixed me with a cool gaze. “Miss, I don’t know what you think you’re— Argh!”

   I climbed over the bar and kicked him in the chest, doing it much less skillfully in a dress than I would have in Lady Aviel’s pants. But it was so completely unexpected that the surprise gave me an advantage. I pushed him back with a knee jab to the stomach, trapping him in the small space. Another hit from my knee made him double over, and I forced him down by sitting on his back. I weighed less, but he didn’t have room to maneuver. I grabbed a length of rope sitting near an ale cask and bound the man’s hands with knot skills learned from my father.

   “Where’s Tom?” I repeated.

   The bartender glared up at me defiantly, and I resisted the urge to slap the answer out of him. I had no time for torture or interrogation. If Tom was here, there was only one place he could be. If he wasn’t here, he was probably out of my reach anyway. I located the backroom key, and a widening of the man’s eyes made me think I might not be too late after all. On my way out from behind the bar, I spied the pistol kept on the shelf. I wasn’t familiar with its style, but at least it was a close-range weapon. I fit the gun into my skirt’s pocket as best I could and headed for the back-room door.

   Beyond it, I found the stairwell that I’d seen the night Tom and I had argued. This time, the steps were illuminated from lanterns below. With a deep breath, I began my descent. The wooden stairs creaked beneath me, killing any chance at subtlety. But I didn’t need it, not if I could pull off the plan I’d formulated on my way here.

   “Barnaby? Has Elijah come back?” called a familiar voice.

   I reached the bottom and found myself in an enormous storage area. Marks on the dusty floor showed that a huge number of crates had once filled the room. All were gone now, except for a few in the corner. One had its lid off, and Tom knelt before it, carefully putting in burlap bags that clinked when they bumped each other.

   “Barnaby?” Tom glanced over his shoulder and jumped to his feet when he saw me. He tilted his head and looked me over, cautious but not threatened. “Well. You’re certainly prettier than Barnaby. And maybe cleverer, if you made it down here. How may I be of assistance, fascinating creature?”

   “I’m here to help you.” I switched to the Belsian accent. “If you still want it.”

   Tom stared, speechless for a change, and then a huge grin spread over his face. “Lady Aviel! Is this the real angel at last? In a dress? And here I thought this was turning out to be a terrible day.”

   “Things not going your way?” I asked, returning to my regular voice.

   He shrugged. “Just a lot of surprises. You’re a good one, though. I can’t believe I didn’t catch on sooner. You do that Belsian accent flawlessly. But you’re Sirminican, yes? Exquisite. And of course I want your help. Looks like we’ll have to get you something a little more durable to wear to Alma, but we can worry about that once we’re out of town. No wig, though. I won’t allow it. It’d be a crime now that I’ve seen your real hair. I’m not even sure about a mask, though I suppose you’ll want to—”