Sandler! The name Miller and the North Joyce conspirator had mentioned. Could it be the same man?

   I could barely contain myself as we walked away. Trying to sound casual, I remarked, “I’ve never heard of any Sandler.”

   “New, as she said.” Tom grew thoughtful. “He gets some leniency for that, but he needs to learn the system. The veterans can get away with hoarding their loot, but newcomers need to establish goodwill.”

   “Someone’ll raid him,” Lesser Tom added. “Just to make a point. I heard he keeps his stash over in that ugly old boardinghouse on Water Street. Wouldn’t be too hard to, ah, stop by.” His voice held a hopeful note.

   Tom shook his head. “We have better things to do than harass some novice—especially since we may need to hire some extra hands soon. Which reminds me . . . what are you doing the night of the Flower Festival, my lady?”

   I was still reeling from the slip about Sandler and took a moment to process the question. “I have some commitments that evening.” That was downplaying it a bit. The Glittering Court would be attending a gala second only to our debut ball.

   “Well, this would be late, around the usual time you materialize, actually.”

   “What is it?” I asked, suspicious of the buildup.

   “A job, of course. But a big one. I’ll need more than my usual team, and I won’t lie to you: There’s very little that’s noble about it. We’re just stealing from a merchant who’ll be in the wrong place at the right time. It’s purely selfish. You may have to get your hands dirty, but I guarantee they’ll be filled with gold afterward.”

   “How dirty?”

   “Not at all, if I can help it. You know I try to keep that in check.” Seeing my hesitation, he asked, “I assume you still have debts? Make a dent in them.”

   The need for money had become much more critical, now that I knew where Lonzo was. Slowly, after much deliberation, I gave a nod of assent.

   “Excellent.” Tom lifted my hand and kissed it, and I wondered what I’d just agreed to. “Find me the night before, and we’ll have all the details finalized.”

   We parted ways, and I headed down a road that would take me to Silas’s. Before entering the busier areas, I found a quiet spot to adjust my wardrobe. I swapped my starry cloak for the battered one. A red wig stuffed into the cloak’s inner pocket replaced the blonde. I couldn’t move freely as Lady Aviel anymore.

   I walked a few streets over to the tailor shop and knocked on Silas’s door. He didn’t look thrilled to see me.

   “Aren’t you married yet?”

   “Grant said to come here because he’s out with the patrol.”

   “I know.” Silas shut the door behind me. “He told me about how you two overheard Miller. I didn’t even know you were still a part of this.”

   Ignoring the accusation in his voice, I took off my wig and mask and accepted a plain wooden chair, which seemed luxurious after Grant’s sparse loft.

   “You’ve got some kind of letter for me?” Silas asked, arms crossed.

   “Er, I actually need to write it here. If that’s okay. But before I do . . . I found out something else that might help you. Did you figure out who Sandler was? Grant didn’t know the name.”

   Silas shook his head. “No. But I’ll ask some contacts in the morning.”

   “Well, I think I already know. He’s a new pirate. And he keeps his goods at a boardinghouse on Water Street. One that’s allegedly ugly and old. That’s probably where those supplies will be moved from in the morning.”

   Both bushy eyebrows rose. “And how in the world do you know that?”

   “I have a source. A very reliable one,” I added, seeing his eyes narrow in skepticism. “I guarantee this is accurate. Can you get to the boardinghouse in time?”

   “Maybe. There are a few boardinghouses over there.” Silas sat down at a desk and sifted through stacks of paper until he found what looked like a map of the city. After a quick scan, he rolled it up and tossed it aside. “Not what I need. There’s paper and ink over there to write your letter.”

   I retrieved it and, with no other clear writing surface, sat on the floor. Silas continued rummaging around.

   As intimidating as I found him, I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “What about the North Joyce man? Could he have been one of the couriers on the list we stole from Abraham Miller?”

   “We?” Silas paused in his search. “You were there?”

   I squirmed under his gaze. “I thought Grant told you.”

   “There’s a lot he’s not telling me, apparently. Ah, this is it.” He spread out another map.

   I wrote a few lines of the letter, using an old Sirminican code of my father’s. Silas made a grunt of what sounded like satisfaction. I looked up. “Did you find the boardinghouse?”

   “Likely. There are three on that street. One’s new. I’ve got a hunch on which of the others is ‘ugly.’ Grant was just over there—he’ll know. I expect him any minute.”

   A sort of excited nervousness fluttered within me at that. His job finished, Silas sat back in his chair with the map, occasionally glancing down at me. Shifting so that I had a better look, I worked up the courage to speak again. “Mister Garrett, may I ask you something?”

   “Sure.” He stood up and walked over to me. “But I might not answer.”

   I hadn’t expected him to loom over me while I spoke. “Why isn’t there any law enforcement in Cape Triumph?”

   He did answer, so that was promising. “Well. There’s us. And the militia. And the army.”

   “The militia and the army are two separate groups with two separate ways of operating,” I pointed out. “And neither actually works consistently in the city. It’s not their main job, and a lot of the militiamen take bribes. As for you—the McGraws—you don’t enforce citywide laws. I know you have some authority from the king, but you only use it to serve your cases. There’s nothing unified here like there is in Evaria. No central city patrol or watch.”