Locke and Jean turned left at the intersection, then approached the door of the first disused shop on their right. While Jean kept a watch on the street behind them, Locke stepped up to the door and rapped sharply, three times. It opened immediately, and a stout young man in a brown leather coat beckoned them in.

“Stay away from the window,” he said once he’d closed and bolted the door behind them. The window was covered with tightly drawn sailcloth curtains, but Locke agreed that there was no need to tempt fate. The only light in the room came from the sunrise, filtered soft pink through the curtains, enabling Locke to see two pairs of men waiting at the rear of the shop. Each pair consisted of one heavy, broad-shouldered man and one smaller man, and all four of the strangers were wearing identical gray cloaks and broad-brimmed gray hats.

“Get dressed,” said the man in the leather coat, pointing to a pile of clothing on a small table. Locke and Jean were soon outfitted in their own matching gray cloaks and hats.

“New summer fashion for Tal Verrar?” said Locke.

“A little game for anyone trying to follow you,” said the man. He snapped his fingers, and one set of gray-clad strangers moved to stand right behind the door. “I’ll go out first. You stand behind these two, follow them out, then enter the third carriage. Understood?”

“What carri—” Locke started to say, but he cut himself off as he heard the clatter of hooves and wheels in the street immediately outside. Shadows passed before the window, and after a few seconds the man in the brown coat unbolted the door. “Third carriage. Move fast,” he said without turning around, and then he threw the door open and was out into the street.

At the curb just outside the disused shop three identical carriages were lined up. Each was black lacquered wood with no identifying crests or banners, each had heavy drapes drawn over its windows, and each was pulled by two black horses. Even their drivers all looked vaguely similar, and wore the same reddish uniforms under leather overcoats.

The first pair of gray strangers stepped out the door and hurried to the first carriage in line. Locke and Jean left the disused shop a second later, hurrying to the rear carriage. Locke caught a glimpse of the last team of gray strangers all but running to the door of the middle carriage behind them. Jean worked the latch on the rear carriage’s door, held it open for Locke, and flung himself inside afterward.

“Welcome aboard, gentlemen.” Merrain lounged in the right forward corner of the compartment, her waitress’ clothing discarded. She was now dressed as though for a ride in an open saddle, in field boots, black breeches, a red silk shirt, and a leather vest. Locke and Jean settled beside one another in the seat across from her. Jean’s slamming of the door threw them into semidarkness, and the carriage lurched into motion.

“Where the hell are we going?” Locke began to shrug off his gray cloak as he spoke.