“Do you know where we might start looking?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“We start with Keenan’s mansion,” she said. “From there, the elves. After that, we listen for rumors, and search for others he might have killed that we do not know of. I found you, Watcher. We can find this pale imitator.”

“That servant said something about the business with the elves having grown worse. What did he mean by that?”

Zusa glanced to the city.

“I don’t know much, but what little I do know is grim. Tomorrow, we ride into a pile of kindling and oil. The slightest spark will set it off.”

Haern chuckled, earning him a raised eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he said. “I just have a feeling, given how my life has gone, that we’re about to be that spark.”

Zusa lifted her glass, and finally she smiled.

“To starting fires,” she said.

Haern smiled in return.

“To starting fires.”

3

Ulrich Blackwater stepped onto the deck of the Fireheart and scowled.

“Where’s Pyle?” he asked two nearby crewmen, bare-chested lads soaked with sweat as they labored crate after crate toward the plank leading to the dock.

“The captain’s in his cabin, milord,” said one, bowing low. “Busy.”

Ulrich weaved through the various ropes, cargo, and men until he reached the captain’s quarters. Without knocking he yanked the door open and stepped inside. The quarters were cramped, despite the overall size of the Fireheart, just a bed, a desk, and a few maps tacked to a wall. On that bed, with a naked whore riding atop him, lay Captain Darrel Pyle. Seeing his entrance, Darrel laid his head back and sighed.

“Didn’t they tell you I was busy?” he asked.

“Perhaps.” Ulrich glared at the woman, who slipped to the side and grabbed her clothes. “Leave us.”