I recognized the man. Or, more precisely, the tuft of hair that stood alert a top the chubby young man's head. It glistened more in the low lights of the room than it had in the bright sunlight behind the stage, proving that however he was keeping it styled was unthinkably greasy. To his side stood a older man, his clothes muted and unadorned. This is how he had been dressed the last time I'd seen him. He was Bernard's obnoxious friend's Assistant. And that would make the caster the obnoxious friend, though his clothes were different. They were well-fitted but plain, as if he planned on working in them instead of dancing. He wore a smock, its front stained in dark chaotic splotches.

"Ah, if it isn't the Age Day boy himself." The hair haver stepped forward. "Winsor, don't you recognize me? I'm Ricardo. Remember? Your brother's friend? No?" Ricardo frowned, disappointed. "The beehive? The haunting? The itching powder dogs? You must remember the packs of itching powder dogs."

Winsor leaned away from him, his narrow shoulder bumping against me.

"... ah, recognition. Good, now I know you, and you know me. You also know Juris..."

Juris glanced up before averting his gaze again. Ricardo gestured at me. "And who's your Assistant? I thought the word around town was that you didn't have one. Guess the grapevine went sour once again. Though his clothes certainly are torn-up. You're rougher on him than I am on poor Juris." Ricardo walked up to the bed, confident. Not afraid of being hurt. Juris followed behind him, eyes aimed at his master's back instead of the ground.

Ricardo leaned in close to Winsor's face.

"Though... maybe not an Assistant? Maybe something else? Adding some adult memories in with those childhood ones, now that your Age Day is so near?" Ricardo's hands pressed down on either side of Winsor, finger tips sinking into the thick quilt. Winsor squirmed away, his gaze pointed down. Ricardo leaned in close enough that each breath must be hitting Winsor's cheek. Like a scared dog, Winsor closed down, unresponsive. Ricardo hovered, grew bored, and swayed over to me.

His finger scratched under my chin, catching on the hair. It would have felt good if only Ricardo had been a beautiful woman. I had planned to handle one sorcerer. One small, weak, friendless sorcerer who had something to prove and who I could easily lure out into what I thought was an abandoned ruin for questioning. Ricardo wasn't as small as Winsor. No, as he moved his hands, examining my jaw, I noticed the soft padding across his arms, stomach, and face, the extra weight a sorcerer is supposed to carry. If he struck me, he would do some real damage, even if I gagged him.

Ricardo ran a thumb over my cheekbones, then stared into my eyes. "I suppose those are naturally blue, then?"

I didn't respond.

It was a gentle question, but there was hostility in his gaze. Winsor was ignoring us. I'd assumed that his irritation at Bernard had been jealousy or maybe taking too seriously games that boys played. I'd certainly gotten scraped up and embarrassed rough housing as a boy. I had been sloppy again, not reading the customer right. Winsor wasn't the result of sibling rivalry or even unpopularity. This was worse.

Ricardo let go of me with a shove and stood up. I realized I hadn't been breathing and inhaled. Winsor was still shrinking into himself, scooting back to the wall against the bed, trying to avoid Ricardo.

"Winsor, Winsor, you should have stayed in your room like you always do. I've had the option of killing everyone else who had stumbled across this; they wouldn't understand. But you... I can't kill you. Disregarding affection—of which I've plenty of, you've always been a fantastic sport—there's the aspect of profile. For once in your life, you would be missed if you were not at that dinner and dance tomorrow night."

I reached behind a fold in the sheets, touching Winsor's hand, trying to calm him like I had at the fireside. He yanked it away and glanced over his shoulder at me. His eyes were shining again. Don't cry now, you icicle! That wasn't going to help anything. Ricardo was speaking again, an irritated edge to his words.

"Though your friend, certainly, nobody would miss—"

The muscles in my legs coiled. Mute or no, if I somehow knocked his head into the fireplace, I might be able to kill him or knock him unconscious before he finished a rhyme. Winsor stood up and threw his arms out. The heavy robe's sleeve hid me from sight.

"Fine, fine," Ricardo said. He stepped back, and then hooked a hand beneath Winsor's arm. Winsor whimpered in his clutch. "You may both bear witness to my latest and greatest invention, provided you behave yourself. Juris, please attend to his..." Ricardo waved a hand loosely at me. "...friend."

Juris walked up to me. I flashed a smile of recognition, and Juris's eyes widened. Yes? Recall me? The conversation outside the restaurant? You wanting my Moon Giant? All of these things I tried to convey with a meaningful glance, but Juris only grabbed my elbow. I was a little taller. One could believe that this escorted walk was mutual, unlike with Winsor, who was obviously being half-dragged somewhere by the much heftier Ricardo. I was confused.

Maybe Winsor hadn't kidnapped Mallow. Winsor certainly was interested in Mallow, and the shrinking trick with Flatchert had established that if he wanted to, he could capture Mallow and keep her hidden away. I thought that'd be all the evidence I needed to pin the crime on him.

And yet, now that I was walking down these hallways, shreds of screams reaching me at short intervals, I realized that Juris too had wanted my Giant. No, his master, Ricardo had wanted my Mallow. That would be worse than Winsor, whose interest was somewhere between adolescent lust and arcane curiosity. Juris had talked of Mallow as if she were only an animal, and that made me go cold all over.

I listened closely, straining. Those weren't Mallows screams. Too high. Mallow bellowed. Shame burnt my face when I realized I had felt relief. If not Mallow in there, then another girl. That was not something to be relieved about.

I yearned to talk. If I could only use my weapon, my words, I could get out of this situation. Maybe even save the poor thing wailing down the hall, behind the heavy, iron-fortified doors. Even if talking my way out wasn't successful, it was something. It was something to do against the mounting of my heartbeat with each step we took along the torch-lit corridors. My words had never failed me before. I had failed them. I had been a poor salesmen. But never had I been left without a single syllable to defend myself.

The doors were large, making the hallway we were in tall. I glanced up and the ceiling faded into darkness. This sudden movement made Juris nervous, and he tightened his grip on my arm. I winked at him. His expression of alarm traded for one of confusion. I smiled at him, and he frowned back. He tightened his fingers enough that my arm ached. I slumped with resignation and walked normally. He was getting tougher, but his heart wasn't in it. He wasn't exhibiting the relish that Ricardo clearly felt at dragging the muted Winsor around like a child's ragdoll.

Ricardo stood outside a door. He held one free hand up to his ear and listened, a grin breaking across his face.

"Discovery. Messy discovery." Ricardo leered down at Winsor. "Don't behave so put out. I know you do experiments too. Is it because she's screaming? Winsor, do you truly think the capacity of an animal to experience pain is any less than that of a person?"

Winsor couldn't answer.

A strained, sobbing shout came from behind the door.