But it turned out to be neither of those things. A small, dark-skinned boy carrying a bundle in one arm slipped through the crevice between the doors, turning surprised eyes on the newcomers. His stance said he would bolt at a moment's warning.

Barthim had other ideas, naturally. "Cass!" he cried, rising to his feet, his lips curling in the first real smile he'd displayed since they'd found Lena in the street. "I thought I would be breaking down the Lioness door to come and get you! Come here, boy!"

Casimir approached Barthim almost warily, but didn't object to the rib-cracking embrace into which the bouncer swept him. After he was released he couldn't help wincing a little. The watchful look on his face as Denisius and Vos sheathed their weapons asked his question for him.

"These are friends of the -- of Carala here. Denisius Gallis, out of the lonely little woodland of Marhollow, who is to wed little Carala -- "

Denisius squirmed uncomfortably at this. Carala hid a smile. She doubted there would be a wedding of any kind if little Carala were also a little wolf, but there was no point in interrupting Barthim, who appeared to be enjoying himself.

" -- and -- and -- Vos? Is it just Vos?"

Vos bowed his head with a small smile to Casimir. "It's just Vos, yes."

"Does Ammas know them, Barthim?" That watchful expression lessened not a jot or a tittle.

"Our friend Ammas has not yet had the pleasure of meeting them, no. But they very much are wanting to meet him when good Captain Thalia lets him go, or if he escapes, whichever is happening first."

"Escapes?" Carala exclaimed.

Barthim shrugged. "It has happened before. Mielle lets him get away with it if it serves her purpose. Or if it amuses her. I believe our Ammas amuses her most deeply sometimes. But -- well -- there has never been something quite like this, so I am not thinking it will be escape." The bouncer squeezed Casimir's shoulder reassuringly. "They are all right, Cass. The skinny one with the sad face could give us some trouble if he wanted, but not as much as he is thinking." Barthim winked at Vos almost lecherously.

Casimir didn't seem to see the humor in the situation and padded to Carala's side with a look at both gray-clad men that could charitably be described as mistrustful. Folding his legs under him he sat directly next to the girl, who looked surprised but not displeased. The cursewright's apprentice unwrapped the bundle in his lap, which proved to hold a few bits of slightly wilted fruit and some crumbled sweet cakes. "I thought you might be hungry. They have good food over there some nights."

Carala smiled and took a cake, a soft white one rippled with cinnamon. It did taste quite nice.

Denisius smiled at the boy. The smile was not returned, but Lord Marhollow persisted. "Cass, is it? Carala mentioned you a little while ago. Ammas Mourthia's apprentice?"

Casimir nodded, glaring. He didn't offer Denisius any cake.

"Well, you ought to be proud of yourself. I doubt I could make head or tail of this stuff."

"Casimir knows what he's doing," Carala said softly. One hand went to the little gold charm still dangling from her neck.

There was a not entirely uncomfortable silence then, Barthim staring into the fire, Vos slowly becoming consumed in a shroud of smoke, Carala and Casimir enjoying a late snack, and Denisius studying the boy curiously, wondering what he could have done to win Carala's trust.

Barthim, at last, broke the silence. "Vos, just Vos? Not Vos Somethingorother? Vos Somethingorother Lord Kiss-my-arse?"

"Ah, no," he replied, cocking his head curiously at this line of questioning. "It's just Vos."

"But what if there is another man named Vos? What if you are in a cohort and you are to be given a medal and the other Vos is a shameful coward?"

"Well, then I might be called Vos of Nythel or Vos of Marhollow, I suppose." For once the old manservant looked positively bemused.

"But what if there is already a Vos of Nythel or Vos of Marhollow? Then what?"

"I suppose they might call for Vos of Nythel and Marhollow. It has never happened."

"But it could. You are not the first Vos I am knowing. I suppose they might call for Vos the Skinny and not Vos the Fat, but what if you are both skinny? What if you are both ugly and sour like a lemon? I am thinking this would be a cause for confusion. Have you never been arrested? I can see a gaol cart full of Voses."

"Perhaps," said Vos, now looking faintly irritated as well as bemused. "But I've walked this world a good number of years and nothing like that has ever happened."

"But it could," Barthim insisted. Carala rather suspected he was amused by Vos's growing exasperation. "It could, and this is no good thing. Denisius Lord Marhollow, what is the greatest service this man has rendered to you?"

"Erm," Denisius stammered. "Just Denisius, please."

Barthim's eyebrows rose precipitously. "Are you being hunted by werewolves too?"

"No, nothing like that, just -- don't like all my titles like that."

"That is no bad thing. Humility in men of your station is admirable, especially when it is deserved."

"Right," Denisius replied, fairly sure that was an insult. "Anyway, Vos's greatest service -- well, killing a werewolf and saving my life and Carala's life, probably. That comes to mind."

"Excellent!" Barthim cried. "Then from here on I shall call you Vos Wolfbane, until something better should suggest itself."

"Don't call me Vos Wolfbane," Vos said curtly.

"But this is a name you have earned! This is a champion's name! Be glad you are not Vos Turntail, or Vos Weepingface."

At that moment Casimir stunned them all by bursting into tears. They all stared at him, though Barthim didn't look surprised. The good cheer that had been growing on the bouncer's face abruptly withered. The boy looked down, trying to hide his sobs.

"What is it, Cass?" Barthim asked softly. "Tell us."

Casimir looked up with wounded eyes. He was holding a half-eaten strawberry. "These were Lena's favorites," he said thickly, his words hard to understand. "She always saved a couple for me, they didn't get them over there a lot."

Vos and Denisius exchanged an uncomfortable look. Neither of them knew how the boy could have known a brothel girl. Barthim had been kind enough not to mention where Casimir had come from, but Vos knew enough about brothel orphans to make the connection.

"You go on and weep for Lena, Cass," Barthim said in a voice so gentle none of them would have believed it had come from this giant man. "I will weep for her many times before I am done. There is no shame in it."

Casimir nodded, dropped the strawberry to the ground, and buried his face against Carala, collapsing into fierce sobs, one hand clutching at her shoulder. Carala slipped an arm around the boy's shoulders, murmuring softly to him, trying not to give over to tears herself. That a boy would come to a creature such as she had become for comfort made that very difficult . . . and there was the memory of Lena herself, assuring her Ammas could help her. At last she wept, if not so freely as Casimir.

Denisius rose up and approached the two of them, smiling awkwardly and lightly brushing his hand over Casimir's arm. "My mother died of a stomach wasting when I was older than you, Cass. I cried too. Barthim is right."

Casimir gave him a watery look and hid his face against Carala's side again. Denisius nodded and retreated to his original spot by the fire.

After some time Casimir's tears tapered to hitching cries, then to silence. Carala glanced down and saw he had fallen asleep against her. It had been nearly as long a day for him as it had for her, she supposed, and she was briefly envious that she couldn't just drift off to sleep herself. Without Ammas back, though, and with who knew what monsters lurking beyond those doors, she didn't quite dare to allow herself to be so relaxed.

Denisius spoke quietly, not wanting to wake the boy. "Carala, if Ammas can't treat you, then what are you going to do? Vos and I will help you, whatever it is." Vos nodded, but said nothing. Carala had to admire the manservant's loyalty.

"Ammas knows someone, another cursewright in hiding. An older one. He thinks she might have an answer."

Vos looked flabbergasted. "He told you about another one in hiding?"

Carala flushed. "I am not my father, Vos Wolfbane." Barthim grinned enormously. Carala smiled back at him weakly before continuing. "He says he can bring me to this woman. In fact, after the cure he gave me didn't take, he pledged his service to me. I accepted. He promises to help me until I am cured or . . . well, until something happens to him."

"You accepted a cursewright's oath of service?" Now Vos sounded positively awed.

"I did." Carala glared at him, but she saw in his face a respect she hadn't anticipated. "What else was I to do? I do not want to risk Gallowsport unless I have no other choice. And while there may be answers in Summervale, there is a question of time."

Neither Vos nor Denisius said anything. The threat of her next transformation hung unspoken in the air, as inarguable as the phases of the moons.

"Well," Denisius said at last, "if Ammas Mourthia wants to escort you to another cursewright, I suppose we'll just have to come with you."

Carala stared at him, open-mouthed. But Barthim the Beast looked delighted.