57

She's pleased to hear it. Brute, for its part, is not at all sanguine about cutting your bovine time short, but you navigate that challenge with reasonable aplomb and only a few teeth marks on your calf.

Onward

Out on the streets on Hondelet is a bakery called Flounce's. At the hour of evening when you reach the place, it's apparent that the public-houses hold much greater appeal for most of the city's denizens; but here you were directed, so after a stout rap on the back door you enter.

A pole-thin woman with a sharp nose is sweeping flour and salt off the floor. You shrink back involuntarily as she whips her face towards you; with that beak she resembles a human scythe.

"Cheers," you say, flashing a quick grin. "I'm here on order of one Kitty Harlowe?"

She tips her broom to indicate the cellar door in the corner, her eyes wary. You nod your thanks and descend.

Onward