Gwin was finding the hobgoblin’s tone more annoying by the second. “Kindly refrain from calling me a crumb-bum.”

  Gulpe smirked.

  “There are indeed druid’s robes to be found for sale on the Crimson Mile,” Gwin went on. “The moons have turned. The Citadel is taking in new students and they all need robes and supplies. These new students draw their power directly from the purple moon, from Aikana, rather than from Mamai. Hence the purple belt. Most druids you have seen about the city will have been wearing a silver belt, to represent Mamai. Now their power wanes and it is time for those attuned to the Purple Mother to ascend.”

  “I know all this. You sound like a bloody textbook.”

  “If you know all this then why did you let me explain—” Gwin stopped and closed her eyes. She took a calming breath, inhaling through her nose and exhaling long and low through her mouth.

  “No matter. I plan to enter the Crimson Citadel under the pretext of being a new student. I found a very nice, if somewhat pungent, man in the Silver Quarter willing to sell me an extremely authentic-looking Letter of Druidic Intent. He even stamped it using the exact same wax the druids use to authenticate their documents. It meant I was able to openly purchase the robes and I will present it at the Crimson Citadel when I arrive. I have it here if you would like to see it.”

  Gwin reached into a pocket of her cloak and withdrew a folded piece of parchment. Gulpe took it from her without a word, setting a small pair of glasses on the end of his nose before beginning to read.

  “I was careful to disguise my hair and eyes with a powerful piece of glamour magick before I bought the robes,” Gwin went on. “I will use the same magick when I enrol at the Citadel. I foresee no difficulties.”

  “So, you’re phasing in with Aikana? That’s a stroke of luck.”

  “The Asrai don’t phase in and out with the turning of the moons. Our magick is an innate part of ourselves. It runs through our blood and draws from our own bodies.”

  “Sounds exhausting.”

  “It can be, although we can manifest strength from the moons if we need to.” Gwin reached into her cloak once more, beckoning to the shivering leafling hiding there. “There is just one thing I must ask of you.”

  The little creature obediently held onto Gwin’s outstretched finger, allowing herself to be presented to Gulpe.

  “I couldn’t possibly take her where I’m going,” Gwin continued. “The chances of her being discovered are too high.” She smiled at the leafling holding tightly to her finger with long, spindly arms. “I call her Little Leaf.”

  Gulpe looked from the leafling to Gwin with wide eyes. “Isn’t that the little ‘un they lost up at the Leafling’s Half?” When Gwin nodded he grinned. “Good. It’s disgusting to keep such a creature locked in a cage. I always thought so.”

  “So you will care for her in my absence?”

  “Well, what do you say, Little Leaf? Want to bunk with me and Petey for a while?”

  The leafling shook and curled herself tighter around Gwin’s finger, hiding her face against a cuticle.

  “Maybe she’ll warm up to me.” Gulpe re-folded the parchment and passed it back to Gwin.

  “You’ve done well there,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t be able to tell it apart from the real thing. This glamour business worries me, though. I deal in spelled trinkets and curiosities so I know a thing or two about glamours. You have to wear the necklace or the ring or whatever’s been spelled at all times to keep up the ruse. As soon as you remove it, the glamour melts away and your regular mug is revealed for all to see. People throw a good amount of coin my way so they can amuse their friends at parties. But what if you can’t wear the spelled trinket? What if the druids have a strict no jewellery policy? What if it falls off while you sleep or gets damaged when you bathe? Those druids live together, train together, and work magick for their shifty lord together. Have you thought about how difficult it will be to wear a glamour night and day?”

  “The Asrai don’t lower themselves to using spelled trinkets as party tricks.”

  Gulpe’s face closed again, snapping shut like the shell of a hard, dry nut. Gwin lowered her eyes.

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  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I just meant, the glamour I’ve designed isn’t bound to a piece of jewellery. I’ve bound it to myself, to the ice that runs through my blood. It will take a good deal of my energy to maintain but I know I can do it. I have to.”

  “And what is the point of expending all this energy? What exactly do you hope to learn from the druids?”

  “I hope to learn everything,” Gwin said, amazed that wasn’t obvious. “I hope to learn Lord Dewer’s entire plan for the future of Joria. It is the druids who seem to be controlling these demons on his behalf. If I am one of them, I can work to end what he’s doing.”

  “A noble, well thought out plan. I’m sure nothing could possibly go wrong.”

  “You are being sarcastic.”

  “Actually, Mrs, despite your raging Asrai snobbery, your bravery has deeply impressed me.” He held up a hand to stop Gwin before she could reply. “However, if something does go wrong, we’d better make sure you’re adequately prepared.”

  Gwin watched the hobgoblin with interest as he shuffled back towards the counter and pulled out several boxes from the shelves beneath.

  “These could come in handy,” he said, holding up a pair of earrings.

  “The Shining Earrings of Solania.” Gwin recognised them at once. “But won’t they burn a hole through my ears?”

  “Only after prolonged use, and only if many people are talking about you at once.” He tutted and pressed them into Gwin’s hand when she continued to look unsure. “Only wear them if you think someone might be suspicious. You’ll be able to hear anything they say about you, no matter where they are. And remember to take them off as soon as possible.”

  He turned his attention back to the boxes on the counter, rummaging through the myriad contents until he finally presented Gwin with a small paper packet and a velvet drawstring pouch. He opened the packet first, holding it out to show her the loose powder inside. It was dark red and grainy, smelling vaguely of cloves.

  “One of my favourite blends,” Gulpe said. “Truth Tongue. The trickiest part is getting the dolt of your choosing to swallow the stuff. It’s best mixed with honey and spread on bread, dulls some of the wretched taste. Once swallowed, Truth Tongue will latch onto the roof of your victim’s mouth like a sticky web. Most painful. Hideously unpleasant. Not only will they be compelled to tell you anything you ask of them—they won’t be able to spit out the Truth Tongue until you tell them you’re done. Don’t forget that last part. If you don’t, the entire roof of their mouth could be stripped away. I’ve actually seen that happen once; it wasn’t pretty.”

  Gwin curbed a shudder, but took the packet and slipped it into a pocket of her cloak. “What’s in the other one?” she asked.

  Gulpe opened the velvet pouch and gently shook the contents. They made a fine tinkling sound, like falling shards of glass. Gwin leaned across the counter to peer inside. At the bottom of the pouch was a quantity of dull brown crystals.

  “You need to be very careful with this one,” Gulpe said. “I call them Wink-Out Chips. If you crush just one of them—I’d advise underfoot—the eyesight of anyone in the vicinity will instantly wink out. The blindness is only temporary but it may cause some bleeding.” Gwin wrinkled her nose. “As an added bonus, those afflicted will also have the last five minutes or so of their miserable lives erased from their noggins. Extremely useful if you’re caught in a pinch and need to make a dramatic escape. Of course, there is a downside. If you don’t properly cover your own eyes, nose and mouth, you’ll be similarly affected and that could create a whole fresh mess of trouble.”

  Gulpe pulled the drawstrings shut and tied them in a knot before giving the pouch to Gwin, who gingerly placed it in her pocket alongside the packet of Truth Tongue.

  “Thank you, Gulpe. This is very generous of you.”

  “It’s just a small gesture,” the hobgoblin replied, waving her thanks away. “Good bloody luck to you, Mrs.”

  Gwin looked at the shivering creature still wrapped around her finger. She brought the leafling up to her face and smiled kindly.

  “Are you ready to take your leave of me?”

  The leafling lifted her head long enough to poke out a long silver tongue, first at Gwin and then at Gulpe, before hiding her face once more.

  “Come now, Little Leaf,” Gwin insisted. She tried prying the leafling free, but for such a tiny creature, her grip on Gwin’s finger was surprisingly strong. “There’s no need for rudeness.”

  “I believe Little Leaf has made her choice,” Gulpe said. “She obviously wishes to remain with you.”

  “But that’s impossible. If she is discovered within the Crimson Citadel, it will raise all sorts of suspicions. The druids have no love for the koskin, just as they have no love for the changelings.”

  “Then all I can suggest, Mrs, is that you make bloody sure your little friend is not discovered.”

  Gwin glared at Gulpe but he ignored her and turned to the leafling, wound so tightly about Gwin’s finger she could have been mistaken for a twisting green ring.

  “You won’t cause any trouble, will you, Little Leaf?”

  Little Leaf shivered slightly, letting Gulpe know she had heard him.

  “Just be careful. Mind your mistress and keep a watchful eye out at all times. You must not let another soul see you. Do you understand?”

  This time, the leafling uncurled herself. She slid down into Gwin’s palm and looked up at Gulpe, nodding solemnly.

  Gwin sighed, defeated. “Very well, then. In truth, I would have missed you, little one.” She briefly stroked the leafling’s downy head before lifting her back up to settle into her customary pocket.

  “Now, get those robes back in that sack and be on your way,” Gulpe said. His voice was rough-edged but he smiled as he spoke.

  As Gwin stepped back out into the ashy haze of Midnight Lane, she felt a thrill of fear. The leafling fluttered inside her pocket as if attempting to comfort her. Mustering her courage, Gwin began making her way towards the white stone and sunny terraces of the Crimson Quarter.