---
"Yes," John said. "From the White estate. Someone who carried linens, fetched water, or knew which doors hid mistakes."
Mara did not ask why he wanted this. People who ran inns learned when not to push a curiosity into a wound. She looked toward the back where a curtain moved with the rhythm of kitchen work. Then she looked back and considered the two men, one of whom was not a man at all, and made a small decision that you might miss if you had not learned to see decisions at all.
"Tonight," she said. "Behind the yard, at the old apple press. A boy named Lark will meet you. He used to run the east corridor laundry at White. He is a magpie for secrets and a coward about selling them. Which means you will pay him enough to tell the truth and not enough to change it."
"How much is that," Fizz asked.
Mara tapped the coins. "Add one to those three. And keep another three in your hand so he can see his future if his memory behaves."
"Done," John said.
