Ben sighed. “I think you’re right. I noticed each side was going up first, along the length of the building. It just looked wrong.”

“Have there been other suspicious fires lately?” Daja asked.

Ben smiled crookedly. “No. We lost a warehouse a couple of months ago, but that wasn’t suspicious. And there weren’t any big fires all summer, which is our worst season.” He shook his head. “I’ve heard some broth-brains claim we’ve made the city so safe that the fire-spirits have left us.”

Daja made a face. “People aren’t all that clever, mostly, are they?”

“Someone’s clever,” Ben reminded her. “Someone arranged that fire like artists arrange paints.”

“Have you any idea who?” Daja wanted to know. “What kind of monster would burn a girl to death?”

Ben actually flinched. “Please don’t say that,” he asked. “We came too close there. If you hadn’t arrived-“

“You would have found a way,” Daja interrupted. “I know you would have.”

“I’m honored, but you overestimate me,” Ben told her. “Did you see anyone-odd-watching the fire?”

It was Daja’s turn to smile crookedly. “I haven’t been here long enough to know what’s normal and what isn’t,” she admitted. “So, should I take this to the magistrates? Tell them the fire was set?”

“I’ll go,” Ben replied. “They may call at Bancanor House to ask you for details, though I doubt it. Magistrate’s mages tend to rely on their spells more than the words and ideas of mere human beings.” He sighed. “I’ll nose around and ask some questions of my own. Luckily I know Bazniuz Island well. My-my family and I lived there.”

Daja looked down. She wanted to say something proper, something that wouldn’t stir up painful feelings for this man she admired. In the end she could only think of the commonplace: “I am sorry for your loss. I heard how you came to study all this in the first place.”

Ben picked up a small oval painting on the worktable, and held it out for Daja to examine. “Kofrinna-my wife,” he explained as Daja accepted it. It showed a blandly pretty young woman with dark eyes and a timid smile. “Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her and our children.” He looked away.

“I’m sorry,” Daja said, putting the portrait on his desk. “I didn’t mean to-“

“Actually I’m glad you mentioned her,” he said. “No one talks to me about her or the little ones. I-“

The door opened without a preceding knock. Daja turned to see the newcomer, a hard-faced woman about five feet, five inches tall. She wore a plain undergown of cream-colored wool without a speck of embroidery. Her overgown was brown wool with black braid trim around the hem, collar, and sleeve openings, secured down the front by plain black buttons. Her head veil was cream-colored linen, the round hat pinned on top of her veil as brown and unremarkable as her dress. They covered hair that had been dyed blonde in the Namornese style so often it looked like straw. Hers was a hard, tight face, with lines that bracketed a broad, unsmiling mouth and short nose. Tiny pupils that never expanded were at the center of her pale gray-green eyes.

The eager, intense Ben Daja had been talking to was gone. In his place was a large, awkward man whose body was as stiff as his voice when he said, “Mother. Allow me to introduce Viymese Daja Kisubo. Daja, this is my mother, Ravvi Morrachane Ladradun.”

Morrachane looked at Daja and sniffed, as if she didn’t believe Daja had a proper claim to a mage’s title. “Good morning, Viymese. I would like to speak to my son.” She turned to go, then hesitated and looked at Daja again. “You are the one who stays with the Bancanors?”

Daja, who did not like the way that Morrachane had sniffed at her, gave only a tiny bow of agreement.

Morrachane’s lips moved: the corners turned up; the wrinkles on either side of her mouth deepened. It took Daja a moment to realize that Morrachane was smiling. It took another moment to wonder at the kind of person Morrachane was, that a smile looked so alien on her face. “You are staying with my young friends Niamara and Jorality, then. Pray give them my greetings.”

Daja gave another bow in reply. It spoke well of the woman that she liked Daja’s friends, but not well enough to make Daja forget the change her arrival had worked on Ben.

“Would you be so good as to tell them I found that book of lace patterns I told them about?” asked Ben’s mother. “They had asked to see it.”

“Yes, of course,” Daja replied.

Morrachane’s smile, such as it was, evaporated. “Bennat,” she commanded and walked out.

Ben looked at Daja, patches of red embarrassment marking his broad cheeks. “Please excuse me,” he said and followed his mother, pulling the door shut behind him. It slid open an inch, enough that Daja could hear their conversation.

Ben said quietly, “Mother, that was rude.”

“Why are you here?” Morrachane demanded. She didn’t seem to care if anyone heard. “You’ve frittered nearly three days away on this nonsense. No doubt our clerks are robbing us blind while you chat with this southern wench.”

“Mother, Daja is a mage and deserves respect!” Ben still kept his voice low.

“Only by dint of bedding with that ‘teacher’ of hers, I’m sure. Those with magic have no morals. I would never expose my daughters to such people as Kol and Matazi have done. And you shouldn’t be lolling about with her.”