“I’ll help you to the steam room after you’ve eaten,” he promised.

“How many died?” she heard herself inquire. She shouldn’t ask-she knew she didn’t want an answer-but she had to know.

“Twelve,” said Frostpine in a dull voice. “Seven dead right away. Five after, including people who fought the fire. Three more-no one’s sure if they’ll make it. It could have been worse. They were having a children’s party and a supper party, with all kinds of extra servants. Fifty in the house. Olaksan Jossaryk is dead. He saved his wife and supper guests first. The last he was seen, he was on his way to the nursery wing.”

“The whole town is exclaiming over the coincidence,” Heluda Salt announced from the open door. Anyussa and Jory, each carrying a loaded tray, filed in past her. They put the dishes on a small round table before the hearth. When they finished, Anyussa towed the obviously curious Jory out by the arm. Heluda closed the door behind them. “I see I visited at just the right time,” the mage remarked coolly. “We must talk.”

“I’m only wearing a nightshirt,” Daja said in apology.

“Oh, of course you should wash and dress and put off eating to save me the sight of you in a nightgown,” retorted Heluda, amused. “Don’t be ridiculous. Once you’ve helped your daughter give birth to your first grandson, believe me, things like proper dinner wear aren’t important.”

Daja threw off her covers and stood with a lurch. If anything, she was stiffer than Frostpine. He helped her to one of the fireside chairs. Daja’s stomach growled as she saw fresh bread, ham, stewed spinach, and custard. It wasn’t Trader cooking or Trader spices, but it smelled just as good right now. “Excuse me,” she said. Grabbing a spoon, she got to work on a pork soup with pearl barley and sour cream.

“What coincidence is the town exclaiming over?” Frostpine asked as he poured tea for each of them. He and Heluda took chairs across from Daja.

“Sunsday, Bennat Ladradun told the Alakut Island council that the confectioner’s shop fire proved he needed more money and more people to train in firefighting. The council said all it proved was that he’d trained those people he had poorly.”

Daja looked her question over a mouthful of barley; Frostpine asked it for her. “Yes, but what’s the coincidence? There are fires all over the city in winter.”

“Yes, but this was Jossaryk House.” The magistrate’s mage looked from Frostpine to Daja. “I keep forgetting you aren’t local,” Heluda said wryly. “Chiora Jossaryk is Romachko Skuretty’s mistress.”

Frostpine and Daja traded baffled looks.

Heluda shook her head. “Romachko Skuretty is the head of Alakut council. The one that turned Ladradun down.”

Frostpine grimaced. “I could happily spend the rest of my life without such coincidences.”

Daja nodded, inspected her bowl. It was empty, but there were bits of meat and barley and sauce. She tore apart a rye-and-wheat roll and mopped up the rest.

“What of our counterfeiter?” Frostpine asked. “I’m able to go out.”

Heluda shook her head. “Our people are sitting on every brass supplier, with spectacles magicked to see through illusion,” she told him. “Sooner or later our friend, or his people, will come for supplies. Once we track them home, we’ll need you. We may not be equal to a truly powerful illusion-mage who tampers with coins, but my trackers can follow quarry through blizzards. We’re fine for now.” She drummed her fingers on her chair for a moment before she said abruptly. “I’m here on another matter, actually.”

She got up, paced to the door and back, then stopped, frowned, and went to Daja’s worktable, where the iron glove forms stood upright. “What in Vrohain’s name are these?” She leaned in to inspect the forms, then took something from her pocket and screwed it into her right eye. It was a lens spelled for magical vision: Daja could see gleaming silver runes on its rim. “It’s been made with magic, but these aren’t magical in and of themselves. Are you building an artificial man?” She wriggled one of the hinged fingers.

Daja had started on a plate of pirozhi stuffed with salmon and sturgeon. She gulped a mouthful, drank some tea, and said, “They’ll be gloves, covered with metal that isn’t much affected by fire.” She absently rubbed the brass mitt over her left hand. “For Ben Ladradun. I thought it would be good to make him gloves so he can push open burning doors and the like. I thought I’d make a whole suit for him, but I need to think about that a while.”

Heluda put her eyepiece back into her pocket. “You craft-mages have the oddest ideas,” she remarked, shaking her head.

Frostpine cleared his throat. “You said you came about something else. I’m going to expire of curiosity.” He picked up one of Daja’s rolls, ripped it in half, and buttered a piece.

Heluda walked back to her chair and flopped into it. “Jossaryk House. My people laid the inspection spells as soon as the remnants cooled. The fire wasn’t accidental. It was set,” she told them.

Daja’s fork slipped from suddenly cold fingers, clattering on her plate.

Frostpine sighed. “Have you suspects?”

“Only at least three for each servant and ten for each guest,” replied the magistrate’s mage. “There’s always that many people who wish someone ill, and they all must be questioned. Tracking the firesetter by his traces was a waste of time,” she growled. “Whoever did it burned all he used, so what we did find, the fire scoured clean. What’s maddening? No one saw him, but he must have done it while guests were arriving for those parties. Look.” Clearing a space on the tablecloth, Heluda sketched the ground floor of the house with a fingertip, her magic turning the lines to inklike streaks. “The front of the house, that looks over the cliff? In winter it’s closed-it takes the brunt of the wind off the Syth. The servants store whole carcasses-pig, cow, sheep-in it, it’s that cold. In summer, of course, it’s lovely. Our firesetter broke in there. He walks up the cliff road, which no one uses for the same reason the house’s front is closed off-he may as well have been invisible.”