“I think we have some allies in Bedegar.

“What?" Dalgliesh raised his eyebrows. "It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”

"Maybe. Maybe not. I'm not sure, it's just a feeling I have.”

Dalgliesh sensed there was something happening here. “Alright,” he said. “What kind of allies are we
talking about?”

“Campaigners.”

“Oh.”

“Six of them. Give or take.”

“You’ve lost your senses. It’d take more than six against Saxton.”

“I mean, I know it sounds crazy...a bunch of ratcatchers. A dwarf, a war-breed, an elf. But something
extraordinary just happened here in Bedegar Keep.”

“How extraordinary?”

“I have it on good authority from a guard, that a company of ratcatchers was captured by the Rose and
scheduled to be hanged.”

“I know how this story ends," Dalgliesh said ruefully. “What's a team of dead campaigners to us?

“They didn't die.”

“What?”

“They escaped.”

“Horseshit. We lost an entire Cog to Saxton and the Rose. Your source is lying to you.”

“I’m telling you they made it out. I watched them steal a team of horses and ride right out from under
Saxton's nose. I've no idea how they did it.”

“Black gods,” Dalgliesh muttered to himself. Then he came back to reality. "So they escaped. So they'll
never go back, they'd be fools to. How does this help us?"

“No. No they didn't all make it out. Their leader was executed by Lady Morgant as punishment for the
others escaping. Probably did it to save face. One of them got out on her watch.”

“Oh,” Dalgliesh said smiling. The smile became a low chuckle. “Oh that meat-brained, sadistic bitch. It's
perfect. They had a team of campaigners in the dock. Ratcatchers, sellswords who don't give a shit
about Bedegar or the Rose. If they'd killed them all, end of story. If they'd all gotten away…?”

“Same result.”

“Exactly. But instead they let them all escape but one, the leader, and they murder him in cold blood,”
Dalgliesh almost couldn't believe it. "It’s like they're trying to radicalize a cell for us. What more could
they have done?"
“They killed the campaigner’s mule.”

“What?!”

The polder shrugged. “I know how it sounds, but the Rose are mental. I think they pull the wings off flies
to pass the time.”

“You may be right. I think the Black Rose just activated a cell in Bedegar for us.”

“I thought you should know. What do I do?”

Dalgliesh nodded. Good question. "Give them some help," he shrugged.

“How much?”

“Not much. If they need too much help, means they're no good. Just a little.”

“’Just a little,’” Willoughby Twobuckle said. “Understood.”

“And Twobuckle...”

The polder paused. “Yeah?”

“If we've thought of this, Saxton's thought of it. He'll have the Rose out looking, he won't wait for these
ratcatchers to come back. He'll want to follow, harry them. They humiliated him once, he’ll tear the
barony apart looking for them.”

“I get it.”

“Of course you do. Get to work.”

The polder pocketed the palm-sized sending stone and surveyed the empty stables in case anyone had
come by.

Neither he, nor Dalgliesh had to say it. They both knew how the conversation ended.

The Clock is always ticking….