"Right, so." Starling shrugged. "Mystery solved, what? If it's not him, and it's not anyone he knows, and it's not the red stuff that made the rats, then it's probably some odd crazy bloke." Spoken as if this were the preferable option. "Because obviously whoever it is ain't killin' 'em for their money because this one still had his purse on him."

Lang caught the purse, and gave Curr a guilty look. "You keep it. We'll talk about tonight when I get you back to your father, wherever he is." She said, and passed it back. She looked back at Starling. "Maybe. I still don't like the idea of crazy odd fellows about."

Curr put his hands up, palms out, and backed a few steps away. "Oh no, milady, s'all yours. I mean it. I don't need that stuff; we only got rooms when we were wanderin' because of Jochy and we weren't exactly moral about it. Keep it. Get you an' Da a room for tonight."

Even as he made the suggestion, Curr sort of sidled further away from her, putting physical distance between them even if not emotional distance.

"Crazy odd fellows about everywhere in the world, Lang," Curr said, looking around them, the mostly empty streets suddenly seeming a little malicious. "Sometimes they're the ones they sit on the throne, sometimes they just drown people an' leave 'em to rot."

"Different kind of crazy, Curr," Starling said. "Some people just like killing folks." He glanced up at Barbara. "Do you think it's just one person doing this? Or more?"

"If there's more than one person.." She trailed off thinking. "Maybe. But there would be a pattern between them all, one would think." Barbara suggested. "And he said they were all different."

She glanced back at Curr. "Your father would probably like to be near you, until we know what's happening. We'll talk it over." She said, concerned.

"Same kind of crazy as I was thinkin'," Curr said with studied nonchalance. He shook his head at Babs. "He'd rather get five minutes around you that I'm not buggin' him, I'm sure," he said, looking uncomfortable at this idea that Matt would want to be close out of some kind of worry.

He sidled even further away.

Starling rolled his eyes. "Curr, you are so weird. It's your da'. You can't bug your own parents." He said this with the authority of someone who frequently bugged his own parents and had thus far gone unsmited.

He looked to Barbara. "Well, the only thing they do have in common is that they none of them have any blood."

"Roan, if you try and get any farther away from me, you'll run into a pole." Lang warned. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

Then she looked back at Starling. "That's what it seemed." She sighed. "Let's see what happens next. Perhaps try to figure out who's already been killed."

"He only became me da something like less than a year ago," Curr said uneasily. "Before that, I didn't have one, or at least one that remembered I exist. All this sudden concern an' scheisse takes some gettin' used to."

Curr gave a sigh.

"If this is just some man killin' folk, uhm, what business is it of ours? Really? Do we know anyone what's died? Does it have anything at all to do with us? Or are we just playin' at, at bein' Hunters when we're just folk who should be livin' our own lives an' not buryin' our nose in corpses in every city we so much as pause for rum in?"

"That's a really gross mental image there, Curr." Starling wrinkled his nose. "Look, if you don't want to come corpse-hunting, don't come corpse-hunting, that's fine. I just don't want it to end up like it did last time with houses collapsin' on people and enormous undead rats creepin' about underground."