Like snakes, she shed her skin seasonally, pulling off the mask of her mother and slipping into cleanly washed clothes and demurely braided hair. Wrapped in skirts and scarves she was no different from many of the other women in the Wreath, wrapped up tightly as the colder season had started.

Though it never got truly cold here.

She was hobbling herself, masquerading like this, but sometimes this was needed. A small skiff, dark waters and darker alleys, Michelle going where Kuleliti could not.

On stony streets where drunk people shouted catcalls at her.

A shadow rose over her shoulder, and a dapper, elderly gentleman approached. "Mademoiselle?" he asked. "Are you in need of an escort?"

Her eyes flickered sharply at the shadow, a cornered cat caught off guard. But with a faint fluttering of her lashes she chased away that illusion, giving the older man a demure smile.

"The streets are dark" she nearly whispered, pulling the shawl tighter around what looked to be a swelling belly. "But I have not far to go." Her accent was odd, but there were so many accents on this island that one more hardly made a difference.

"If you seek companionship for the night there are good houses further down the street" she added with a mischievous wink.

The man chuckled. "I'm not looking for that type of companionship," he answered, and offered her an arm. "I'm old enough to be your grandfather. In fact, my granddaughters are not much younger than you."

"I am older than I look" she smiled, through tight lips. "The shadows are kinder than I deserve." She seemed to be considering whether it was worse to deal with this old man than to continue being picked on by the drunkards.

Age seemed preferable, and so she put her arm in his.

How novel.

"I have business at the Black Banner." That was the name of a tavern of some ill repute, not too far from here.

"Do you?" the elderly man asked. "And what kind of business might that be? For a woman who seems younger than she is in the shadows and would thus be a target for men who are less than sober?"

"I am meeting a man" she said coyly, as if there was no other business a woman could have this time of night. "He is less gentlemanly than you are."

"I see," answered the elderly man. "What if I told you that I had business with you?"

"I would tell you that you were mistaken," she said, though her voice was a bit more serious and not quite as flirtatious.

"It is a dangerous thing, having business with me. I have business with people, not the other way around."

Her ears had pricked up as she scanned the alley. It was an Aquitaine accent on the old man, but a strange one. And it was not the usual navy tricks.

"And your mother?" he asked. "Did she have business with you, or the other way around?"