I fear that dank footsteps are trailing me across the Beetle Market and am somewhat concerned. Hiring a bravo is beyond my finances and so, for the price of scribing letters to his kin, a Hoornisher agreed to show me the use of the scribing knife as an impromptu weapon. As I write this my mind is full of news of drained dykes, revetted sluices and strong mustard. Such is the price for safety in Barbizon in the Year of the Goat.