Relieved, he gives her only moderately convoluted directions to Concord Square.

Then she'll say her goodbyes and head over there! 

She makes it there without incident, and receives an inquisitive squint from the man at the door.

"What's your business?"

"Well, that's what I'm trying to find out. I'm new in town, and I'm looking to solve problems and generally make myself useful, but I don't know what most needs doing and I heard this was a good place to ask."

"Hmm," the man says noncommittally. He beholds Samora, squinting a bit at her sword, then shrugs. "There's the usual thieves, Knife-and-Candle murders, some Jack-of-Smiles on the loose carving up young lovers, revolutionaries... there's arson going around, that's serious, if you can find any intelligence on that we'd all be glad of it. This city don't like fire."

"Alright. This a good place to bring any murderers and arsonists I turn up?"

"Sure. Or the bodies, if you kill them – you've got the look of a surfacer so I'll say it aloud, if you kill somebody you still gotta bring 'em in."

"Understood, thank you. Where's the most recent place that burned down?" Might as well start there as anywhere.

"15 Horseacre Street in Spite. Neighborhood of Flowerdene."

"Thanks!"

She heads off thataway, periodically asking for directions and building a mental map as she goes. London isn't obviously much bigger or smaller than Absalom, but all her trips to Absalom have been confined to the temple district, the area with all the magic item stores, and a couple of inns, so she can't really compare structures.

Passers-by are willing to offer directions with some regularity, though not at all universally.

Also, if she looks upwards more than occasionally, she's likely to notice a coterie of small and dirty children following her along the roofs by means of fairly impressive feats of parkour. They have fishing rods.

Ah yes, orphan gangs. The ones in Absalom aren't on the roofs so much but for whatever reason these ones sure are favoring them. Maybe because falls won't kill them. She keeps a hand on her bag and an eye on the fishing rods and asks one for directions when they're the closest person.

She squints her (literal) stormy grey eyes, but willingly provides the directions, which may be too as-the-crow-flies to be of especial use.

She can keep track of which way she's facing alright, though without the normal sky it's a bit harder, but "go the closest available direction to thataway" is pretty inefficient. She gets there eventually, though.

There is: a burnt-down house! Smells like fire and like the stagnant water used to put it out.

The stormy-eyed urchin kept tailing her after the others figured she was too watchful to pickpocket. She sits on a chimney-pot and watches.

Samora inspects the burnt-down house more intently than most people can inspect anything. Where in the building did the fire start, and what fuels both already present or added by the arsonist aided its spread? Did the arsonist leave a footprint, a finger-smudge, a strand of hair behind? Has anyone disturbed the ashes since? Did any living creature burn here? Does any trace of magic or Evil linger about the place?

The fire started from an adjoining alley, where an exposed wooden strut of the house was soaked liberally with kerosene. It spread through the frame, and eventually reached the kitchen, producing a relatively small flour-dust explosion. The coal cellar is still smoldering. The ashes have been quite thoroughly disturbed by an investigative force. No living creatures perished, but there's ash from burnt hair and a faint smell of burnt flesh out by where the fire started, and ashen footprints that look as if they were dancing. There's no Evil traces, but there's some magic – the whole area of the fire is lightly magical, like it was caused by a low-level evocation, and there's a set of runes scratched into the surrounding buildings, thoroughly defaced but still leaking their own evocation aura.

Huh. They took a lot of care not to burn anything else down. Probably saved more than a few lives (or whatever you call it here), in a crowded pile of kindling like this neighborhood.

She looks over at the urchin. "Are you interested in this fire too?"

"It's an interestin' one," which isn't quite an answer. "Heard everybody got out first. Even the rats. Then, froosh."

"Huh. An arsonist who wasn't out to kill anyone. Think they just liked fire, or was there something here they didn't want to be there anymore?" 

The urchin considers. "There's easier ways to get rid of most things, en't there?"

A whisper of wind traces through the alley, stirring dust-devils from the soot and tousling the urchin's hair. She stiffens momentarily.

"...the wind likes you," she murmurs, relaxing deliberately. "Says you're a Law-thing, like the thunder."

"Sounds right. What's thunder like, down here?"

"It's always got somethin' to say, if you can listen right. If it touches you, you're different. It says be proud, an' never be afraid, an' pay your debts, good or bad. ...mostly it's just mad, though. It's dead, an' bein' dead en't no fun."

"It sounds like I might want to . . . meet? Speak to? The thunder, if that's something that can be done with only moderate risk." Pride speaks one way, fearlessness another. Maybe it needs help and she'll want to help it. Maybe it needs to be deader.

"Was there anything strange about this place before it burned?"

"Won't have much luck talkin' to the thunder less it strikes you, but talkin' to Slivvy's almost as good, he's its priest an' it talks to him more'n anybody else. Might be he'll call on you sometime."

She considers the question. "Not as I'd know of. Just one more house in the rookery."