
The Queen's Blade Prequel II
God Touched
T C Southwell
Published by T C Southwell at Smashwords
Copyright © 2010 T C Southwell
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Table of Contents
The whore hesitated at the entrance to Pitcairn Alley, its darkness daunting her a little. The Death Moon was only half full, and clouds made the night darker. A breeze stirred the rags and bits of paper that littered the lane, carrying the stench of decay and excrement to her. The alley made her journey home much shorter, however, and she sensed no presence in it. The greatest danger was tripping over something foul, or slipping in the turds that beggars left. Entering the alley, she picked her way through the garbage, avoiding puddles of dubious, dirty liquid that might have been water or piss. No beggars slept here; it was too foul even for them.
A dark form lying on the cobblestones made her pause, and she peered at it, unable to make out what it was. Stepping closer, she poked it with her toe. Drunkards sometimes did not make it home, and occasionally carried purses with a few coppers in them. The moon edged out from behind the clouds, casting its magical light on a huddled, black-clad man. He lay on his side, one arm bent under him at an unnatural angle, his face pressed to the dirty street. Blood caked on his exposed cheek and spiked his long hair, which straggled from a leather thong to lie against his cheek, glued there with blood.
Lilu clicked her tongue and shook her head. Doubtless he was the victim of cutthroats, and probably dead. He certainly looked dead. On the off chance that they had missed it, she groped at his belt for his purse. To her surprise, she found one that clinked, and tugged it loose, hefting it. If what was inside was silver, it was a tenday's worth of food and lodgings. Eager to evaluate her windfall, she opened the leather pouch and peered inside, her eyes widening at the glint of gold. Unable to believe her luck, she emptied a few coins into her palm and stared at them. The purse was full of goldens. At least ten, judging by its weight. More than a moon-phase of good food and clean board. She glanced at the man, pitying him. Whoever he was, he had no more use for the money.
Tucking the purse away, she stepped over the corpse and hurried on down the alley, eager to get home and count her newfound riches. By the time she reached the end of the lane, her steps slowed and she glanced back. What if he was alive? He would die for sure if no one helped him, and no one would, she was certain. Even if his family was rich, and searched for him, they would not find him in time. If she helped him, on the other hand, they might give her a reward. Then again, how could she? He was surely too heavy for her to drag all the way to her lodgings. She could call, though. They might help if he was a wealthy man. She quickened her steps, then slowed again. What was a rich man doing in Pitcairn Alley? That made no sense. The affluent did not come to the poor quarter.
Lilu paused at the end of the lane and looked back, undecided. Her curiosity was thoroughly aroused, but it had got her into trouble before now. The most sensible course of action was to go home and forget about him. Why could she not just walk away? What was it about this half-dead, if not entirely dead man that made her want to help him so much? Her desire to do so was illogical, and, although she was a soft-hearted person, for the most part, good sense should have warned her to stay away from a potentially dangerous situation. Who knew who he was? He might be a killer.
A soft pop made her glance around. A tiny dragon, aglow with scintillating light that shimmered over her skin in many-hued, ever-changing patterns, hovered on blurred wings beside her. Symbell drifted closer, her green eyes alight as she gazed past Lilu up the lane. Gold edged her wings and legs and vibrant blue rimmed her nostrils and eyes. Symbell trilled, and her words whispered in Lilu's mind.
Save him.
The harlot tilted her head. "Why?"
You want to.
"But he might be dangerous."
You must.
"Why?"
Symbell chirped and burst into song, filling the dingy street with magical notes of the sweetest purity. The moonlight shimmered and brightened, gilding rooftops and cobblestones. Dirty glass panes glowed, bits of filthy paper sparkled and puddles glinted like liquid silver. The gloomy street became a magical wonderland when filled with a radiant dragon's song of revelation. If anyone was abroad tonight, or awake in a nearby house, they would find their drab world transformed into a pearl-hued paradise.
Lilu glanced at the fallen man and gasped. Radiance drifted around him, drawn to him in a glowing nimbus that swirled and shimmered, shot with pale hues of unimaginable beauty. It radiated from him too, surrounding him in a shining aura so pale and pure it was hard to look at and not cry. Lilu was drawn to him, and fought the powerful urge. She looked at Symbell, who continued to sing, her throat puffed up as she produced her sweet, magical notes. They hung in the air, carrying echoes that owed nothing to the presence of boundaries. Lilu gazed at the comatose man again, certain now that he lived, and her eyes widened as the shimmering aura around him coalesced, becoming sharp-edged and distinct.
Symbell fell silent, and in an instant the magic vanished as if it had never been, and the gloom, filth and stench closed in once more.
Lilu whispered, "He's God Touched."
Symbell chirped. Yes.
Lilu smiled and held out her hand, and the radiant landed on it, her wings becoming visible as they ceased to beat. She folded them and craned her sinuous neck, purring when Lilu stroked her silken skin, causing the coloured patterns in it to swirl. Symbell arched her neck and nipped Lilu's finger, then leapt into the air with a buzz of wings and vanished with a faint pop, leaving a glowing spot in the air. Lilu giggled, then her mirth faded as she turned to look at the stranger again. The amazement of Symbell's miraculous revelation stunned her, and she walked back to his side, striving to come to terms with it. Only a very few were God Touched, legend said; perhaps one in seven generations. Perhaps as few as one per age. She stood beside him, a lump blocking her throat.
Crouching, she tried to brush the hair from his cheek, but the dried blood held it in place. He stank of excrement and decay, his short leather jacket and trousers streaked with it. Someone had beaten him almost to death, and it looked like his arm was broken, perhaps his leg too. Lilu took hold of his wrist and tried to pull him into a sitting position, but he flopped. He did not appear to be a big man, and he was lean, almost thin. Wrinkling her nose at the stench and wishing she had a handkerchief to cover it with, she bent and slid her arms under his knees and shoulders. Her back twinged when she straightened, but he proved to be even lighter than he looked, and once she was upright he did not seem so heavy.
Lilu staggered down the alley, bowed under his weight, which she could barely carry. Her lodgings in a merchant's back room on Tarbriar Way seemed a league away, and she was certain her strength would not last that long. She was quite surprised when she arrived at the sagging door to her room, and, fearing that if she put him down she would not be able to pick him up again, tired as she was, she fumbled the key into the lock with the hand that supported his knees. Mercifully the lock opened easily, and she reeled inside, made it to the bed and dumped him on it, panting. A few moonbeams crept in through the window to silver a patch of grimy floor, and she rubbed her aching back before lighting the lamp beside the bed.
Eager to get a good look at her find, she lighted all the candles and set them on the bedside table, filling the room with golden radiance. He lay on his side, his back to her, and she sat on the edge of the bed and rolled him onto his back. Lilu's breath caught at the sight of his face, and she gazed at him, her heart pounding. God Touched. It showed in the purity of his features, so lean and clean, with a well-shaped mouth and high cheekbones, a narrow, chiselled nose and fine brows. He looked no more than seventeen years old, a mere youth. Dried blood streaked his cheeks and clogged his nostrils, and he breathed through his mouth. His nose was crooked, so it must be broken, and the sides of his temples were grazed as if he had been kicked there. Someone had tried hard to ruin his face.
Lilu gazed at him for several minutes, basking in the wonder of her find. Rising to her feet, she brought her water basin to the side of the bed and dipped a ragged grey towel in it, using it to rub away the dried blood on his face. It smeared into a pink mess, and she had to rinse the towel many times. When his face was clean, she gazed at it. Becoming aware of the stench again, she unlaced his jacket and struggled to pull it off, throwing it in the corner. Beneath it, he wore a matching linen shirt, which she removed also, finding a tight leather vest under it. She noticed that her hands were bloody, and a glance down at herself found more on her dress. So, he had been stabbed, too. Her eyes were drawn to the silver-patterned belt that clasped his slim hips, and her breath caught again.
Two daggers rode in sheaths on his hips, and she glanced at his chest, dreading that she would find what she expected. The black dagger tattoo was stark against his pale skin, almost an affront. He was an assassin. Worse, if what little she knew about assassins and their secretive ways was correct, the belt he wore meant that he was the Master of the Dance. The best, and therefore the deadliest assassin in Jondar. In her room. On her bed. Half dead. Who in their right mind would try to kill the Master of the Dance? Surely he would hunt them down, and if not him, his Guild. Would they? Two more daggers were strapped to his wrists in leather sheaths, and she unbuckled them, then his belt, setting them on the table. Removing the vest, she found, was a chore. It was glued to his chest with half-dry blood, and she was puffing by the time she held the limp garment.
Adding it to the pile, she removed his boots and tugged off his trousers, under which he wore a pair of baggy flannel shorts that made her smile. Beneath all his menacing leather finery, the shorts seemed ludicrous. He had a wound in his flank and another in his abdomen, as well as the one in his scalp, where someone had hit him hard enough to split the skin. His right arm was clearly broken halfway between elbow and wrist, and his left leg between knee and ankle. Whoever had done this had not intended that he should live, and the beating had been administered with brutal efficiency.
Lilu wondered if he had been able to fight back at all, but, considering that all his weapons were still in their sheaths, he probably had not. Cowards. Who, indeed, would have the courage to attack the Master of the Dance? Leaning closer, she smelt his breath and found it laden with wine fumes. He had not stood a chance. Yet he was so young. She had heard that the new Dance Master was unusually young, but had not dreamt that he could be quite so youthful. Gossip named him the Invisible Assassin, and spoke of his mastery. She had not paid it much heed, but in Jondar one could not avoid hearing the tales that circulated amongst the fishwives. He was just a boy. She stroked his cheek, surprised to find that he had not yet even sprouted a beard. Amazing.
Taking out the purse she had stolen earlier, she emptied it onto the table and counted ten goldens. A small fortune, but healers were expensive, and he would need a good one if he was ever to walk without a limp again. Although she was deathly tired, and ached from the abuse of her clients earlier at the brothel, she rose and picked up a shawl. The best doctor she knew of lived on the Queen's Boulevard, a fair distance away. She paused to gaze down at him, noting the pink blotches all over his torso, arms, thighs and the side of his face that would become bruises over time.
It took her a time-glass to walk to the Queen's Boulevard, and a great deal of pounding on the brass-studded door before a puffy-eyed middle-aged woman wearing a furious scowl and a frilly bedcap opened it. Lilu's demand to see the healer made the woman's frown more thunderous, and it was not until the harlot flashed a golden at her that she went to summon her husband. The tall, balding man with a saturnine face and sunken eyes appeared in a rumpled jacket and trousers, carrying his bag.
"What's the problem?" he demanded.
"A man's been beaten almost to death."
The healer grunted. "Broken bones?"
"An arm and a leg, as far as I can tell."
The doctor vanished into a side passage and re-emerged with another, bigger bag, then followed her back to her hovel. He looked disgusted when she showed him into its shabby confines, where the Dance Master lay on the bed, bathed in candlelight. He had not moved. Lilu gazed at him while the doctor set down his bags and approached the bed. His brows drew together when he caught sight of the tattoo.
"He's a damned assassin."
"So? He needs your help."
"I don't treat bloody assassins." He picked up his bags and headed for the door.
"Wait!" Lilu cried. "I can pay you... a lot."
The doctor paused, scowling. "It would cost you a lot."
"How much?"
"Five goldens."
"All right."
He looked disbelieving and chagrined. Clearly he had hoped that she could not afford it. "Where would you get that much money?"
"I have it. It's his." She nodded at the youth on the bed. "He's the Dance Master of Jondar."
"All the more reason to let him die."
"Please!"
His eyes narrowed, becoming calculating. "Seven goldens."
"Six."
"No."
"All right, seven."
The doctor dumped his bag again and approached the bed, sitting beside the assassin to touch the side of his neck. "He's in shock. Did he lose a lot of blood?"
"He was bleeding from his head, but it was dark in the alley so I couldn't see how much he lost. He's been stabbed, too."
The doctor glanced up at her. "Bring me a basin of boiled water and rags."
Lilu's heart sank. "I-I can't get that now, it's the middle of the night."
"He'll have to take his chances then, but don't blame me if he dies of a fever."
Lilu sank down on the rickety chair while the healer examined his patient, grunted, sighed and clicked his tongue. He washed the stab wounds and stitched them, then the deep wound in the youth's scalp. He straightened the assassin's nose with a deft twist and crunch, examined his face but found no crushed bones, then moved down to his chest, where he reported three broken ribs. Lilu dozed while he placed casts on the Dance Master's arm and leg, dressed his wounds and strapped his chest. She snapped awake when he straightened with a groan, rubbing his back.
"That's the best I can do for him."
"Will he walk without a limp?"
"I have no idea. If he's lucky, maybe."
"He must dance again."
He snorted. "I doubt that. He's lucky to have survived."
The healer packed away his implements and placed two bottles on the bedside table. "That's a tonic, and the other one's to rub on his wounds. Don't get them mixed up."
Lilu nodded, her eyes drooping with fatigue.
"I'll take my money now."
Wearily she counted seven goldens into his palm, and he picked up his bags and left. Lilu sat beside the bed for a while, stroked the assassin's cheek and willed him to get better, then spread a blanket on the floor and fell asleep on it.
When Lilu woke just before noon the next day, she was relieved to find the assassin still alive, although he had not moved. The foul smell still hung about him, and his clothes reeked. She bundled them up and took them to the wash house down the road to scrub them, hanging them up in her room upon her return. Fetching a basin of warm water from the kitchen, she used the grey towel to wipe all those parts of him that were not covered with bandages, dressings or casts.
In the process, she removed his last vestment and discovered that the reason for his lack of a beard was not extreme youth. His mutilation shocked and saddened her. Who would do such a thing to a man, and why? It seemed a particularly cruel thing to do, especially to one so young. Sacred Knights underwent voluntary castration, but she doubted that the Dance Master had submitted willingly.
In the afternoon, she bought a bowl of watery soup from the tavern at the end of the street and propped her patient up on the pillows to spoon it into his mouth. He swallowed on reflex, consuming most of it. Satisfied that she had done all she could, she went to the brothel to earn her keep, returning in the early hours, as always. The assassin still had not moved, but his skin remained cool and dry. As she lay down to sleep on the floor, she thought about her children, in the care of the fishwife down the road. She must go and visit them again soon; she missed them.
Five days later, Lilu bustled around her shabby room, tidying up. She had long since packed the assassin's clothes away in the sagging cupboard, and he lay as still as ever, the sheet covering him to his chest. She fed him nourishing broth every day, wiping away what spilt down his chin. Sometimes he twitched and his eyelids fluttered, making her catch her breath. Two days ago, he had developed a raging fever and tossed and moaned, soaking the sheets with sweat. She had been forced to call the healer again, and pay him five more goldens to overcome his reluctance. It had used up all her savings, and she had had to work harder to survive.
A soft groan made her swing around, the damp rag she was using to wipe the dusty shelves clutched to her chest. The assassin had turned his head to the side. She crept closer, her heart hammering. Her enquiries at the fish market had told her that his name was Blade, and his reputation, according to gossip, was as fearsome as it was mysterious. How could one who was God Touched be a killer? She wished that he would wake up, but also dreaded it. At least she knew assassins did not kill without a client, so she was safe.
The assassin turned his head again, and his eyes opened a slit. Lilu held her breath, creeping closer still. Blade's eyes flicked up to her, and their frigid greyness made her shiver. He raised his head and grimaced, sagging back, then licked his lips and coughed.
"Where am I?"
Lilu took the last few steps and sank down on the bed at his side. "You're in my room on Tarbriar Way."
He scowled. "Who are you?"
"My name's Lilu, and I found you in Pitcairn Alley, more dead than alive. Someone tried to beat you to death."
"I don't remember." He looked down to the sheets that covered all but his arms, his eyes lingering on the cast. "How badly am I injured?"
"You have a broken arm and leg, three broken ribs, two stab wounds and a cut on your head. I paid a doctor to splint your bones and bought his tonic and salve. Oh, and your nose was broken. The healer fixed that too."
He stared at the ceiling, grimacing as he tried to move his broken limbs. Sweat popped out on his brow, and he hissed. "How about something for the pain?"
"I can't afford it, and you were asleep anyway."
"I wasn't asleep, I was unconscious."
"Same thing."
"No it isn't. Why did you bring me here?"
"You needed help," she said. "You would have died if I'd left you there."
"Then you should have." He pulled a face. "God, why does it taste like something died in my mouth?"
"You've been unconscious for five days." She frowned. "Why would you want to die?"
"None of your business."
"I think it is my business, since I went to so much trouble, not to mention expense, to save you."
"You shouldn't have bothered."
"But I did, and I can't get my money back now."
His icy eyes impaled her. "Then you're a fool."
"I couldn't just leave you there to die."
"Yes you could. I would have. I'd have spat on me too, for good measure. Nothing quite so satisfying as a dead assassin." He smiled. "You do know I'm an assassin, don't you?"
The singular sweetness of his expression transfixed her, even though it did not reach his eyes. "Yes, I know all about you."
His smile vanished. "So, you've been prying. I'll wager you didn't know when you brought me home, though, huh?"
"It wouldn't have made any difference."
He snorted. "Yes it would. You thought I might be a wealthy merchant, I suppose, worth money to his family if you saved him. Where's my purse?"
"I spent the money in it, and I wasn't prying!" Lilu glared at him, floundering to keep up with his accusations and insults.
"Of course you did. I'll bet you bought some frocks and baubles, didn't you?"
"No! I used it to pay the doctor, and it still wasn't enough. He wouldn't tend your injuries until I paid him seven goldens."
"So there should be three goldens left."
"There would be," she said, "except I had to pay him another five when you had a fever two days ago."
"And you expect me to believe that?"
"It's the truth, and I don't care whether you believe it or not."
"I'm not so easily duped by a..." His eyes raked her. "Trollop."
"Well this trollop saved your life."
He looked away. "And what do you expect for that? A reward? You'll be sadly disappointed if you think --"
"I thought you were worth saving, but I see that was a mistake now."
"Only an idiot saves an assassin."
Lilu jumped up. "In that case, get out of my house!"
"It's not a house, it's a dirty room, and --"
"Get out! Go on!" Lilu grabbed the broom in the corner, raising it.
He eyed her. "You won't use that."
"Don't bet on it, buster!"
"Go on then."
Incensed, Lilu brought the broom down on his legs with a thud. The assassin stiffened, the blood draining from his already pale visage, which twisted in a grimace. "You bitch!"
Lilu brandished the broom. "Go on, insult me some more and see what happens! You want to be a bastard? I can give as good as you!"
"If I wasn't injured, you'd be sorry."
"But you are! How long do you think you'll last if I throw you out on the street? An injured assassin! The gutter-boys will stone you to death and piss in your ear."
Blade raised his eyes to meet hers, his frown easing. "Why would you care if they do?"
"I don't!"
"Then why did you save me?"
Lilu lowered the broom and thrust her face closer. "Perhaps I wanted an injured man to torture, to get my own back for all the times they've hurt me. How would you like that?"
"It sounds more believable."
She whacked his legs with the broom again. "Insult me again, go on!"
He writhed, biting his lip. "Throw me out then. Death will be better than this."
"You brought this on yourself! You..." She trailed off as his eyes closed, and he slumped.
Lilu dropped the broom and perched on the edge of the bed, a hand clamped over her mouth. She could not believe he had made her so angry, so quickly. His ashen, battered face tore her heart, the left side of it black with bruises, his nose swollen and one eye puffy and bloodshot. How could a God Touched want to die? Plainly he did, hence his attempt to goad her into throwing him out into the street.
Most would have, but she could not. He was helpless and in pain, which was probably why he was so angry. That, and being shackled to a bed by his injuries. She regretted hitting him now, although at the time he had deserved it. He was not what she had expected. She was not sure what she had expected, but definitely not such rancour and insults from a man she had nursed for five days. She pulled back the sheets to inspect his legs, finding them unharmed, although the cast had a slight dent in it. Evidently it had taken the brunt of her blows. Blue bruises mottled his chest, arms and legs, and she knew he must be in a lot of pain, especially with three broken ribs, too. She sighed and pulled the sheet up again.
Blade woke again the following day when she sat beside him to feed him. His eyes opened as she leant over to prop him up on the pillows, making her recoil a little. She sat back to regard him doubtfully. His eyes flicked around the room and came to rest on her.
"So why aren't I dead on the street?"
"Because I'm not a murderer."
"Ah." He looked away. "I need something for the pain."
"I told you, I can't afford it, so don't start making demands." She picked up the bowl of broth, which gave off a rich, meaty aroma. "Now, you must eat."
Blade glanced at the bowl and turned his head away. "Take it away."
"You have to eat."
"I can't."
Lilu hesitated, then put the broth down, frowning. "Why not?"
He glanced at her. "You don't know much about pain, do you?"
"I know enough, after birthing two babies."
"And if someone had tried to feed you broth in the middle of it?"
She snorted, then realised what he meant. "Right."
"I need a pain draught."
"So where do you propose I get the money for it?"
He closed his eyes, and for a moment she thought he had lost consciousness again, but then he said, "In my jacket, there's a key. It opens the door to a room on the top floor of number seventeen Firetree Avenue. You'll find money in a pot behind the hearth stone. Take as much as you need."
Her brows rose. "Oh, so now you trust me? I thought you thought I was a thief?"
"You are, but I can't do it, and I need that draught."
"I am not!"
"So prove it."
She leant forward and poked him in the chest. "I'll not be treated like a servant, running errands for you. I've done enough. If you want that draught, I expect some civility, starting right now."
He opened his eyes and glared at her. "I'll be more civil when I'm not in agony."
She folded her arms and raised her brows.
He sighed. "Please."
Lilu nodded and rose, picking up a shabby cloak before going over to the cupboard to find the key in his jacket. Blade watched her, his jaw ridged as he gritted his teeth. His immobility spoke volumes of his pain, and her eyes stung. He was too young and fragile to suffer so. She considered that as she walked towards Firetree Avenue. He did have an air of fragility about him. His features were so fine, almost too handsome for a man. Perhaps his neutering had had a hand in that. Whatever the reason, she found him devastatingly attractive.
The key opened the door to a tidy, sparsely furnished room with mottled grey walls, a hard, narrow bed, a fireplace and a copper tub in a curtained corner. That was unusual, and she wondered at it, and all the soaps, oils and washing cloths around it. She went over to the fireplace and searched for the loose stone, prying it out with the poker. The pot was much heavier than she had expected, and bigger. Its contents shocked her. At least fifty goldens glinted within it, a vast fortune. He must be in agony to send her here, thinking her a thief. Indeed, the money was tempting. He was a rude, ungrateful bastard, and he owed her.
Lilu pondered the problem for several minutes. Blade would not be able to return for many moons, with his injuries, and in that time his empty room might be robbed. In fact, if he did not pay his rent the landlord would get another tenant, who might find the money. It would be dangerous to carry so much back to her shack, but who would think that a trollop would have such a fortune? Making up her mind, she emptied the pot into a pouch that was lying on the table and tied it under her skirt, where no one would think to look. After tidying herself in the mirror, she left, locking the door behind her.
Blade opened his eyes when she entered her room, raking her with a hard glance. She approached the bed and sat on it, studying him.
"Did you get the draught?" he asked.
Lilu pulled a flask from her pocket and poured some potion into a cup.
He slugged it back and pulled a face. "Tastes like shit."
"It is. I didn't see the point of wasting good money on a worthless assassin, so I filled that from the gutter."
He nodded. "I thought so."
Lilu smiled and hitched her skirt up to her thighs to grope between her legs for the pouch.
Blade watched her with a suspicious frown. "What are you doing?"
"Finding some crabs to give you."
"How nice."
"Yes, I thought you might enjoy the company." Lilu untied the pouch and drew it out, opening it to pour the coins onto the bed beside him. "I used one to buy the potion. Here's the change." She took fourteen silvers from her bodice and added it to the pile.
Blade eyed the coins. "Of course, you took it all. Why doesn't that surprise me?"
"I didn't take it, I brought it to you. If I'd left it there, someone might have stolen it. You won't be going home for some time, you know."
His eyes flicked up to meet hers. "And now you have it, and I won't be able to prevent you from spending it."
"True. Who did you kill to earn it?"
He sighed and lay back, staring at the ceiling. "Graleth."
"So it was you. They say it was impossible."
"They're wrong."
Lilu scooped the money back into the pouch and dumped it on his chest with a thud. "Here. Keep it under your pillow or something, since you don't trust me."
"Why should I trust you?"
"Oh, I don't know, perhaps because I saved your life?"
"That doesn't mean you're trustworthy."
"Listen, you ungrateful bastard, I could have kept that money instead of --"
"All right." He raised his right hand in an appeasing gesture. "You're right."
"And?"
"And what?"
"How do you feel about treating me so badly after I saved your life?"
He looked puzzled. "I wish you hadn't?"
"That's not what I mean and you know it."
"No I don't."
She leant closer, frowning. "You've never heard of 'sorry', I suppose?"
"I've heard of it. I just don't use it."
"Then you'd better start learning to, or you'll be the sorry one."
"Because you'll hit me with a broom again?"
"Exactly."
A slight smile curved his mouth. "I won't always be in this bed, you know."
"Damn right you won't, that's my bed and I want it back." She sat back, frowning. "But that's not what you meant, is it? You're threatening me. You need me to take care of you, and you're threatening me? How stupid are you, exactly?"
Blade looked away, and his despondent expression tore her heart afresh. He had been alone for a long time, she realised. At some point he had been badly abused, and distrusted everyone. He had learnt to rely on himself only, and now he needed her help. It must be hard for him, and she was trying to force gratitude and regret from him when he had none to give. He was at her mercy and he hated her for it. She leant closer again.
"I tell you what, Blade. You find a bit of civility in that stone cold heart of yours, and I'll not ask for an apology. Deal?"
He closed his eyes. "Deal."
"Now, are you going to eat this cold broth?"
"No." A muscle jumped in his jaw.
"Fine, in that case, it's time to change your dressings and clean your wounds."
"You jest."
"Not even a little."
He opened his eyes. "Why don't you just let me die? Then you'll have my money."
"What did I just say about civility?"
"That I don't have any."
"Apart from that."
Blade sighed and turned his head away. Taking it as a tacit capitulation, she brought the water basin and placed it on the bedside table, then pulled the sheet down to expose the dressings on his belly and flank. He hissed when she peeled them off, exposing red wounds tinged with yellow. Lilu wrinkled her nose at the smell.
"I think some of your rotten insides are leaking out."
"More likely your dirty hands have given me a disease."
She poked a bruise, making him flinch. "You should probably keep quiet."
Lilu used the grey rag, which she had boiled, to swab the wounds.
Blade flinched and groaned. "I've seen washerwomen scrub clothes with more gentleness than you."
"And I've seen small children cry less when they hurt themselves."
"I'm not crying."
"Shall I hire a washerwoman, then?" Blade cursed, and to distract him she asked, "Where are you from?"
"None of your business."
"Why did you become an assassin?"
"I enjoy killing people."
"That's a lie."
"No it's not."
Lilu rinsed the cloth. "How many have you killed?"
"A lot."
She clicked her tongue. "Fifty-seven isn't all that many."
"How do -- aah!" He gripped her wrist with his good hand. "That's enough!"
"It's common knowledge. The fishwives know it."
"It's wrong."
She glanced down at his hand, making her expression coy. "I didn't know you wanted to hold my hand. That's so sweet!"
The assassin released her as if she had become white-hot, a pink flush stealing into his pale cheeks. Blade, she realised with a surge of wonder, was pure. He must have been young indeed when he had been castrated. She longed to ask him about it, but knew that if there was one subject guaranteed to anger him, that would be it. He fascinated her even more, though, for he would never want what she sold. She found it strangely alluring that someone so handsome should be so innocent, and it made him a precious rarity, to be treasured.
Lilu glanced at Blade, whose eyes were closed again. Dropping the rag in the basin, she picked up the bottle of salve and applied some to the wounds. He hissed again, opening his eyes, and she tried to be gentle. When she had replaced the dressings, she inspected the gash in his scalp, which was dry and scabbed.
Blade studied the woman who leant over him. His head pounded, his throat burnt with thirst, his right arm and left leg throbbed with dull venom and shafts of agony shot from his ribs every time he drew breath. Compared to that, the vicious stinging of the stab wounds was minor, along with the aching tenderness of his bruises. He felt like he had been trampled by a herd of wild horses, and wondered what he looked like, longing for a mirror. At least all his teeth were still in place.
The same could not be said for the trollop who tended him, and he struggled to remember her name. Lila? Lilu. His head seemed to be full of pufftree seeds, and the pain draught made it worse, although it did dull the agony to a more bearable level. He could remember only fragments of his beating, a blurred muddle of thudding boots, heavy breathing, curses and agony. His belt and clothes were gone, and he wondered if she had sold them. His nakedness beneath the thin sheet, so close to her, made him uncomfortable. Would she try to seduce him, too, he wondered, like the rich lady. Not until he was healed, at least, he was sure.
That she had brought all his money to him amazed him. He had fully expected her to steal most of it, but it would still have been worth it if she cared for him while he was injured. No one else would. Her reasons for doing it still puzzled him, but he was now prepared to accept that she would nurse him back to health, even if he had no rich family for her to sell him to. She looked to be a few years older than him, perhaps five and twenty, although her trade had aged her, adding lines and thickened skin to her face from beatings. He wondered what the Guild was making of, and doing about, his disappearance. Would they find a new Dance Master, or wait? Since Talon had advised him to disappear for a while, they may assume that he was in hiding.
Blade had no doubt that the men who had beaten him had been hired by, or were members of, the Trobalon family, bent on revenge. Someone from the Artemann clan had betrayed him, probably under torture. That happened sometimes, but it was rare. Had he not been so drunk, they would have had less success, so the blame was partly his. He longed for several bottles of good wine to dull the pain further and lighten his mood. The whore sat back, and he studied her heart-shaped face with its rather broad nose, generous mouth, soft brown eyes and long, glossy brown hair pulled back in a plait. She had never possessed any great beauty, and her abusers had stolen whatever prettiness she might have once owned. Her well-rounded figure was clad in a ragged gown that looked like it was a rich lady's cast-off from several decades ago.
"Admiring my ugliness?" she enquired.
He almost smiled at her sharp wit, which he enjoyed, and even admired a little. The taps with the broom had been unexpected and painful, but had taught him a little respect for her.
"It is exceptional."
She thrust her face closer. "After what they did to you, you're not such a pretty picture yourself."
A shaft of dread shot through him. He did not want to look like he had been beaten. That would be humiliating in front of his peers. "At least I still have all my teeth."
"I'll knock some out if you rile me."
This time Blade did smile, simply because he knew it was a lie. She stared at him, then averted her eyes and rose to go over to the cupboard. An air of melancholy hung about her, and he reasoned that this was the result of her unsavoury work. She pulled another tatty dress from the wardrobe and started to unbutton the one she wore.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Getting ready for work, of course."
"I need you to stay here." He dug in the pouch and took out a silver. "Here, buy me some wine, and I need to use the pisspot."
She frowned. "Let's get something straight. I'm not your damned servant. What's more, you're in no condition to drink wine, and if you need to piss, here." She slammed a flat bowl down on the bedside table. "Use that."
He glanced at it. "I always knew whores enjoyed their work."
She glared at him. "I do it because I have to eat, not because I enjoy it."
"And yet it must be better than tending to an injured assassin, otherwise you'd stay instead of rushing off to the whorehouse."
She looked confused, shaking her head. "I don't get paid to tend to... Are you offering to pay for your keep?"
"Are you going to house and feed me for free?"
"No... Well, I hadn't thought about it."
"Perhaps you should."
Lilu placed her hands on her hips. "You can certainly afford it."
"So I may be a meal ticket after all."
"Fair work for a fair wage. It's no picnic tending to you, with your foul temper and acid tongue."
"If you were in this much pain you'd be in a foul temper too."
Lilu tossed the dress back into the wardrobe. "You've had a draught for the pain. It will still be better than entertaining those louts."
Blade held out the coin. "The wine."
"Water." She poured a cup from the pitcher on the table and offered it to him.
"Wine would put me in a better mood."
"And probably kill you."
"Then you'll be rich."
She thrust the cup at him. "Drink it before I drown you with it."
Blade sighed and took the cup, draining it in a few gulps.
Lilu refilled it, looking puzzled. "Why didn't you say you were thirsty?"
"I did, when I asked for wine."
Blade drained the cup twice more, then handed it back and closed his eyes. The pain draught made him sleepy, and darkness closed in.
Blade glared at the peeling, mildewed ceiling, fighting the urge to shout in frustration. The skin under his casts itched unbearably and his stench sickened him. After two tendays abed, his muscles twitched from inaction. The time had been a trial of daily agony when Lilu changed his dressings and endless pain in between. That had faded now that his stab wounds had healed, and she no longer had to clean them, but the enervating boredom and endless itching were on the brink of driving him crazy, coupled with the lack of wine. Lilu had removed his stitches a tenday ago, but being bedridden was humiliating, especially when it came to his bodily functions.
Blade hated everything about his life now, and the prospect that he may never be able to dance again filled him with despair. If he could not perform the Dance, even in its simplest form, the Guild would burn off his mark. Then what would he do? How would he earn a living? Perhaps the Guild would allow him to retire at two and twenty, and then he could take on apprentices. The future loomed dark and bleak, and he wished, for the umpteenth time, that Lilu had left him in the gutter to die. Even training stupid boys did not appeal to him, although it was better than joining the crippled beggars in the gutter.
Blade flexed his leg, finding that the pain was not so bad, and raised his right arm with its tatty, stained cast. Soon, he hoped, the healer would remove them. Levering himself upright, he swayed as the room spun after so long lying on his back. Bile stung the back of his throat, and he swallowed. Lilu had gone to the market to buy food. His left leg was encased in plaster from mid-thigh, and he cursed the healer. Why could he not have left his knee free, so he could bend his leg? Whatever his reasons, it made life exceedingly awkward. Bowing his head, Blade waited for the dizziness to pass, and then tried to rise to his feet. His good leg trembled under the strain, and dull pain came from his broken one. Cursing, he sank back onto the bed.
Dragging the rickety chair closer, he used it as a prop and struggled to his feet. For a few moments he stood, triumphant, then his head went cold and his good leg buckled, sending him crashing to the floor. Pain flashed up his leg and arm, and he cried out. He lay still, biting his lip while the pain washed through him, waiting for it to recede. Apparently he was not ready to get up yet, and now that he lay on the floor, he was stuck. He dragged the chair closer and tried to pull himself to his feet, but with his rigid knee and useless right arm it proved to be impossible. Blade sagged back, able only to shift into a more comfortable position, and resigned himself to waiting for Lilu, cursing her for taking so long.
A time-glass later, as he was dozing off, a scream from the door made him jerk in alarm and raise his head. Lilu dropped her bag and ran to him, falling to her knees, her eyes wide with alarm.
"What happened? Are you all right?"
He frowned, nodding. "Fine. Help me back onto the bed."
"How did you fall?"
"I was trying to get up."
"You what?" She stared at him in disbelief. "How could you be so stupid? You might have hurt yourself! Your bones aren't strong yet."
"I'm sick of lying in that bed."
"So you thought you'd just get up and go for a walk? Are you mad?"
"I'd be fine if I had crutches. I need crutches!"
She glared at him. "You need your head examined! Of all the idiotic... and you had to do it when I wasn't here, too, as if trying wasn't bad enough on its own!"
"Just help me back onto the damned bed," he said. "I don't need a bloody lecture."
"Yes you do, and if you want my help you'll have to ask for it, nicely." She folded her arms.
"Bugger off."
"Fine." She stood up and went over to pick up her bag of shopping. "You can lie there all day then."
Blade glowered at her while she took the items from the bag and placed them on the table, humming a little tune. The ditty told him that she was upset and anxious, for Lilu did not usually sing. She was concerned about him, and struggled to hide it with too much cheerfulness. He lay back and studied the ceiling, wondering which of them was more stubborn. The floor was hard and cold, and he strived to hide his shivers. Only the sheet that he had dragged from the bed and wrapped around his hips covered him. He closed his eyes with a sigh.
Lilu stacked jars of pickles on the shelves, humming tunelessly as she tried to ignore Blade's palpable anger. She longed to help him back into bed and tuck him in, and noted his shivers with a swift glance. He was so stubborn that he would rather lie there and freeze than be polite. Whatever he had been through had left him indifferent, and hardened him to the point where he would rather suffer than be forced to do something he disliked. She sensed that she would lose this battle of wills, and regretted entering into it. Still, she let him lie there a little longer, to make her point.
Turning, she studied him. His bruises had faded and the swellings had gone down, and the sight of him lying floor was hard to bear. With a sigh, she went over to gaze down at him, and he opened his eyes at her approach.
"You're making the place untidy. Come on, let's get you on the bed before you get sick from the cold and I have to nurse you through another fever."
Blade held out a hand, and she noted the thin scars on his fingers as she clasped it. Probably from dagger throwing practice, she guessed. She pulled him up, bent and slipped her arms around his chest, lacing her fingers behind his back to lift him. He was lighter than he had been when she had carried him from the alley. When she lowered him onto the bed, she overbalanced and sprawled on top of him as he flopped back. He tried to shove her away, but her fingers were locked together and jammed under him. His nostrils flared and his brows knotted.
"Get off me."
"Relax, my hands are stuck." Lilu tugged her fingers loose and pulled her hands free. "Your rudeness never wanes, does it? I help you, and all I get is more insults."
"You're crushing my ribs."
"No I'm not. You just don't like to be close to anyone, do you? Why is that?"
"None of your damned business, and you stink."
"I do not." She glared into his icy eyes. "If you want me gone, ask nicely."
"What is it with you and manners?"
"They're pleasant."
"I'm not a pleasant person. You should have left me in the gutter and found someone more polite to rescue."
"Perhaps I would have, had I known how rude you are." Lilu gripped his face and thrust hers closer. "You want me to let you go? Say please."
"You really don't want to know how easily I could make you let go," he said.
"You know what will happen to you if you hurt me? You'll end up out there on the street with the urchins, and they won't look after you."
He closed his eyes. "Please get off me."
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" She stood up and lifted his splinted leg onto the bed, pulling the sheet over him.
Blade rolled onto his side to face the wall, and she sighed as she went back to packing away the food. She had bought fresh, warm bread and a selection of jams, tarts and pastries to tempt his appetite, such as it was. She had taken a parcel of food to her children on her way home, better fare than they usually got, thanks to the assassin's money. He had not stipulated a wage for her work, and merely handed her money whenever she asked for it, but she only bought food and paid her rent and the fishwife who cared for her children. He had paid back the three goldens she had spent on the doctor, however, and given her money to purchase the rickety cot on which she now slept.
Lilu sliced bread and ham while she pondered the youth in her bed. His deadly skills had earned the money that now fed them, but would he ever be able to work again? What would happen to him if he could not? She could not keep him, but nor could she throw him out into the street to fend for himself. She had the impression that his family was dead. She hoped his recovery would be complete, but if it was, he would be a killer again, and that thought made her shiver. Then again, had he ever stopped being one? She remembered the pure aura Symbell's song had revealed, and wondered at it afresh. Perhaps, if he was crippled, the priestesses at the temple would take him in as a servant.
Lilu closed the door behind the doctor and turned to smile at Blade, who sat on the bed, scratching his leg as if he could not stop. The casts lay on the floor in dirty heaps, and he looked much better without them. At first, the healer had been daunted when faced with an awake assassin, but had rallied to the task with the aid of two goldens and pronounced Blade's bones to be healed. Lilu scooped up the casts and dumped them outside her door for the trash men to remove, then sat beside Blade.
"Now you need a proper bath."
"I'll return to my rooms if you bring me my clothes."
Lilu's heart sank. "You're not strong enough yet. You still have to learn to walk again."
"I'll manage." He looked at her. "Why would you want me to stay any longer?"
She shrugged, averting her eyes. "I just don't want all my hard work going to waste when you fall down the stairs and break your neck."
He drew his money pouch from under the pillow and took out a handful of goldens, holding them out. "Here, this should make it worth your while."
She glared at him. "I didn't do it for money."
"Then why?"
"I wanted to help you." Lilu shook her head in disgust. Even after four tendays in her constant care, he still treated her like a stranger. "Why won't you believe me?"
He hesitated. "It isn't rational."
"It doesn't have to be rational, but it's the truth."
"For you to save me purely because you wanted to, and spend all this time looking after me without wanting payment, you would have to be mad."
"Perhaps I thought you'd be my friend," she said.
"Ah, now we're getting somewhere. You thought it might be useful to have the Dance Master in your debt, is that it?"
"No." Lilu shook her head. "You won't believe anything I say unless it suits your way of thinking, will you?"
Blade slammed the goldens down on the bedside table. "Where are my clothes?"
"Your landlord will have rented your rooms to someone else by now."
"I paid my rent four moons in advance."
She bowed her head. "Will you be my friend, if I asked you for that as my payment?"
"No. You get the goldens, no hold on me."
"I don't want a hold on you. That's not what friendship is. I'd just like to see you sometimes, to talk."
He shook his head. "We haven't exactly had any good conversations while I've been here."
"That's because you won't allow it. You're rude and snide, or you won't talk at all."
"Nor will I allow it now. Assassins don't have friends; we may have to kill them."
She glanced at him. "Is that what you're afraid of? Who would bother to hire an assassin to kill me?"
"Even if that's not a possibility, the friend of an assassin would be a target for vengeance seekers and despisers. They almost killed me, and they'll kill you if you're my friend."
Her heart warmed, and she smiled. "I'll risk it."
"You'd take that chance, to be friends with me?" His brows rose. "What is it about me that you like so much?"
"You're a good person, deep down. If only you would allow yourself to be nice. I kept hoping you would mellow." She sighed. "But even if you won't, I'd still like to have you as a friend."
He snorted. "You must be really desperate for a friend, then. Don't you have whore friends?"
"Yes, but... I like you. I've earned your friendship, don't you think? I've proven to you that I'm not after your money or your protection." She reached for his hand. "Please, Blade."
He snatched it away. "No. Are you going to bring me my clothes, or must I search for them?"
"They're in the wardrobe."
With a heavy heart, she watched him hobble to the wardrobe, the bed sheet wrapped around his hips. Over the past two tendays, he had risen every day to wander around the room, the cast hampering him. He favoured his wounded leg even more now that the cast's support was gone, barely placing any weight on it. Lilu had procured a crutch for him a tenday ago, but he did not use it now.
"Won't the despisers and murderers want to kill an injured assassin? Will you be safe on your own?"
"I'll be fine." He pulled out his clothes and returned to the bed to don them, casting her a frown.
"Why are you in such a hurry to leave when I want you to stay?" she enquired.
"I dislike company."
"Why?"
"None of your business." He pulled his flannel shorts from the pile of clothes and turned to her. "Would you wait outside?"
"No." She folded her arms. "I've seen naked men before, I assure you."
"Probably the commonest sight in your life, but I'd like some privacy."
"Why? What have you got that they don't?"
He frowned. "Will you force me to wait until you leave on some errand? You should be going back to work now, since I'm leaving." He paused. "Is that why you want me to stay? So I'll support you? I won't, you know."
"I know." She hid her anger at his assumption and callous dismissal, wondering why she did. "I never thought you would, or expected you to."
Lilu sighed, raked him with a scathing glance, rose and left the shabby room. In the street, she watched the peddlers and beggars and considered her options. Perhaps the only hope she had of ever seeing him again was if she was particularly nice to him. She did not have much hope that it would work, but it was worth a try. He tried to turn everything she said or did into something ugly, to suit his past experiences, she guessed, and she had to find a way to convince him that he was wrong. She also had to let him go, though. The prospect brought tears to her eyes, and she wiped them, sniffing. A skinny beggar boy held out dirty hands in a pleading gesture, and she waved him away. He ran off shouting insults, and she turned to re-enter her room.
Blade sat on the bed, clad in his black leather trousers, frowning at the silver-studded belt he held. He looked up with a puzzled, chagrined expression, from which she deduced that he had not expected to find it still amongst his possessions. She glared at him and went over to the table.
"No, I didn't sell it."
"So it would seem. But you're not above thievery, I would guess."
"No." She sat on the chair. "I do what I must to survive, as we all do. It's a hard life, with few joys, but I make the most of it."
"And for some reason you think having a killer in your life will make it better?"
Her heart leapt with hope. "Yes."
"Why?"
Lilu wanted to tell him that she knew he was God Touched, but something told her not to. He would probably not believe her, and, even if he did, he would assign some ugly motive to that, too. In truth, that was not the real reason, so she said, "I'm lonely. Your company would be most welcome, even if all you do is sit and drink wine. I like having you around, and I don't expect you to change, nor will I ask anything of you. If you're ever sick or injured, who else will help you? I will."
Blade placed the belt on the bed and picked up a loaded wrist sheath, strapping it on, then donned the leather vest. She wondered if he was going to answer her.
As he shrugged on his jacket, he said, "I'll consider it."
"Thank you."
He paused in the act of buckling on his belt and frowned at her. "You've done me a service, and while I didn't particularly wish to be saved, I appreciate what you did."
"Then show your appreciation and visit me sometimes. That's all I ask."
"As I said -"
"You'll consider it." She forced a wan smile.
Blade bent to pull on his boots, checking the weapons in them. "You've been weeping."
She raised her chin. "No, it was smoky outside. Some idiot was burning rubbish on the street."
"Ah." He contemplated her for a few moments, then levered himself to his feet and picked up the crutch. "I may see you again, then."
"I hope so." Lilu bit her lip as he hobbled to the door. "You could eat before you go. I made food."
He paused and glanced back. "No."
"Be careful. Those men are still out there, and you're not well."
"They won't catch me again." The assassin opened the door and limped out, closing it behind him.
Lilu stared at it. Only the grinding misery of her trade lay ahead when the goldens he had left ran out. She went over to count them, finding fifteen, enough to feed and board herself and her babies for three moons. At least she did not have to return to her whoring ways just yet. Without Blade's presence, her dingy room seemed smaller and dirtier somehow, as well as empty.
Blade watched the young assassin who practiced clumsy steps upon his platform. That the youth had achieved his tattoo was surprising, considering the poor quality of his dance. A screen of leaves hid Blade from the trespasser, and he waited, the steel spring within him tightening. As yet, he was not ready for the Guild to find him, and had been careful, over the last moon, to avoid being seen. This was the first time he had returned to his platform. Since leaving the whore's room, he had exercised and practiced in his lodging, and ventured out only at night to buy wine and food. The time had been torturous, but his skills were almost restored. When he did go out, he did not wear his belt, to ensure that if he was seen, no one would know who he was.
The young assassin muttered and jumped down, striding off into the trees. Blade waited until he was out of sight, then approached the platform. His limp was barely noticeable now, and he hoped that he would be able to regain his old skills. He was unfit, though, so it would take time to restore his former abilities. They would be, he was determined. His feet tapped on the boards as he walked around the platform, limbering up. The exercises in his room had restored his suppleness, and all that remained was to see if he had retained his speed. He took a few experimental steps, drawing on the memories of his training and the skills he had honed. Raising his head, he launched into the first steps of the Dance of Death, allowing his legs to remember their old habits.
At first, his steps were no faster than an average dancer. He speeded them up, revelling in the surge and pull of his muscles and the spring in his legs. He leapt high and lashed out with stiff legs, brushing his boots together in mid-air. As he landed, his left leg buckled and he crashed to the boards, grazing his hands on the wood. He lay panting, sweat sliming his skin, and reviewed what had happened. His bad leg ached, and he sat up to rub it, frowning. His knee had buckled, so perhaps he was pushing himself too hard, too soon. No leaps for a while might be a better idea.
The sky darkened as the sun sank, and the forest cast gloom across the stage. Deciding that he had done enough for one day, he limped back towards the poor quarter. As he often did these days, he detoured to the whorehouse where Lilu worked and climbed onto a wall opposite, settling down to wait. He did not know why he watched her walk home sometimes, but it made him feel better about himself. Why she had returned to work just two tendays after he had left puzzled him, although his cynical mind told him it must be because she enjoyed it. Deep down, he knew that was wrong. Perhaps she was saving up for something. It was none of his business, anyway.
Patrons reeled in and out of the brothel, some in ditty-singing groups, others alone, most with familiars close by or clinging to their person. Barrow-hags, who seemed to populate most of the city's street corners, trundled past, shouting about their wares. Several urchins played a game of tosspot in a nearby gutter for a while, their high shrieks jabbing his ears. The red-paned lamp that hung outside the brothel's front door advertised its occupation, and a peeling sign bore an illegible name. From his perch, he could see the front and back doors of the establishment, since his vantage was some distance away. It would not do for anyone to spot him, especially Lilu. As the evening dragged past, the urchins and the barrow-hags vanished into whatever hovels they occupied, leaving the street empty.
Blade jerked from his doze when the whorehouse's back door banged open and two men threw a bundle of rags into the street. They re-entered the whorehouse, and the assassin studied the heap, curious. It moved, and a pale arm rose feebly, falling back onto the cobbles. Blade frowned and glanced up and down the street to assure himself of its emptiness before he slid off the wall and approached the bundle on silent feet. The woman's face was turned away, and he walked around her to see it. He froze, his breath catching, then crouched and brushed a lock of tangled hair from Lilu's cheek. Her nose was smashed and her face smeared with blood, her lips swollen and split, and swellings sealed her eyes shut.
"Ah, Lilu," he whispered. "You stupid trollop."
After glancing around again, he pressed his fingers to her throat, and she slumped with a sigh. The assassin slid his arms under her and scooped her up, staggering under her weight.
"You need to go on a damned diet," he muttered.
Blade stayed in the shadows out of habit on the way to her room in the slums. His lock pick opened the door in moments, and he dumped her on the bed, groaned and rubbed his back with a grimace. After arranging her comfortably, he gazed at her for several minutes, pondering. The throat pinch would assure her unconsciousness for a time-glass, and he had little time left. He contemplated using it again to lengthen it, but discarded the idea. Fetching the water basin, he wiped her face with a rag, revealing the true extent of the damage.
Lilu groaned, and he tossed the rag into the bowl and rose. At the door, he paused to gaze at her again, then let himself out and locked it behind him. While he walked home, he pondered what must have happened to her, disliking everything to do with her vile trade and its consequences. She would be better off as a serving wench or washerwoman, but she was too stupid for that. Her nose was so badly broken he doubted she would be able to continue her current vocation unless she wore a bag over her head, as Graleth had recommended for Annay. Lilu had been ugly before, now she was hideous. He chuckled, shaking his head, and let himself into his room to flop down on his bed.
The next afternoon, Blade made his way to Lilu's abode and took up a position on a nearby rooftop, where he could watch her door. He spied movement behind the dirty curtain that covered the single window, and, after lying in the sun, yawning and scratching, for a time-glass, he quit his perch to practice on his platform.
The following day, he visited the armourer who had made his daggers and ordered a pair of boot blades, an assassin's traditional weapon. Once they had been used for duels, but that practice had been stopped. Now they were mostly for self-defence, which was their original purpose. If a group of men pursued an assassin, seeking vengeance or merely satisfaction, their prospective prey could don the blades for a better chance of survival. Using them effectively, however, took a great deal of skill. The moves were based upon the Dance, but somewhat different. Since he could not dance now, or at least, not properly for a while, when he collected the blades three days later he practiced the fighting moves employed whilst wearing boot blades.
Each day, he went to Lilu's room and watched her from a neighbouring rooftop, assuring himself that she was all right. He had not seen her emerge since he had brought her home, even though he had spent quite a bit of time watching her, and his concern grew. He despised it, but could not deny it. Five days had passed, and she must be running out of food.
Four urchins chased a skinny dog down the street, shrieking and throwing stones, and a beggar cursed them when they tripped over him in the gutter. Two firebirds courted on a neighbouring rooftop, bowing to each other with purring calls, their flame-hued tails spread. A grey dove nested in a chimney close to them, watching them with worried brown eyes. The shack Lilu dwelt in was one of many that lined the narrow street, backing onto rundown houses with sagging slate roofs and peeling paint. The entire area was impoverished, bordering the slums and the garbage dump beyond, where he had spent seven days so long ago.
The sun dipped below the rooftops, withdrawing its warmth and light, and he sighed, frowning with annoyance. Sliding off the roof, he landed with a thud behind a hag's vegetable barrow, making her jump. Ignoring her myopic glare, he ambled across the road, where urchins picked pockets and beggars held out grimy hands.
Blade hesitated in front of the door, every particle of his being wanting to leave, but the despised concern drove him to tap on the wood.
"Go away!" a hoarse shout came from within, and he almost did. Two steps from the door he swung back, and this time banged on it.
"Bugger off! I have a knife!" Her bellow was even louder.
"Lilu." He coughed, clearing his throat. "It's Blade."
The door was yanked open so forcefully that a wind blew past him, and he staggered back as the ragged whore engulfed him in a rib-cracking embrace. Blade narrowly avoided stepping in something putrid and sitting down in the dirt, and tried to pry her arms away.
"Get off me!" he said.
Lilu buried her face in his chest and wept. Blade glanced up and down the street at the curious pedestrians who had paused to stare at him and pushed her into the room, kicking the door closed. Still she clung to him, pinning his arms to his sides, and he freed them with a jerk, hurling her back against the bed. She sagged, sniffing, and he stared at the ravaged ruin of her face. Blue bruises ringed her eyes, mottled her lips and covered her flattened nose. The assassin thought he had never seen such a nauseating sight, and looked away. She wiped her nose, then covered her face and wept.
"Stop it," he said, "or I'll leave."
She hiccupped and gulped, rubbed her face on her sleeve and forced a wan smile. "It's good to see you. I've missed you so much. I'm glad you came. I have wine."
Blade stepped aside when she headed for a cupboard, staying out of her reach. She turned with a bottle of cheap wine that he knew tasted more like vinegar, and he held up a hand.
"No, that stuff is vile."
Her face fell, and she looked so desperate that his anger rose again, and he headed for the door.
"No!" She rushed at him. "Wait! Blade!"
The assassin slipped out before she could grab him and slammed the door in her face, stepping into the shadows as she yanked it open again. He ignored her desperate calls and turned into an alley, at the end of which, he knew, was a shabby taproom that the local beggars frequented. The soggy door creaked when he dragged it open, and he banged on the scarred counter until a man came over with a lopsided leer and an angry scowl. The bartender eyed him, clearly uncertain of whether he was an assassin or just a man clad in black. Blade ordered three bottles of the best wine and paid a golden for something he hoped was drinkable.
Back at Lilu's room, he shoved open the door, which he knew was now unlocked, and kicked it shut behind him. She lay on the bed, and looked up in alarm, her eyes wide. A hesitant smile twisted her swollen, scabbed lips, and she sat up and swung her legs off the bed. Blade banged the bottles down on the table and eased himself onto the rickety chair, which creaked.
Lilu gulped and coughed. "You came back."
"I went to get some decent wine," he said, looking away.
"Thank you."
"Are you going to pour it, or sit there gaping at me?"
Lilu went over to the cupboard and took out two pewter cups while Blade pried the cork out, and he filled them. She dragged a box closer and perched on it, gazing at him. He handed her a cup, which she took with trembling hands.
Blade scowled at her. "Who did that to you?"
She fingered her crushed nose. "A customer."
"Why?"
"I... I stole his money."
"Then you deserved it."
"He almost killed me." She leant forward, her eyes intent. "Someone carried me home that night and left me on the bed."
Blade sipped his wine. "That was nice of them."
"Yes, it was. Thank you."
He snorted. "It wasn't me."
"I know it was."
"Then you're an idiot."
She sipped her wine, wincing. "This is good."
"I won't drink that rat's piss you have."
"No, I expect you can afford the good stuff, like this."
He shrugged. "It's tolerable."
"Why did you help me? And how did you find me?"
"I didn't. How would I? What do you think, that I've been following you around or something?"
She lowered her eyes. "Perhaps it was a happy coincidence."
"Unlikely."
"I don't know of anyone else who would have helped me."
"I wouldn't have, either."
"All right." She looked at him. "Have it your way, but I know it was you."
"Don't delude yourself with idiotic imaginings."
"I hope you didn't hurt your leg doing it. I'm not that light."
His eyes narrowed at her clumsy ploy. "I'm sure it was some stout lad with a heart of gold or a crotch full of lust, who probably made use of you before he left."
She grimaced. "You're being vile."
"When am I not? And yet you seek to credit me with a charitable act."
"I know who you really are."
"Indeed? Who am I, really?"
"A good man."
Blade chuckled, shaking his head. "You'd see good in a murdering rapist if he patted your bottom and bought you a drink."
She sighed. "How have you been?"
"Tolerable."
"Are you dancing again?"
"No."
"You're not limping."
Blade sipped his wine. "And you're not working. What are you eating, the curtains?"
"How do you know I'm not working?"
"Because no man in his right mind would rut with you now."
She looked down at her wine, fiddling with it. "I have a little food still."
"Good, I'm hungry."
Lilu stifled a sob.
Blade smiled. "Aren't you going to offer your guest something to eat? You asked me to visit you, and I've even provided the wine. The least you can do is offer me a meal."
Jumping up, she wrenched open a cupboard and took out a hunk of mouldy bread and an equally foetid chunk of cheese, banging them down on the table. "There. Eat."
"That's disgusting."
Her face twisted, and she turned away. "That's all I have."
He sighed. "I'm not eating that. Even the rats wouldn't eat it."
"I'm sorry."
Blade drew a silver from his money pouch and banged it on the table. "Go and buy us something for dinner. The hag with the barrow across the road is selling hot pies."
She looked at him, her eyes alight, then her face fell. "Won't you buy it for us, please?"
He raised his brows. "Now you expect me to not only pay for it, but fetch it, too?"
"Please." Her eyes darted, and a hunted look invaded them.
He leant closer. "What are you scared of?"
"Him."
"Oh, him." He sat back, considering her. "Your erstwhile client."
"Yes. He promised to kill me."
"And you think he's standing outside the door, waiting for you?"
"Maybe."
He snorted. "You're being idiotic."
"He knows where I live. The last two nights he's been banging on my door, promising to kill me if I come out."
"Has he now?" Blade frowned at the door, wondering if she was lying.
"Yes. I thought it was him when you knocked. I don't know why he hasn't come tonight."
"I take it he didn't get his money back when he beat you."
"No. I hid it."
"At the whorehouse?"
She nodded, sipping her wine.
"Foolish. You should have given it back. How much was it?"
"Five goldens."
"No wonder he's angry," he said. "What do you need so much money for? You pay, what, a silver a moon for this shithole, and three coppers a day for food? Are you saving up for a mansion?"
"No, I..." She hesitated, shooting him an uncertain look. "I have children."
Blade cursed and jumped up. "Gods! You stupid trollop! How many?"
"Two..." She gulped, watching him with wide eyes. "A boy and a girl, five and three years old. And..."
"What?"
"Another... on the way."
Blade stared at her, wanting to quit the smelly shack and her hopeless, fawning desperation. He preferred the woman who had hit him with a broom, but the fire had gone out of her. The assassin sank down on the chair again, bracing himself when it wobbled.
"Presumably you have no idea who the father is?"
"Not this time, no."
"Don't you... take herbs, or something?"
"They don't always work."
Blade glanced away, finding it hard to look at her battered face. "So you were just going to hide in here and starve, and let your children starve, too."
"No, I was hoping he'd give up and go away."
He snorted. "Fat chance. Five goldens will keep him coming back, unless he's rich."
"He's a drover."
"And you think he's outside, right now?"
"He might be."
Blade stood up and loomed over her. She cowered and raised her hands, her eyes wide. His brows knotted. "What, you think I'm going to hit you now? I should. So help me, Lilu, if you don't wipe that look off your face and stand up straight, I'll leave right now and you'll never see me again. Get up!"
Lilu rose, trying to school her features, although her chin wobbled and her eyes shimmered. Blade scooped up the silver, gripped her arm and dragged her to the door, pulling it open. The hag stood at her barrow across the street, and a few urchins played tosspot in the gutter. He glanced around, pressed the coin into Lilu's hand and gave her a shove that sent her staggering into the road.
"Go and buy us some bloody food, now!"
The whore cringed, her eyes darting, but scuttled across the street to the barrow and haggled with the crone, limping back with two pies clutched to her bosom. Blade stood aside, scanning the road again before banging the door closed and turning to Lilu, who ripped open the paper packet and tried to stuff an entire pie into her mouth. Blade grabbed her arm and yanked it out, bits of pastry protruding from her bruised lips.
"Don't act like a starved dog." He took the food and found two plates in the cupboard, banging one down in front of her. "Eat it slowly, or I'll throw it away."
Lilu controlled herself with an obvious effort, and took reasonable bites while Blade nibbled his. It was a cheap repast, and the meat inside, he mused, was probably rat or cat, but it was hot and nourishing. When she finished hers, he pushed his plate across to her.
"I'm not hungry anymore," he said. "The sight of your face makes me ill."
"Thank you," she mumbled, blinking.
Blade sipped his wine. "Where are your children?"
"In the care of a fishwife down the street. Her name's Nelta. If anything happens to me, would you --?"
"No."
She bowed her head and concentrated on her food, washing it down with wine.
The assassin sighed. "This drover won't risk murdering you. He might beat you again, though."
"Who's to stop him killing me? The Watch won't care about a whore."
"True. But if he didn't kill you the first time, why would he do it now?"
"Because he didn't get his money back. The bounder boys pulled him off before he could murder me."
"I see." Blade sipped his wine and gazed across the room, thinking about how miserable it must be, to be trapped in this filthy hovel, hungry and alone, afraid to go outside while her children also went hungry. Her life was pathetic and futile, not worth his interest, slight though it was. She had saved his life, yet she had not asked for his help, and he wondered why. If ever there was a good time to claim his debt, it was now.
"Perhaps you should give him his money back then."
"Perhaps. If I could get to the whorehouse, I would."
"That's why he's been banging on your door to terrify you. He could easily have kicked it in, it's rotten. If he murders you, he won't get his money back."
"Do you really think that if I give it back, he won't kill me anyway?"
Blade sighed. "No, he probably will."
"Then there's no hope for me, is there?"
He eyed her. "Why aren't you asking for my help?"
"I couldn't put you in that kind of danger. He might hurt you, and I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you. Then he'd still come after me, anyway."
"Your concern is touching. You seem to have forgotten that I'm a killer."
"You're an assassin, and I don't have any money to pay you. Besides, everyone knows you can't hire the Master of the Dance for a few coppers, or even a few silvers. What is your fee?"
"It depends on how difficult the target is to kill."
"For an easy kill."
He shrugged. "For a really easy kill, four goldens."
"I suppose I have five."
"I'm not for hire right now."
"Why not?"
"I'm not fit enough."
She wiped the pastry crumbs off her swollen lips. "I wouldn't risk your life. He's a big man, and a good fighter, I've heard. He regularly beats up men."
"He did a good job on you."
"What should I do?"
Blade drained his cup, refilling it. "You could hire an assassin."
"I suppose so, but how will I find one? Would you --?"
"No."
She refilled her cup. "I'll manage, somehow."
"You'll have to." Blade slugged back the rest of his wine and rose to his feet.
Lilu jumped up. "You're leaving?"
"Yes."
"No, wait, please. Stay a little longer." She glanced at the bottles. "You haven't finished your wine."
"Keep it."
"Blade..."
The assassin slipped out of the door and banged it closed, stepping into the shadows. Lilu opened it again a moment later and peered up and down the street, calling his name in a despairing voice. He wondered if she really expected him to reappear just because she called him, but then, she did not know him as well as she seemed to think she did. After a minute, she glanced around with obvious trepidation and retreated into the dubious shelter of her tatty room. Blade leant against the wall behind him and breathed the fresh air that was a relief after the musty confines of her shack and its depressing atmosphere of hopelessness. He strived to blot out her pleading eyes and battered visage while he walked home, avoiding turds and puddles of urine.
At noon the next day, Blade sauntered down to the whorehouse where Lilu worked, a tawdry place where women lounged about on old furniture clad in little or nothing. His hackles rose the instant he entered it, and the pathetic smiles of the two whores on duty soured his stomach. At the bar counter, he ordered a glass of wine and waited for one to approach him. Within a few minutes, a buxom redhead with sultry brown eyes sat beside him, her breasts almost spilling from her too-tight bodice. A woman of bats, he surmised, from her twitchiness and large ears. She pulled her skirt up to display her thighs and smiled, revealing missing teeth.
Blade fought the urge to jump up and leave, or chase her away, and returned her smile. "I hear you had some fun here a few nights ago."
"We always have fun," she said in a throaty voice full of false allure.
"There was a fight, wasn't there?"
She shrugged, stroking her thighs. "Of a sort. If you call a whore being beaten a fight, then I suppose so."
"Why was she beaten?"
"She stole."
"And who beat her?"
Her hand made the journey from her thighs to one of his, gripping it. "My, but you're solid muscle, aren't you?" She giggled, fluttering her eyelashes.
"Who beat her?"
She pouted. "Some drover."
"Does he have a name?"
"I expect so."
"But you don't know what it is?"
She leant closer. "My name's Lerril."
"Good for you. What's his name?"
"Why, do you want to bugger him?"
"You could say that, I suppose."
She withdrew her hand and frowned, raking him with a hard glance. "More likely he'll bugger you."
"I doubt that. Do you know his name?"
She shrugged. "My memory's not so good with names."
Blade slapped a silver on the counter, and she licked her lips.
"Tromar. His name's Tromar."
She reached for the coin, but he placed his hand over it and asked, "What does he look like?"
"Big man, all brawn, with a black beard and a shaven head."
"There are hundreds of big brawny men with black beards and shaven heads in this city. Give me something specific."
"He has a scar, here." She touched her left cheekbone. "A horse kicked him, I heard."
"What kin is he?"
"Bear."
Blade pushed the coin towards her and drained his wine before heading for the door. She frowned and called after him, "Don't you want to come to my room?"
He paused in the doorway. "No."
"Pity. You, I'd do for free."
"I wouldn't do you at all, even if you wore three bags over your head."
Blade closed the door on the stream of vitriol that followed him, smiling as he strolled down the street. Reasoning that the drover most likely paid his daily visit to Lilu's door at dusk, since that was when he would finish his work and Blade had been absent on previous evenings while he was practicing, he returned to his room to rest for the afternoon.
As the sun sank, he rose and strapped on his daggers, checking that the ones in his boot sheaths slid free easily, then wandered down to the slums. He located a suitable side alley and scaled the wall to settle against the sloping roof of a house that gave him a good view of Lilu's door. His visit to the whorehouse had not really been necessary, he reflected, but he had to be sure that whoever came banging on Lilu's door was not some other unhappy client or drunken beggar. He had also wanted to confirm her story.
The late afternoon sun warmed him, and his eyes drooped. From the street below came the sounds of shouting fishwives, shrieking urchins, barking dogs, braying donkeys, cackling chickens and muttering men, all blended together into a formless hubbub. Few carts visited the slums, so the rumble of wheels and clop of hooves were absent. For amusement, he tuned his hearing to a shouted argument two doors down, between a fishwife and her husband over the state of his finances. Losing interest, Blade switched to two washerwomen haggling with a barrow-hag for a pie. The sounds faded as he slipped into a doze.
A thunderous banging jerked Blade awake, and he sat up with a frown. A vast man stood outside Lilu's door, his fist hammering on the cracked wood.
"I'm going to kill you, bitch!" he roared.
A big brown bear sat behind its friend, pawing at its ears and shaking its head. A formidable familiar indeed, but ponderous enough to evade.
"Go away!" Lilu's shout came faintly.
"I want the money you stole!" the drover bellowed.
"Bugger off! I have a knife!"
Blade wondered if Lilu used the same words every time, and marvelled at her lack of diversity.
"You can't hide in there forever! I'll get you!" Tromar yelled. "And if you don't come out, I'll come in!"
"I'll call the Watch!"
"Bring my money!"
"Piss off!"
Blade's brows rose. Lilu certainly sounded defiant; much more like herself.
The hammering went on and on, interspersed with the drover's threats and Lilu's caustic replies. Blade lay back again with a sigh, wondering why none of the people who lived nearby saw fit to complain. He would have, had he lived within earshot of that racket. The sun sank behind the rooftops and gloom engulfed the street below, since the slums had no street lamps. The din stopped, and the assassin sat up to watch the big man stride away down the street, heading for the poor quarter. Rising, he walked to the edge of the roof and jumped down, giving a barrow-hag a fright. She cursed him, and he slipped into the shadows, following the drover.
Two streets from Lilu's room, Blade broke into a lope, overtook the drover and ducked into an alley beside the angry man's route. He scouted around for something suitable, and found a heavy, half rotted length of plank. Hefting it, he went to the corner and peeped around it. Tromar walked towards him, wearing a thunderous scowl. From the look of him, Blade suspected that the drover would have no qualms about killing a whore who had stolen from him. Blade had never liked bear kin. The bear rooted in the rubbish quite far behind its friend, but bears could move fast when they wished.
Blade raised his makeshift weapon when Tromar's footsteps drew near. As the drover stepped past the corner, Blade swung the plank at Tromar's head. It hit his face with a resounding thwack, sending him sprawling on his back, his nose a flattened ruin that seeped blood in a dark river. He appeared dazed for a moment, not surprisingly, Blade thought, then struggled to sit up. The assassin hit him again, pulverised his face further and crushed his lips. His head cracked onto the cobbles as the blow hammered him back, and he stared at the sky with wide, glazed eyes. Blade glanced at the bear, which had abandoned its snack and lumbered towards him.
The assassin kicked the drover in the side of the head three times, then in the belly, making Tromar groan and curl up. For good measure, Blade kicked him in the face with a crunch of breaking teeth, then leant down.
"Bother the whore again, and you die."
Tromar gaped at him. "Who in Damnation are you?"
"Someone you don't want to meet in a dark alley again, if anything happens to that whore."
Tromar spat out a broken tooth, drooling blood. "She stole from me!"
"I don't care. Leave her alone. I'll be watching, so don't darken her doorway again."
Tromar tried to struggle to his feet, murder in his eyes, but Blade hit him with the plank again. The drover slumped, his eyes closed, and Blade glanced at the bear that galloped towards him, its shaggy coat rippling over mighty muscles. The assassin dropped the plank and ran to a nearby wall, grabbed the gutter and swung himself onto the roof. From its safety, he smiled down at the furious bear, which clawed at the wall and growled. The beast soon deduced that its prey was out of reach and went over to lick its friend's face, huffing at the scent of blood. Blade ambled away over the rooftops, heading for home.
The following day, he returned to Lilu's room at dusk and took up his vigil until after dark, assuring himself that the drover had heeded his warning. Before he left, he collared an urchin he always saw in the street and drew the boy aside to promise him a silver if he brought news if Lilu had a problem again. Satisfied that his duty was done, he went home.
Blade stood in the darkness beyond the ring of ancient standing stones where the Guild always met and studied the throng of black-clad men and boys. Torchlight bathed the platform with leaping brilliance. This was another autumn meeting, and all the apprentices were present. He glanced down at the glittering belt that clasped his hips, fingering it. Another moon had passed since he had beaten the drover, and his dance was sufficiently restored, he judged, to face his peers without the risk of losing his belt. He strolled towards the gathering, his gut tightening with his dislike for such meetings, but he had to show himself or they would replace him.
As he arrived unnoticed at the back of the crowd, he noted a huddle of elders beside the platform and tuned his ears to their conversation.
Talon sounded angry. "He's been gone three moons, what of it? I told him to hide out for a while. He isn't dead."
"Three moons is a long time," an elder Blade recognised as Archer said. "The Trobalon fracas blew over two moons ago. He should have returned to his haunt by now. We can't go without a Dance Master forever, you know. It seems likely that the Trobalons got their revenge after all. We've heard rumours of an assassin killed in the slums."
"I still say you're wrong," Talon averred.
"Perhaps, but in the mean time we must have a Dance Master."
Blade slipped through the crowd towards the arguing elders, who were too engrossed in their discussion to notice him. Talon's wolf looked up when Blade stopped beside his former mentor, and several assassins behind him muttered when they noticed him.
Talon glowered at Archer. "You would put the belt back up for contention without knowing if the true Master is dead?"
"How will we ever know? If he's dead, doubtless his corpse was thrown in a gutter to rot and the belt stolen. We'll have to make another one."
"What will you use until then, a piece of string?"
Blade unbuckled the belt and held it out. "Why don't you use this?"
Talon swung around, his eyes widening. "Blade!"
Blade stepped towards Archer. "Here. If you're so keen to believe me dead, then put the belt up for contention. I'll beat anyone who dares to dance for it."
Archer looked uncomfortable. "You've been gone for --"
"Three moons, I know. Here." Blade thrust the belt at him. "Take it."
"If you're able to dance, I doubt anyone will challenge you."
"I want them to," Blade said. "Let them try!"
"No one could find you --"
"That was the idea."
"But not for three moons."
Talon, who studied Blade, asked, "They found you, didn't they? What happened?"
"None of your damned business. I'm here now, and I invite anyone who thinks they can beat me to try." He swung away and held up the belt. "Who wants to challenge me? Come on! Now's your chance!"
Talon leant closer. "If you were injured, that might not be such a good idea."
Blade mounted the stage and walked around it, shouting, "Come on! Challenge me! I call for it now, if any of you have the spine. I don't come to meetings much, so don't miss this opportunity!"
The throng shifted and muttered, and a young, muscular man emerged from their ranks, a confident smirk on his lips. He glared up at Blade. "I'll challenge you."
"Excellent." Blade buckled the belt on, then pulled the metal toe and heel taps from his jacket pocket. "This will be a brief duel."
The man looked a little confused when he mounted the platform to find the Dance Master employed in attaching his boot taps.
"I must perform the Dance of Death first," he said.
Blade straightened. "I'll waive my right to see you dance. I'm sure you're able to."
The challenger glanced at the elders, who shrugged and nodded. He faced Blade again. "I'm Mace."
Blade stripped off his jacket and tossed it over a post, unlacing his shirt. "How nice for you. Let's get started."
Mace strapped on his taps and removed his jacket and shirt while Blade leant against a post and tapped his toe. The Guild muttered and settled down to watch, some members sipping wine from flasks or skins. Talon watched Blade so intently that he found it unsettling and shot his former mentor a cold glance. Mace bent and stretched, limbering up, and Blade did the same. The strapping assassin was a year or two older than him, Blade judged, and when Mace turned to face him after what he considered to be a lengthy warm up, Blade gesture expansively to the stage. In a Duel, the challenger danced first.
Mace walked to the centre of the platform and took up a stance, arms raised, an unnecessary embellishment that Blade instantly disliked. Mace, he sensed, was a show off, and probably a bully, too. From his quick movements and sinuous grace, Blade surmised that he was a man of ferrets or mongooses. Blade folded his arms to show his disdain for the challenger, and Mace frowned. With a flamboyant gesture, he launched into a complex series of foot crossing taps, drifting across the stage on drumming feet. The brief routine was sufficiently skilful and swift to show that Mace had spent a great deal of time practising his dancing, and was good at it. He swept into a series of spinning kicks, his feet hammering on the boards and his legs lashing out, ending with another arm gesture and stamp.
Blade straightened and walked to the centre of the stage, facing Mace. The tension rose while he paused, eyeing his opponent with a frown and sensing a collective indrawn breath around the platform. Raising his arms in a graceful gesture that was similar to Mace's but lacked its flamboyance, Blade launched into an identical routine, only he performed it at twice Mace's speed, his feet blurring as his taps blended into a simple tune. He leapt into the spinning kicks, hanging in the air with the height of his jumps, the bounce and power of his legs sending a wave of euphoria through him.
Reaching the end of Mace's challenge steps, Blade floated across the platform, performing a series of steps so complex that the taps formed a rattling melody. He leapt high, his legs lashing out sideways, and touched his toes in mid-air before landing in another twisting series, lifting his feet high to hammer the boards. Blade spun and leapt again, tapping his boots together behind him in mid-air, then took a few steps and launched himself high, his straight legs crossing at the apex of his jump. A flash of sparks shot from his boots as they clashed, then he dropped to the boards, stamped once and turned to face his challenger.
Blade frowned at the empty stage, glancing down to find his erstwhile opponent pushing his way into the throng. A slight smile tugged at his lips while he scanned the crowd of stunned faces.
He raised his arms. "Anyone else?"
A low muttering issued from the assassins, and after a minute Blade plucked his shirt and jacket from the post and went over to sit on the steps and remove his taps.
Talon approached, wearing a wry smile. "So, I was wrong. And you really thought anyone else would dare to challenge you after that exhibition?"
Blade shrugged. "I could hope."
"No one's that stupid. Mace was utterly humiliated."
Blade tucked his taps into his pocket and straightened. "As I intended. And you were right. A dozen or so of Trobalon's thugs tried to kill me. I want the right to seek blood debt."
"Do you know their names?"
"I'll find out."
Talon shook his head, frowning. "Why must you court danger? You survived, let it be."
"They left me for dead. I want them to pay."
"How did you survive?" Talon raised a hand. "I know, it's none of my business. How badly were you hurt?"
"A broken arm, leg and ribs, and stab wounds."
"How did they --?"
"I was drunk, all right?"
Talon nodded. "I see."
"I doubt it."
"Obviously you had the help of a healer to make such a complete recovery."
"Obviously. Are you going to ask the elders?"
"All right," Talon said, "but if they say no, you must abide by their decision."
"Accidents happen in dark alleys all the time."
"Just don't get caught, then."
Blade waited while his former mentor consulted his peers, aware of many eyes watching him from the crowd, weighing his mettle and perhaps wishing him ill so a new Master would have to be found. Every member of the Guild resented his prowess, he knew. Just as he had coveted the belt when Lash had held it, now many eager young men longed to make it their own. Possibly the only thing that kept them from trying to kill him was that they were prohibited from doing so.
Talon returned, looking sour. "They will allow it, but they warn you to make sure the deaths look like common murders or accidents. They don't want any repercussions from the Watch. So many deaths amongst Trobalon stalwarts will raise a few questions and a great deal of anger, especially if some of them are relatives."
Blade nodded. "No one will suspect."
"Good." Talon hesitated. "Be careful."
"I'm not an impatient boy anymore. I have time on my side, and I intend to savour their suffering." He smiled. "No, I'm not going to kill them, though they may wish I had."
Talon stared at him. "I pity any man who earns your wrath now. You're quite mad, you know. You have no conscience and no pity."
"What good would they do me?"
"They'd make you human."
"So what am I, then?"
Talon shook his head. "I don't know anymore. You're like a blizzard; cold, pitiless and deadly."
"Or a blade."
"A blade requires a wielder. Then again, I suppose you have one. Your hatred. Beware, lest it consume you."
"It already has." Blade flashed him a smile and walked off, shoving aside men who did not step aside fast enough. Some frowned, but none dared to protest.
The butcher swept aside the curtain and left Lilu in the dim back room that was only a little larger than a broom cupboard. She sighed and pulled the sheet over the bulge of her belly. Only a moon-phase remained before the birth, but her situation had become dire. When she had returned to the whorehouse, the owner had taken one look at her ruined face and ordered her out. A time-glass of pleading had persuaded him to allow her to use a back room, where aging and mutilated harlots were allowed to ply their trade, out of sight.
No one wanted to see them in the front room, where the pretty girls tempted clients. Along with her relegation to the back room had come a drastic drop in pay, for such as she serviced the poorest clients, and were only allowed to charge three coppers a go. The brothel owner took one copper out of every three, and what was left was barely enough to buy food for herself and her babies. Her customers were sent to her room when they asked for a cheap whore, and she had no choice but to lie with whoever came through the curtains.
Some of her clientele, being poor labourers and the like, stank of sweat, piss and shit. The butcher had smelt of offal and blood. Lilu closed her eyes and thought about the young man who had spent so much time in her bed, and with whom she had fallen in love. His image came to her easily, burnt into her memory forever, along with the warmth that always filled her heart when she thought of him. When Tromar had stopped beating on her door, she had known Blade had had a hand in it.
Since then, she had glimpsed the drover in the front room when she had peeked through the curtains once, and marvelled at his flattened nose and missing teeth. How a slight man like Blade had bested the brawny drover and his huge bear was a mystery, but she suspected that his cleverness had helped. She longed to see him again, and every knock on the door of her room had had her leaping up to open it with a smile, only to find another beggar or the slattern from down the street who sometimes visited to drink Lilu's cheap wine.
Rolling onto her side, she yawned and watched the scuttle-bugs crawl around the floor. Her room was dark to hide her face, and she was lucky, she supposed, that she was not expected to wear a bag over her head. One of the other back room whores, whose face had been burnt by an angry client armed with lamp oil and a tinderbox, had to do so. The men who visited Lilu now also had no gold for her to steal, and she had been forced to give up her room on Tarbriar Way. Now she slept here, snatching naps whenever she had the chance. Evenings were a busy time, however, and the brothel was full tonight, it being the end of the tenday, and tomorrow a rest day.
A flare of light made her glance up as the curtain was thrust aside and a vast, hirsute man entered. She rolled onto her back and pulled off the sheet when he stepped towards her and tossed three coppers onto the floor. While he was busy, she thought about how fortunate she was to have been allowed to stay at the whorehouse, where clients had to pay or face the bounder boys, who ensured that they did or took it out of their hides. Had she become a street whore, she would have been at the mercy of unscrupulous men and rapists. Street whores seldom lived long.
Her customer, whom she assumed was a labourer from his callused hands and stench of sweat and mud, finished and left. Lilu scraped the coppers into her purse and lay back to await her next client. Back room harlots were inevitably busy, due to the cheapness of their services. Once she gave birth, however, life would become even harder, with a baby to feed and clients to satisfy. The curtain was swept aside again, and a fat man entered.
Blade leant against the bar counter and watched the whores with a frown, disliking the place's air of debauchery and desperation. He had discovered Lilu's absence from her room when he had watched her door for a time-glass and a fat woman had entered with two children, soon followed by a man. Clearly they now dwelt there, and he had come to the whorehouse to see if Lilu still worked here. So far, he had not seen her, and wondered if something had befallen her.
The urchin had not brought him any news, but then, the boy might not be as reliable as Blade had hoped. A harlot approached him, the fifth to do so since he had arrived half a time-glass ago, even though there were plenty of men drinking and carousing with the girls. She was young, perhaps thirteen, and her family had probably her sold into the business. Auburn hair framed a thin face with large, rather protuberant eyes and a pouty mouth stained red with berry juice. Blade guessed that she was rat or mouse kin.
The girl sat on the stool beside him, looking shy yet determined, and placed an empty wine cup on the counter.
"Will you buy a girl a drink, good sir?"
Blade almost told her to bugger off, as he had the last four, then paused, considering. He signalled to the barkeep, who sloshed cheap white wine into the girl's cup, and she slugged it back with a smile. Replacing the empty cup on the counter, she drew aside the silk blouse that hung open to her waist, revealing her wares, such as they were, and the bruises on them.
Blade looked away. "I'm looking for a woman named Lilu."
The girl wrinkled her snub nose. "She's a back room whore. You don't want her, there's a queue outside her curtain every night, and she's all swollen with child."
Blade raised his brows. "Why is she so popular?"
"Anyone would be for three coppers a go. With her face, she's not allowed out front anymore. She takes what she gets, and makes do."
"And you scorn her. Beware, lest you one day share her fate."
"I would rather die," she said. "She can't, because of her children, though. I pity her."
"You should. Tell me where she is."
The harlot pouted and moved closer, raising a hand towards his face, her eyes full of invitation. "For three silvers, you can have me, and I'm beautiful."
His hand flashed up to grip her wrist. "Don't touch me, girl. Where's Lilu?"
She gasped when his fingers tightened, biting her lip. "In the back. Down the corridor, last curtain on the left."
Blade released her and rose, slapping a silver on the counter before pushing his way through the crowded room and the curtain at the back of it, into a dingy corridor. Four curtained doors led off it, and grunts and gasps came from all of them. Two men hung around in the passage, evidently waiting for the next available harlot. Blade went to the last curtain on the left and leant against the wall outside it, trying not to listen to the sounds coming from within. The two men eyed him, but looked away when he glanced at them. Moments later, the noises stopped and a fat, greasy man emerged, tugging at his clothes.
Blade hesitated, then thrust aside the curtain and stepped into the darkness, glancing around. The naked woman who lay on the straw pallet gasped and dragged a dirty sheet over herself.
"Blade!"
He turned to scan the room, his anger rising like a black tide. Spotting a bundle of ragged frocks in the corner, he grabbed one and threw it at her.
"Get dressed." He averted his gaze. "You stupid bloody trollop."
"Why? Where are you taking me?"
"What do you care? Do you want to stay here?"
"No, but..." Her voice became muffled as she pulled the dress over her head.
He glanced at her, relieved to find her covered. "I'm going to take you to a dark alley and slit your throat, how about that?"
She snorted. "A likely story."
"I would consider it a mercy killing."
She looked a little uncertain, then shook her head. "I still don't believe you. You're a liar."
"Get up." He stepped closer, his brow furrowed.
Lilu struggled to lever herself to her feet, and he gave an impatient growl and gripped her arm, yanking her upright. She tottered, stumbling after him when he dragged her into the corridor.
"Hey, slow down," she protested.
Blade glanced at her and slowed, thrust aside one of the waiting men and sent him stumbling into the wall. As he approached the curtain that led into the front room, she hung back.
"I'm not allowed in there."
"I don't care."
"I'll get into trouble, maybe even be thrown out, and --"
"Be quiet."
Blade hauled her to the front door, shoving drunken men from his path, and was relieved to be out in the crisp night air after the whorehouse's cloying, perfumed atmosphere. Releasing Lilu's arm, he wiped his hand on his jacket and set off down the street without glancing back. Her footsteps followed, stumbling a little, and fell behind until he was forced to stop and wait for her. She panted up to him, her face flushed in the light of a street lamp.
"Where are we going?"
He gazed past her. "To my rooms."
Her breath caught in a little gasp, and her eyes glistened with joy. "Truly?"
"Temporarily. Don't imagine I want a stinking trollop in my room, or her bawling brats."
"Then... what do you want?"
"Never you mind. Walk faster, I'm tired."
Blade set off again more slowly, fuming with impatience. Lilu tried to cling to his arm, but he shook her off with a curse.
"Don't touch me," he snarled. "You stink, and I don't want dognits."
"I don't have dognits."
"Then it must be one of the few disgusting infestations you don't have, and I don't want any of them." Lilu stopped, and, after he had walked a few more paces, he turned to scowl at her. "That's not walking faster, Lilu, that's not walking at all."
"Then stop insulting me, or I won't go with you."
"You'd rather go back to your straw pallet and endless supply of smelly men, I suppose?"
She rubbed her eyes. "No. Nor do I deserve your anger. What have I done?"
"You've become pathetic, even more so than you were before."
"And why does that bother you?"
Blade walked back to her. "Either come with me or go back. Choose."
Lilu sighed, but followed when he swung away and continued down the street. By the time he reached his rooms, he could tell from her rasping breaths that she was exhausted. When she gazed at the staircase with despairing eyes, he gripped her arm and trundled her up it, shoved her into his room and slammed the door. She sank into the solitary, overstuffed chair, gasping, while he lighted the lamps.
Blade drew aside the curtain that hid his copper tub, still half full of tepid water from his afternoon bath and only a little soapy.
"First you'll wash off that stink before it makes me sick."
"It's not my stink; it's --"
"Spare me the details."
Lilu levered herself out of the chair and went behind the curtain, which he pulled back into place with a vicious hiss of rings on bar.
Lilu tugged off her frock and climbed into the water, which was not too cold, although it made her shiver. Choosing a frey flower scented soap from the selection, she scrubbed herself all over, including her hair, glad to be rid of the smell of her clients. She listened to the soft sounds Blade made moving around in the room, wondering what he wanted. When he had entered the room at the whorehouse, her heart had almost stopped in delight, wonder and horror that he should find her there, naked and abused.
It made her ridiculously happy to see him again, and her heart still hammered. Was she wrong about him? Did he, in fact, have a use for a woman? Even if he did, however, he would not choose to lie with an ugly whore when he could undoubtedly have any woman he wanted, even rich, beautiful ladies. From the way he had averted his eyes and his distasteful expression at the time, she doubted it. Did he feel sorry for her? Was he capable of such feelings? She would find out, she suspected, when she got out of the bath.
A soft towel hung on the railing beside her, and she dried herself and donned the frock again, wishing that she had a clean one. As she emerged from the alcove, the baby kicked, making her grunt and clasp her belly. Blade sat in the chair, staring into a roaring fire, a cup of wine in one hand. A thin mattress lay on the floor beside the hearth, and she wondered where it had come from. She had not heard him leave the room, but perhaps he had. She sat down on it, combing her hair in the fire's heat to dry it.
Blade watched her with frigid eyes, sipping his wine, and gestured to the bottle and cup on the table beside his chair. "Have some, if you want."
Lilu crawled to it and poured a cup, settled back to sip it and found that it was a rich, musky red variety, expensive. She gazed at him, amazed to be here in his room, so unexpectedly and after not seeing him for two moons. He looked healthier, his gaunt, pale look gone.
"You're looking well," she ventured.
He scowled at the fire. "And you look worse, if such a thing is possible. Why do you continue to work there, even now?"
"It's the whorehouse or the street, and the street's worse."
"You must like being a whore then, or you'd have chosen something else."
She shook her head. "I never had a choice. My father sold me into service when I was twelve." She sipped her wine, listening to the snap of the fire. "Thank you, for what you did to Tromar."
"Tromar? Who in Damnation is he?"
"The drover. I know what you did, so it's no good denying it."
He shrugged. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You did a good job on his nose. What did you use, a faggot?"
A slight smile tugged at his lips. "You're dreaming. I don't go around beating up bear kin for the sake of whores."
"And all his front teeth are missing too. He looks worse than I do now."
"At least he doesn't have to rut with men in a dark broom cupboard to earn his keep."
"You must have put the fear of Tinsharon into him. He never came back."
He sipped his wine. "I tire of your delusions, I really do."
She sighed, giving up. "What do you want with me?"
"I have need of a whore."
Her heart pounded. "You do? I... I didn't think you would..."
"What?"
"Find me... interesting."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't. I could - can have any woman I want, so I don't need to lie with dirty harlots. Especially ugly harlots."
She looked away to hide her pain. "Then what?"
"I have a task for you. My Guild has agreed to my blood debt. I want the men who tried to kill me, but I don't know who they are. I'll set you up in a whorehouse in Trobalon territory, somewhere their thugs go, and you'll listen to the gossip and learn their names. They'll brag about almost killing the Dance Master, even now."
"And if I don't want to spy for you?"
"Then you can go back to that cesspit where I found you."
"You could pay for the information at those whorehouses. The women would tell you for a few silvers."
He inclined his head. "Sure, and tell the thugs I'm looking for them, too. Then they'd either try to kill me again, or flee."
"So, you trust me."
His eyes flicked to her, lingering on the bruises around her neck. "If you betray me, I'll kill you."
"No you won't. You could just as easily threaten the whores at those brothels, and they'd believe you."
"What makes you think I won't kill you?"
Lilu cocked her head and smiled. "Many reasons. Firstly, I saved your life. Secondly, you can't kill without a client, and thirdly, you'd never harm a woman."
He snorted. "What makes you think that?"
"You loved your mother, I can tell. In fact, I'd even say that you were your mother's favourite son, if you had brothers. Perhaps you were an only child, but she doted on you, and you on her. You carried me home when Tromar beat me, and beat him in exactly the same way because of it. You fed me when I was hungry and protected me when I was in trouble, and now you've saved me from that cesspit, as you so nicely put it."
He scowled at her. "You're deluded. You were afraid of me after Tromar beat you."
She nodded, hanging her head. "I was hurt, and you were angry. When you didn't, I realised how wrong I was to think you capable of it. You'll have a problem if anyone ever hires you to kill a woman. You won't do it. What's more, you'll probably save her. You hate men. Did your father beat you?"
"No."
Lilu longed to know him better. He was such a fascinating, beautiful man, and she wished she could see his pure aura again, but without Symbell's song it was invisible. He stretched out his legs to the fire and rested his head on the back of the chair, looking relaxed.
"What's your real name?" she asked.
Several moments passed before he replied, "Conash."
She frowned, puzzled. "Dead Son? Why would your mother name you that?"
"I was born dead. My father gave it to me as a grave name."
"They're dead, aren't they? Your folks?"
"Mind your own business."
Lilu put aside her cup and crawled closer to his chair, kneeling beside it to hesitantly place a hand on his shin. His eyes flicked down to her, full of hostility.
"I'll do what you want," she said, "but soon I'll give birth, and it would be nice to have a break afterwards. Will you pay me for the information?"
"Very well. A golden for every name and description you bring me."
Her breath caught at the vast sum he offered. "So much. Can you afford it?"
"Yes."
"You're working again."
"Yes."
Her eyes fell upon his silver-studded belt, and she contemplated its significance with a wash of pride. "You're still the Master of the Dance. That's wonderful. Did anyone challenge you?"
"Only one fool."
"And you showed him just how much of a fool he was, I'll wager."
"Something like that."
She smiled. "I'm glad. The healer did his work well."
"He should have, at that price."
After a moment's hesitation, Lilu took hold of his hand and turned it to run her fingers over his smooth palm with its tiny scars. He endured it for a moment, then tugged it away and tucked it under his jacket.
"Quit pawing me," he said.
"But I like to paw you," she said, tilting her head. "You're so soft."
He chuckled.
"You're cat kin, aren't you?"
Blade slugged back the last of his wine and jumped up, pulling off his jacket as he went over to his bed. "Sleep on the pallet, and don't wake me up."
Lilu watched him strip down to his baggy shorts and climb into his bed, then lay down on the pallet with a sigh. The fire had warmed the room, and she was more comfortable than she had been for two moons, although her stomach rumbled. At least she was clean and unmolested. She lay awake, contemplating the future. If Blade continued to intrude into her life every time she had need of him, perhaps things would not be so bad, and she blessed Symbell for her guidance. As a God Touched, he would not abandon her now, and she knew she was safe for the first time since her father had left her at the whorehouse thirteen years ago. Blade was the Master of the Dance, the deadliest man in Jondar, and her friend.
It saddened her that he would never be more, but she was an ugly whore and he was a eunuch, making any silly romantic dreams pure folly. She had given up on romance many years ago, but his friendship was the most precious gift anyone had ever given her, not counting her children. Their fathers had not intended to sire them, but Blade had returned and saved her, and, much as he denied it, she knew she was probably the closest thing to a friend he had. She doubted that he would ever allow her close to him, however.
A soft pop and flash made her look up with a smile. Symbell hovered over her, her wings a shimmering blur. She drifted down to land on Lilu's belly, arching her neck to gaze through her flesh at the child within. Lilu stroked her neck, and Symbell purred, her eyes aglow and her skin shimmering with waves of soft pink and gold. Radiant dragons had many powers, but they never interfered in the lives of their human friends. Dragon kin were exceedingly rare, and their familiars gifted them with insight, intelligence and precognizance. The baby kicked, making Lilu wince, and Symbell trilled.
"It's a boy?" Lilu whispered, smiling.
Serpent kin, Symbell's whispery voice said in her mind.
"Another son. I'm blessed."
He will die with blood on his hands.
Lilu's smile faded. "I wish you wouldn't tell me things like that."
He is Tromar's son.
"Oh, god."
Symbell raised her head and gazed at the sleeping assassin. He is Tinsharon's son.
"What do you mean?"
God Touched.
"Yes, but not god conceived."
The radiant trilled. All God Touched are born from Tinsharon's grace.
"But you don't mean -- ow!" Lilu yelped as Symbell bit her on the belly, her razor-sharp crystal teeth leaving little bloody marks.
He told you he was born dead, Symbell said.
"Oh. I see."
Look again. The radiant spread her translucent wings, puffed up her throat and filled the room with sweet, fluting notes, which rose and fell without tune or discord. Lilu propped herself up on one elbow to gaze at the man in the bed as the room transformed into a wonderland of pearly radiance and silver glimmers. The floor glowed with preternatural light and the walls turned into tarnished silver, the overstuffed chair looked like silver lava shining through a ragged skin. The greatest radiance, however, came from the bed, where pale hues gathered and brightened into a soft aura, surrounding the sleeping assassin. Lilu watched with her heart in her throat as the aura coalesced, taking on a hard-edged glitter. It had been enthralling when Blade was a stranger, now that she knew him, it held an awesome fascination.
Symbell continued to sing, and the aura around Blade grew brighter and paler until it was hard to look at. Lilu's eyes filled with tears when three pale, flowing conduits formed in the air above him, indicating a lingering attachment to the dead.
"His father and mother?" she whispered.
And his familiar, Symbell's silver voice said in her mind.
"Oh, god... a cat."
Who died defending him.
"Who killed them?"
The Sun People.
"Cotti."
Lilu stared at the shimmering conduits while Symbell sang, wondering why the radiant's song continued. Then she noticed him. He sat in the darkest corner of the room, and the brightest conduit led to him. The gilded outline of a shadowy cat, watching her with glowing eyes. Lilu's eyes overflowed, and she stifled a sob.
His name is Rivan, Symbell whispered. He watches over him still.
"Does Blade know?"
No. His presence brought the boy to the brink of madness. Now he stays in the shadows. He will never leave.
The assassin tossed and sighed, muttering. Symbell fell silent, and the magic ebbed away in fading sparkles and dying glimmers. The darkness clamped down, only the glow from the hearth alleviating it. The cat vanished, and Lilu turned to her familiar.
"He's waiting for Blade to die."
Symbell arched her neck. Hush.
Blade grew still, and Lilu sensed the soft magic that pushed him back into the arms of sleep as it tugged at her eyelids. She fought it, yawning, and gazed at Symbell, who folded her wings and sat up on her haunches.
He will have a long wait, she trilled.
"That's good."
Not so good, but I cannot tell you what I see.
"Why not?"
Forbidden.
"Why?"
The radiant's glow brightened, which Lilu knew meant she was preparing to hop back into her own time. He has a destiny.
"Don't we all?"
Not like his.
"What is he?"
Symbell gave a trilling purr and spread her wings, rising into the air. God Touched.
"Yes, but..."
The radiant dragon vanished with a soft pop, leaving a glowing spot in the air and shimmering sparkles that faded away. Lilu sighed and lay down, clasping her belly, where little feet pressed against her flesh from the inside. Tromar's son. He had been one of her more sadistic customers. The other girls had spurned him after one try, and Lilu had been the only one who would go with him, since she had so few customers compared to the prettier girls. Tromar had a wife, she recalled, and bragged about her beauty, although she was barren. Lilu often wondered if he treated her as roughly as he did the whores. Now he had sired a son, and, if he found out, she feared that he would try to steal the child.
The drover was desperate for a son, so much so that when one of the other girls he had lain with once had fallen pregnant he had hounded her to find out if he was the father. She had denied it, but only when she had birthed a baby girl with red hair had he left her alone. Lilu had a bad feeling about her new son, and her feelings were usually right. Closing her eyes, she pushed the ugly thoughts from her mind, aching with fatigue. Tomorrow, Blade would take her to a new whorehouse, but he would have trouble persuading them to take her on, she was sure. No one wanted an ugly, pregnant, broken-nosed harlot.
A toe nudging her leg woke Lilu, and she opened her eyes with a start, relaxing when she found Blade standing over her. He swung away and went over to the table as she sat up. Midday sun streamed in through the window to warm a patch of floor. The aroma of hot, meaty food made her mouth water, and she levered herself to her feet to approach the table. A pie awaited her on a plate, and Blade nibbled another, sipping a cup of wine. He never seemed to be without a wine cup in his hand, she reflected while she ate.
Blade gazed out of the window, and pushed his half eaten pie over to her when she finished hers.
"You don't eat enough," she admonished.
"I also dislike being told what to do." He rose and crossed the room to his bed, drew a money pouch from under the pillow and tied it to his belt.
Stuffing the last of the pie into her mouth, Lilu rose and inspected herself in the mirror above the dresser, finger-combing her hair and straightening her wrinkled dress. Blade snorted and headed for the door.
"Don't bother."
Lilu hurried to catch up, and he slammed the door behind her. The walk across the city tired her, and she was glad when Blade stopped outside a seedy building with a battered, peeling sign that named it the Winsome Wench. She followed him into a dim taproom with dirty rushes on the floor and two slatternly whores drinking ale at a table. Blade was not wearing his belt, she noted. Dilapidated furniture cluttered the room, and a few men drank ale at the tables, swapping ribald remarks. The whores eyed Blade with interest, and one winked.
Blade ignored her and approached a fat, balding man with a greasy face who sat behind the counter. The barkeep stood up and shuffled over, his eyes raking Blade.
"What'll it be?"
"A cup of your best wine, and a conversation with this dump's owner."
"That'd be me." The man poured a cup of pale wine and pushed it over to the assassin.
"Good. This whore needs a place to trade." Blade gestured at Lilu, who sat on a stool.
"You jest. No man will want her, with a face like that."
"They will, for two coppers a go."
"Two coppers, eh?" The whorehouse's owner frowned at Lilu. "Is she experienced?"
"Very."
"She's also with child."
Blade smiled. "I had noticed that, oddly enough."
"What's it to you?"
"None of your business. She's a hard worker."
"She'd have to be," the man said. "I already have enough whores, though, this city's crawling with them."
"How many are this cheap?"
"Quite a few."
"One copper, then."
The whorehouse owner smiled. "You drive a hard bargain." He considered. "I tell you what. I'll feed and board her, and she works in the back room without pay."
"Done."
The man thrust out a grimy hand. "I'm Devar."
Blade recoiled, shaking his head. "It's against my religion to touch something that dirty."
Devar withdrew his hand with a scowl, and Lilu held her breath. The innkeeper smiled and shook his head. "That smart mouth of yours will get you into trouble, lad. Lucky for you I'm a tolerant man."
"Show me where she'll work."
"Does she have a name?"
"Lilu."
Devar nodded, and Lilu followed as he led the way through a curtain at the back of the taproom, into a short, squalid corridor similar to the one in her old whorehouse. Six curtained doors led off it, and Devar thrust the closest aside to reveal a bare cubical with a straw mattress in it. Blade glanced in and nodded, his expression shuttered. Back in the common room, he sipped the wine and grimaced, handing it to Lilu.
"Good luck."
Lilu sensed his wish to quit the shoddy inn. She did not blame him, and found that she did not want him to stay in the tawdry place. When the front door closed behind him, she turned to the innkeeper, who leered, revealing brown teeth.
"Come on, lass, let's see how hard you'll work for your kitchen scraps." He gestured towards the curtained doorway that led to the back rooms.
Lilu pulled a face and drained the wine before following him.
Lilu sat behind the curtain and listened to the men in the taproom shout, sing and banter. It was the end of the tenday, and she had been busy earlier. Now her customers were sated and enjoying the wine and fondling the other harlots. Their work had all but dried up since Lilu's arrival, and they spat at and slapped her often. She endured it for Blade's sake, but she hoped that she would learn something soon. Two tendays had passed, and her birthing time drew near.
A loud conversation caught her attention, and she strained to hear it, catching snatches.
"...We beat him good, that's fer sure... Pissed on 'im too..."
"Jobal said 'e were dead... But he's still alive, would you..."
Lilu leant closer to the curtain, her breath catching with excitement. A man guffawed, and she caught more snippets.
"...Benaar's the one who cracked 'im on the..."
"Damned dirty... Like rats, they are... Goin' to have some fun..."
"Go on with yer, Jobal..."
Lilu gasped and jumped up as the curtain to the taproom was thrust aside and a muscular, brown-haired man with a plaited beard entered the corridor. She bolted into her room, and he pushed open the curtain a moment later and swaggered in.
As he was about to leave, she asked, "Are you one of the lads who killed the Dance Master?"
He eyed her, clearly surprised. "We din't kill 'im, but we tried."
"You must be brave. How many of you were there?"
"A dirty dozen." He grinned. "Why are ye talkin'? Yer looking for another bedding? I'll send one of t'other lads back to keep yer 'appy if ye like."
"That's all right, I reckon I've had them all tonight."
"Too right ye 'ave, but some of 'em's game for seconds."
"I'm quite tired, actually."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "They'll wake yer up an' no mistake."
Lilu's heart sank as he left, dreading more work when she was already tired. He was true to his word, however, and within minutes another man came in, this one larger, with a shaven head and garish tattoos on his cheeks.
When he was finished, she asked, "Are you one of the boys who beat the Dance Master too?"
He stared at her. "Hah. Jobal said you was a talker. Aye, I am. We're all 'ere tonight."
"You're so brave. I'd like to meet them all."
"You already 'ave."
"What are their names?"
He scratched his head, looking puzzled. "Well now, there's Gerin, Jonnis, Bertal, Jobal, Petran, Vorn, Teddel, Kento, Thedor, Mathis, Ludor and me."
"And you are?"
"Benaar. I'm the one who almost brained the bastard."
"With a rock? How brave of you."
He eyed her. "You bein' funny?"
"No, no, assassins are dangerous."
He stepped closer. "He were drunk and alone, an' I jumped 'im from behind. You call that brave?"
"Well, if you put it like that, I guess not."
"Oh, so now I'm a dirty coward."
Lilu knew where this was going from years of experience. Benaar was in a mood to beat someone, and looking for an excuse to do it. She knew that a beating now, when she was so close to term, might bring the baby on early.
"I meant no offence," she said.
"Well you offend me," he said. "With yer dented face and bloated belly, still rutting like you 'aven't already 'ad enough. And then you want to talk. Things like you shouldn't talk!"
"You're right. I won't, ever again, I swear."
"An' now you're swearin', an' that's just wrong." Benaar stepped closer, his expression murderous. "I think yer need some more dents in that ugly mug o' yorn."
Lilu scrambled away, wishing she could flee, but her pregnancy weighed her down. Benaar grabbed her hair, and she screamed as his fist thudded into her stomach, pain lancing through her. She tried to curl up to protect her baby, but Benaar had other ideas. His next punch cracked into her jaw, sending her sprawling. He kicked her in the belly, and something tore. Warm liquid gushed over her thighs, and she screamed again. The curtain opened and men crowded into the pokey room, Devar amongst them.
The innkeeper protested, but was thrust out, and the men who had tried to kill Blade surrounded her. She tried to memorise their faces or distinguishing marks, but she did not know who was who, even so. Even if she survived to tell Blade, the information would be of little use. Jobal grinned and kicked her, and she groaned as a contraction tore through her.
Blade glanced around when a street urchin came to his side, recognising the boy from Tarbriar Way. The assassin sat in his usual seat at the back of the Hangman's Noose, his new haunt. The boy panted, his eyes wide.
"Dance Master," he gasped. "The whore..."
"What of her?"
"They're goin' to kill 'er, I reckon."
Blade straightened, frowning. "Who?"
"I dunno. Ten men, mayhap twelve. They've got 'er cornered in the Winsome Wench and they be kickin' 'er to death."
The assassin jumped up and loped to the door, thrusting it open with a bang. The curious, puzzled stares of the two assassins who shared his haunt followed him. In the street, his breath steamed in the cold air. He sprinted up the road towards the Winsome Wench, which was half a time-glass' walk away. He had chosen a new haunt that was not too close to it, lest he arouse suspicion, but it was in Trobalon territory and closer than his old one. His boots skidded on the icy cobbles on the corners, and people jumped out of his way with curses and yells.
As he neared his destination, he wondered how he was going to take on a dozen men, some of whom might be armed. Lilu might already be dead. He had no idea how much abuse a pregnant woman could withstand. A street away from the Winsome Wench, he paused to strap on his boot blades. This might be the first time he used them in a real fight, and put his training to the test. The metal soles made his footing even more treacherous, and he almost skidded twice more before he reached the inn's front door and wrenched it open. The whorehouse was unusually quiet and almost empty. He picked up the tension instantly, along with the scent of blood. Devar stood behind the counter, polishing cups with a frown. The assassin banged on the counter to get his attention, and he sauntered over.
"Where's the whore, Lilu?" Blade demanded.
"Aye, well now, she started trouble here tonight, indeed she did."
"Where is she?"
"Probably dead by now."
"Where?"
Devar leant on the counter. "I threw her out. Silly bitch got the lads all riled up, and she were a hard worker, too. Shame really."
"Where did you throw her?"
"Out the back. She was making an awful racket. Most of my customers cleared out, thanks to her. The lads too, and they were having a good time before..."
Blade loped through the curtain at the back of the taproom and into the short, dingy corridor, at the end of which was another door. He wrenched it open, and almost fell over the naked woman lying right outside. His boot blades clicked as he stepped over her and crouched, averting his eyes from her exposure and the blood that ran over her thighs. He touched her shoulder, found it warm, and felt for a pulse in her neck. Cursing, he glanced up and down the narrow lane. On the other side of the street at one end of the alley was a livery stable.
Stepping over her again, he re-entered the brothel and went to her room to fetch her tatty dress, returning to drape it over her. He did not want to have to carry her far, and the added weight of the child would make her a heavy burden, but the only other choice was to walk away. If he took her back into the brothel and she screamed, the owner would doubtless throw her out, or try to, which would lead to an unwanted fracas, with possible broken heads and a visit from the Watch.
Blade slid his arms under her, shuddering at the touch of her clammy skin. The stench of blood made his stomach heave, and he turned his head away as he cradled her against his chest and stood up. To his surprise, she was not as heavy as he had expected, or perhaps he was stronger than he had been last time. He walked to the stable, his boot blades skidding on the icy cobbles. In the livery's warm redolence, he found an empty stall and placed her on the straw.
The dress slid off, and he swiftly covered her again, his cheeks growing hot as he glanced around with guilty unease. The assassin's dislike for the situation grew in leaps and bounds, and he longed to abandon her and walk away. Not much disconcerted him more than a naked woman, but an unconscious one in labour in public came top of his list, he discovered. Kneeling beside her, he patted her cheek. Her belly bulged with contractions, and he was fairly sure that she should be awake for the birth. Blood oozed from her nose, her lips were puffy and a swelling closed one eye.
"Gods, Lilu," he muttered, "I didn't think you could get any uglier. Come on, wake up."
His persistent patting made her blink and moan, then, to his relief, her eyes opened. She focussed on him, and an expression of desperate joy twisted her battered face. Blade forced what he hoped was a comforting smile, but it must have looked like a grimace of distaste. Alarm blossomed in her eyes, and she grabbed him before he could leap out of reach, clutched his neck and buried her face in his chest. Her grip brought Blade's recoil up short, and his immediate, instinctive yearning to be free of her smelly, sweaty arms made his hands flash up to shove her away, come into contact with sticky flesh and snap back like they were spring loaded.
Blade tried to pull free. "Get off me, Lilu!"
Lilu clung to him, sobbing, then cried out, drawing up her legs as a contraction racked her. The assassin gripped her hands and wrenched them from his neck, scrambling away. She clasped her stomach and groaned, her face twisted with pain. Blade, on the brink of bolting, hesitated, eyeing her. He could not abandon her now. Edging closer, he watched her, staying out of reach.
"That's it," he murmured, not knowing if he was saying the right thing. "You're doing fine."
"How would you know, you blithering idiot? How many babies have you birthed?" she gritted.
"You should have thought of that before..." He bit his tongue, averting his eyes as the dress slid off again.
"Blade..." She stretched out a hand. "Help me."
"How?"
"Hold my hand, you idiot." She groaned and gasped.
"No. I'll fetch a midwife."
"Oh, good idea. And I suppose you know where she lives?"
"No. Where does she live?"
Lilu writhed, clutching her belly. "It's too late! Please, just hold my hand."
"What for?"
"It will help with the pain."
"You're not going to grab me again?"
"No." She groaned. "Those bastards tried to beat me to death too..." She gasped and bore down. "I found them. If you want their names, hold my bloody hand!"
Blade sidled closer and offered his hand, only to have it gripped in a bone-crushing hold that made him wince. "Ah! Lilu, that hurts."
"Not half as much as this hurts, trust me," she groaned.
"Yes, but I'm not the one in labour, nor did I do anything to cause you pain, so inflicting it on me isn't fair."
"You're right, but there's no one else here, so you're it."
"Ah!"
Lilu groaned and gasped, writhing as the contractions grew faster and stronger. Blade shifted, ill at ease and wincing whenever her grip tightened, which was with every contraction. Her skin became dewed with sweat and her cries grew so loud that he picked up her dress to stuff it into her mouth, then thought better of it and tried to pull it over her instead. She flailed at him.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to... um... keep you warm."
She opened her eyes to study him. "No you're not. You're all embarrassed because I'm naked. You're such a virgin."
"I am not!"
"'Course you are." She groaned, bearing down, and her hand crushed his fingers.
He plucked at it. "Aah! Could you... hold the other hand now? This one's crushed."
"No, you'll run if I let you go, and I need you to..." She groaned, then relaxed, panting. "...Help when the baby comes."
"No!"
"Please, Blade. I'm sorry to... put you through this, but..." She strained again, her face reddening, then flopped back. "...There's no one else."
He glanced around, hunted, yet trapped. "I could have fetched the midwife by now."
"She lives in the slums. It's miles away, and hard to find. I know you, you wouldn't have..." She groaned and panted. "...Come back."
Blade shot her a quick glance, his eyes skipping off her nudity, his face heating again. He picked up the dress. "Don't you want to put this on?"
She shot him a disbelieving look. "I'm in the middle of giving birth. I'm not going to put on a damned dress!"
Blade swallowed hard and winced as she gripped his bruised hand again. She cursed and writhed, and the stench of blood grew stronger. His eyes were drawn to something pink and glistening, smeared with blood, that emerged from her crotch. It had a face. A cold wave washed over him, and everything went dark.
Lilu relaxed as most of the pain abated. The worst was over. A soft thud in the straw beside her made her glance at Blade, who was stretched out, his eyes closed. After a moment of stunned disbelief, she giggled, then gasped as another contraction gripped her. The baby slid out, and she sat up and picked him up, wiping the slime off his face with the hem of her dress. He wriggled and raised his fists, then drew his first bubbling breath and wailed. Lilu smiled, stroking the thick black hair that clung to his scalp while she counted fingers and toes.
Lilu wrapped him in her skirt and lay back, holding the infant on her belly. He bawled lustily, but appeared to be unhurt despite the kicks that had thudded into her abdomen less than a time-glass ago. She glanced at Blade, smiling at his peaceful slumber. Here was the Master of the Dance, the deadliest assassin in all of Jondar, unable to stomach the sight of a birth.
Wise women always said that the pain of a birth would kill a man, and she thought that they were right. The baby howled, and she bit through the umbilical cord and placed him on the straw. After burying the afterbirth, she knelt to pull on her dress, which would make Blade happy when he woke, she mused. She wondered why he had come to the whorehouse. How had he known about her plight? That he had come warmed her heart, and she leant over to kiss his cheek, wiping off the drop of blood that she left on his skin. It came from her nose, and she wiped her face with her skirt, which also wrapped the infant.
Lilu smiled at him. "I shall call you Endellar. Storm Born. Endel for short. There may be no blizzard tonight, but you came into the world in the company of a human storm, and he lies in the straw, senseless from shock." She giggled and whispered, "He's God Touched."
Turning to Blade, she hesitated, almost loath to wake him, he was so peaceful. Placing the screaming baby in the straw again, she wriggled closer and stroked the assassin's cheek. Somehow, he stood above the dross of humanity, pure in spirit and flesh, though stained with hatred and rage. His penchant for cleanliness bordered on fanatical, and she often wondered whence it stemmed. Sighing, she gave his shoulder a little shake. A scraping sound made her glance around. Benaar stood there, staring at her with angry, bloodshot eyes.
"So, the slut has birthed a bastard," he growled. "You were supposed to die, and your bastard with you."
Lilu shook Blade harder. "Wake up!"
"Who've you got there?" Benaar enquired. "Another victim? Looks like you rutted 'im to death, poor sod."
Lilu thumped the assassin. "Wake up! Blade!"
"Blade?" Benaar's eyes widened, then narrowed. "What's 'e doin' 'ere? You two were in cahoots, innit?"
"Stay away from me!" she shouted when he stepped closer.
Lilu fumbled on Blade's belt for one of his daggers, sliding it free of its sheath with a soft, deadly slither. The baby screamed, and Benaar cast him a hard glance.
"I'm going to shut that there brat up, too."
Lilu brandished the dagger, aware that it was razor sharp. She had seen Blade stropping his weapons for time-glasses to hone them so finely that they could slice through a cloth that was dropped on them. Benaar smiled and took another pace forward. Perhaps he did not realise that Blade was liable to wake at any moment, or at least, she hoped he was. She also hoped that he was a good fighter when not armed with a plank or faggot. Benaar leered. Lilu glanced at the assassin, and, in desperation, pressed the tip of the dagger into his belly. Blade jerked upright with a snort, whipped around and punched her in the side of the head. Lilu fell back, her skull ringing. The assassin scrambled away from her, looking alarmed. He glanced at Benaar, confusion mingling with his alarm.
"It's one of them," Lilu cried. "He's one of the men who tried to kill you! He's the one who hit you with a rock!"
Benaar drew a long, wicked looking knife and lunged at Blade. The assassin quit the straw in a bound, moving so fast that Lilu's eyes could not follow him. Benaar swung around, finding the assassin behind him. Blade drew a dagger, then jumped back when Benaar charged him. As the assassin landed, he bounced high, one foot lashing out. It hit Benaar under the chin and sent him crashing into the straw. Blood bubbled from his throat, and he croaked, gaping as he struggled to breathe. Blade looked down at his feet, as if realising something, so startled did he look. Lilu followed his gaze and gasped. Three inches of bloody steel protruded from the end of his boot, and a clean blade jutted from the other. The assassin looked stunned, turning to stare at her, then Endel. The baby's screams reverberated around the barn.
"Shut it up," he snarled.
Lilu scooped up the infant and clutched him to her breast, but he continued to howl. Blade glanced around, then at the jerking, twitching man who died on the straw. She pushed her finger into Endel's mouth, and he fell silent. Blade tucked away his dagger and retrieved the one she held, returning it to his collection.
"Come, we've got to get out of here before someone else comes."
Lilu nodded, wondering if she would be able to walk so soon after giving birth. Struggling to her feet, she wobbled on rubbery legs, sparing a glance at the gaping man who gurgled on the floor. Blade headed for the door, apparently expecting her to be able to keep up. She tried, her legs shaking. He glanced back with knitted brows and beckoned urgently.
"Hurry up!"
"You try running when you feel like you've just been split in half."
Blade snorted and came back to grip her arm and drag her forward, but she almost fell.
She cursed. "It's not that I don't want to go faster, Blade, it's that my legs aren't working all that well right now."
With a growl, he bent and scooped her up, his expression thunderous and his nose wrinkled. Lilu gaped at him in astonishment.
"You stink," he muttered.
"So would you if you'd just squeezed out a baby."
The assassin's eyes flicked down to the child, filled with distaste.
Blade paused in the doorway and glanced up and down the street, which was quiet, night almost fallen. He trotted across the road into the next alley, slipped into the shadows and strode along it. Lilu gazed at him, fighting the urge to kiss him. By the time he reached the end of the alley, she could resist no longer. Sliding her hand around his neck, she kissed him with all the pent-up passion she harboured for him. Blade recoiled as if she had slapped him, and the next thing she knew she was sitting on the ground, her rump smarting. He swung away, scrubbed his lips and spat. She stared at him, shocked and mortified.
When he faced her again, his face was twisted with disgust. "Gods! Why did you have to do that? I want to be ill! What in Damnation, Lilu?"
She hesitated, a sob catching in her chest. "I just... wanted to say... thank you."
"How many times must I tell you not to touch me? And then you go and do that!" He scrubbed his lips again and spat. "Disgusting, filthy trollop!"
Her eyes stung. "If I'm such a disgusting filthy trollop, why did you save me?"
"I don't know! I want the information you almost got yourself killed for!"
"So I'm to blame now?"
He threw up his hands. "How should I know? I wasn't there!"
"Well I wasn't! I asked questions for you so I could find out their names and they beat me half to death!"
He hawked and spat, grimacing. "I'm not blaming you, for god's sake. Except for that." He gestured to his mouth. "Don't ever do that again."
Lilu stared at him, noting his pallor and haunted eyes. There was far more to it than a kiss from a whore, and she wondered what.
"All right," she murmured.
"Come on, get up," he said, pushing up his sleeve to rub his tongue on his arm, his face twisted.
Lilu rose, clutching Endel, who remained miraculously silent, sucking his own fingers now. Following Blade down the alley, she watched him hawk and spit, scrub his lips and scrape his tongue with his fingernails, trying not to let it upset her. They passed a public fountain on the way to his rooms, and he stopped to gargle with the water, which she considered was probably none too clean, and did not mention that she had seen beggars pissing in it before now. A small revenge for his humiliating reaction, and one she hoped she would not come to regret when she found out the reason for it.
Blade banged open the door to his room and slammed it behind her, going over to the fireplace to throw logs into it. Endel gurgled, and she sat on the bed and held him to her breast, smiling at him. Blade glanced around and jumped up with an oath.
"Gods, Lilu! Must you do that here?"
She wondered if there was no end to his aversions. "Where must I do it?"
"Behind the damned curtain!"
She glared at him. "No! I will not! What's the matter with you? I kiss you and you act as if I was the city sewer. I feed my child and you want me to hide. I give birth, and you pass out!"
"I did no such thing!"
Lilu giggled, shaking her head. "That lie won't work. I was there, remember? What happened when you keeled over, then? Were you taking a little nap?"
He looked confused, swinging away to grip the mantelpiece. "I don't remember. You were shouting, and then that thug was there."
She sighed. "Yes, you passed out. For several minutes. I thought it was sweet."
"Sweet!"
"Yes." She giggled again. "The great Dance Master, senseless at the sight of a baby's birth."
"It's not something I've seen before. I'm used to snuffing life out, not seeing it come into the world."
Lilu sobered, frowning at him, and held the baby tighter. For anyone else, it might not have been a good idea to mock the deadliest man in the city, but she was not concerned. He bent and unbuckled the steel blades on his boots without bending his knees, and she marvelled at his suppleness.
Blade lighted a fire and fetched water, boiled two pots and filled a bath, which he soaked in for a time-glass. Lilu rocked Endel to sleep when he finished his feed, then sat and stared into the fire. Her insides were leaden and her eyes drooped with fatigue.
When Blade emerged, a towel around his hips, he gestured to the alcove. "The water's still warm. Wash the baby too, you both stink."
When she emerged half a time-glass later, refreshed and sweet scented, he sat on the chair, staring into the fire with a distant expression. She had wrapped herself in a sheet, since her dress was filthy, and Endel slept on the bed. Settling on the mat, she studied the assassin.
"What was that all about?"
"What?"
"The kiss. I could understand a little bit of disgust, because I'm a whore, but that was extreme. I don't kiss my customers, you know."
He grimaced, looking away. "Spare me the details."
"I will, if you tell me what your problem is."
"None of -"
"My business." She nodded. "I know. But let's just say I want to know, and you want the names of the men who tried to kill you, so it's a fair trade."
He rubbed his brow. "No, don't do this."
"Why not?"
"It's not fair. What I want is meaningless to you, but what you want is something I'll never reveal to anyone."
Lilu stared at him. "I think you just did. Someone did something terrible to you as a boy, and it involved kissing. Your father?"
"No."
"So it was after your father died. The Cotti?"
Blade rested his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes. "Stop it."
"But the Cotti don't bugger boys, or are the tales wrong?"
"They don't."
"So... it was just kissing?"
He raised his head to look at her. "Why aren't you tired after rutting with men all day and squeezing out a baby in the afternoon?"
His tone was venomous, and she flinched. Evidently this was a subject too delicate for her to bring up right now, and she filed it away for the future, nodding. "I am. Especially since I rutted with all those men for your sake."
"Thank the gods the baby isn't mine too. My fault, I mean."
She tilted her head. "He might be. You were unconscious for a long time after I found you in the gutter."
He stared at her, then snorted. "Impossible."
"How so?"
"I... you can't do that to a man."
"How would you know?"
"I'm a man."
Lilu giggled. "What of it?"
"I'd know something like that."
"And yet you don't." She leant forward. "It is possible. You'd know if you weren't an innocent."
"If I'm an innocent, I can't be his father."
"So you admit that you are. Innocent, I mean."
He sighed. "I'm not, but the fact that you think I am means you didn't ravish me in my sleep."
Lilu frowned, cursing herself for bringing up the innocent bit. "I know you're lying. The way you were blushing when I was naked could only mean you're a virgin."
"Will you stop it?"
"I'm just talking."
"Too damned much," he said. "Get that damned baby off my bed; I want to go to sleep."
Lilu retrieved her son and curled up on the mat. Blade removed the towel and climbed into his bed in his shorts. Evidently he had donned them before emerging from the alcove, and she knew the reason for his extreme prudishness. There was much fun to be had from his ignorance, and she intended to make the most of it. Perhaps she would succeed in making him laugh, something she longed to see him do. His blushing innocence delighted her, and endeared him to her even more.
Splashing woke Lilu, and she sat up with a start, the events of the previous night returning in a rush. She ached in many places, and winced when she stretched. She smiled at Endel, who smiled back, and she picked him up to feed him, contemplating the curtained alcove from behind which the splashing came. Blade, apparently, was having yet another bath. She wondered if he was scrubbing his mouth with soap. When Endel fell asleep, she rose and crept to the alcove.
Thrusting aside the curtain, she grinned at the assassin, who whipped around to frown at her. She approached the tub, amused when he covered himself and glared.
"Get out."
"Why? I've seen naked men before, you know."
"So you said, but I like my privacy."
Lilu leant on the edge of the tub and dangled her fingers in the water. "Why don't I join you?"
"No."
"I could wash your back. In fact, that's an excellent idea." She picked up a soft scrubbing brush from his arsenal of cloths, sponges, oils and soaps and went behind him. Blade moved around the tub away from her, and she put her hands on her hips.
"Why don't you want me to wash your back? You'll enjoy it. I could rub oil on it too. It's very soothing. In fact, I could buy some nice skin oils and rub you all over. It's relaxing and enjoyable."
"No."
"Don't be such a prude."
"Why must you hound me?" He averted his face, his cheeks flushed, to her delight.
"Because you're so shy. It's funny."
"Not for me."
Lilu giggled and dashed around the tub, getting behind him. She gripped his shoulder and wielded the brush in circular strokes. He slipped from her grasp to move away again, and she leant on the tub with a sigh.
"What are you so afraid of? That you'll enjoy it? Do you think I'm going to try to ravish you or something? Do you think I could?"
"No. Just stop it."
"Tell me why, then." She leant into the tub and used the brush on her arm, smiling. "Mmmmmm. Nice. See, it doesn't hurt."
Blade snorted, almost smiling as he turned his head away again, his cheeks pink. His loose hair framed his face and hung about his shoulders, a few damp tendrils straggling across his brow. Lilu studied him, marvelling at his extreme youth and naiveté.
"Well, if you're going to keep running away, I'll just have to come in and get you." She began to untie the sheet that was hitched under her arms.
Blade cast her a horrified glance, his brows knitting. "No! I swear, Lilu, don't make me hurt you."
"Would you?"
"I don't want to. Leave me alone!" His voice rose to a shout.
She retied the sheet and leant on the tub again. "Someone did something terrible to you, didn't they? You can tell me, you know. I've had terrible things done to me too."
"You're a woman."
"Oh, so it's allowed?"
"I didn't say that. It just happens a lot."
"But not to a man. Especially a killer like you, right?"
He nodded. "Right."
"But it wasn't a woman who hurt you, so what are you so afraid of?" She sighed. "I can help you with your shyness and blushing. If you get used to a few things with me, you'll be able to handle other girls better. I can teach you a lot."
"I can handle women fine."
She snorted. "No you can't. Look at you, all cringing and bashful because you're naked in the tub. How will it be, for the great Invisible Assassin to be unnerved by a mere woman when you're trying to assassinate someone one day?"
"I won't be unnerved."
"Yet I unnerve you. Why are you blushing then?"
He shot her a chilly glance. "I don't perform assassinations in the nude."
"Ah, no, that's not it. You were blushing up a storm yesterday while I was giving birth."
"Will you stop talking about blushing!"
"Why? Does it embarrass you? It's perfectly natural for a virgin boy."
"I'm not a virgin boy!"
She leant forward. "Oh yes you are. And one day, perhaps, your innocence will kill you."
"How do you figure that?"
"All right, let's say you're sent to kill a man, and you sneak into his room and find him asleep in his bed. His young, beautiful wife or concubine is with him, naked. She wakes as you approach the bed, and she's about to scream and bring the whole house full of guards down on you. What do you do?"
"Silence her."
"How?"
He raised a hand and crooked a finger at her. "Come here and I'll show you."
A pang of something akin to fear went through her, but it was more like intense desire at the cool invitation in his eyes. Clearly he had no problem when the tricks of his trade were involved. Curious, she walked around the tub. His invitation and sudden change of attitude had the unexpected effect of bringing her close to him. She knelt beside the tub at his side and met his eyes.
"Show me then."
Blade reached out and ran his fingers down her throat, making her tremble at his gossamer touch, then they slid upwards again under her jaw, leaving wet trails on her skin. His hand stopped and tightened.
Lilu woke on the floor, cold and stiff. Endel screamed on the mat before the dead hearth, and she staggered over to scoop him up. The room was cold and empty. What had she done? Had she, in her playfulness, driven Blade away forever? She cursed her stupidity while she rocked her son. It seemed as if she had been senseless for time-glasses, but perhaps it was only Blade's absence that made the place seem so empty. Bereft, like him. Yet he did not have the names he wanted, so he had to come back. Now she was glad she had not told him the previous night. She still had a slight hold on him.
When Endel finished his feed, Lilu lighted the fire, washed her dress in the tepid bath water and hung it up to dry. After she swept the floor and wiped the tables, she went through the cupboards and put together a meal of bread, cheese, smoked meat and wine. The assassin lived in a poor area, but he bought the best of everything. She ate until her stomach could hold no more, then sat before the fire with a cup of wine, wondering when Blade would return.
When the door rattled two time-glasses later, her heart leapt and pounded, making her a little queasy. Blade entered and slammed it behind him, tossing a bundle on the bed before shucking his jacket. Lilu vacated his chair and curled up on the floor, and he sank into it, contemplating her.
"I'm glad you're back," she murmured. "Where did you go?"
"None of your business."
"Right."
He dug in his pocket and held out his hand, in which a pile of goldens glinted. She stared at them, dry-mouthed. He withdrew it and held one up.
"The names. A golden for each one."
"What did you do to me?"
He lowered the coin, looking puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"I woke up on the floor."
"Oh. Right. You asked me to show you how I would silence a woman without killing her. That's how."
"Magic?"
"No. A simple trick. Shall I demonstrate again?"
She shivered. "No."
He held up the coin once more. "Give me a name."
"Vorn."
"That had better not be a lie. What does he look like?"
"I don't know."
He frowned. "Lilu..."
"I only know their names because one of them told me. I wasn't introduced. I know what they look like too, but I can't put the names to the faces. Except Benaar and Jobal, and you killed Benaar."
"Tell me about Jobal."
"He's big, hairy. He has long brown hair and a plaited beard. Brown eyes, and a scar, here." She touched her shoulder. "It looks like an old stab wound."
"Good." He nodded and held out the coin. "That will do."
Lilu took it and tucked it between her breasts, since she had no pockets or pouches. He watched her with a frown, shaking his head.
"Go and fetch the bundle on the bed."
Lilu rose and brought it to him, and he tore it open while she settled on the mat. He pulled out a length of dull blue material with white ribbing and tossed it into her lap. Lilu stared at it, fingering the soft cloth. A new dress. She had never owned a new dress. At home, she had lived in her sisters' hand-me-downs, and in the brothels the keeper had supplied second-hand clothes. Her eyes filled with tears as she held the material to her face and inhaled its clean, fresh scent. When she glanced up at Blade, she found him watching her with a frown.
"Tears, for a dress?"
"A new one. I've never had a new one before."
He sighed, rubbing his brow. "Put it on."
Lilu jumped up and stripped off the sheet, and he cursed, looking away while she pulled the garment over her head. Tugging it into place, she twirled. It was a little tight over her stomach, but that would soon disappear. She bounced with joy, giggling, then pounced on him and twined her arms around his neck.
Blade tried to shove her away. "Get off me, Lilu!"
She leant back, her hands locked behind his neck, and gazed into his wintry eyes. "I'm not going to kiss you, don't worry," she said. "Unless you want me to."
"I don't." He averted his face, glaring across the room.
"What is it now? I'm not smelly anymore."
"I told you not to touch me."
"But you need to be touched. Everybody does." She stroked his cheek.
He jerked his head away, and she identified the reaction not as an angry twitch, but a flinch, for he blinked at the same time.
Her breath caught. "Blade... who hit you so hard?"
"None of your damned -"
"Business. Yeah. But someone did. The Cotti, I'd say. Am I right?"
His lips compressed into a grim line. Sealed forever, she guessed, and raised a finger to trace them. This time he did not recoil, so his sensitive area was his cheeks. She filed the information away for the future, fighting the urge to kiss him. Her face throbbed, and her lips, she knew, were puffy and scabbed. She touched them, sadness invading her, and her eyes overflowed.
He watched her, his expression shuttered. "Why do you want to touch me so much?"
"You're so beautiful and... pure."
He rolled his eyes with a snort.
"No, really," she said. "You are. Deny it all you want, I know the truth. You have no... taint. No... lust."
"That must be new for you."
"Oh no, many men have spurned me as ugly. Some beat me for it too. You've never hurt a woman, I can tell. Not on purpose."
"Why would I?"
"Some men enjoy beating a weaker person, especially a woman. But you know that, don't you?"
He looked away and sighed. "That's enough. Get off me before I do hurt you."
"You wouldn't." She returned to the mat, however.
"I want the rest of the names."
"And I'll give them to you. One at a time."
"So I'll look after you until I have all of them? It won't work."
She gazed into the flames. "You can't kick me out on the street. I might die, or someone might kill me."
"You and that screaming brat aren't staying here."
"He's hardly screamed at all, and then he only wants to feed. Once he gets it, he's quiet."
"I don't care. You're not staying here."
"Why not?"
"I don't want you here."
Lilu shot him a hurt look. There was no arguing with such a bald, cruel statement. "I'll have to find lodgings."
"You can't afford lodgings with what you earn now."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"I'll find you a job, tomorrow," he said.
"Doing what?"
"I don't know. How about a washerwoman?"
"I'm not strong enough to scrub clothes all day."
"A seamstress?"
She shook her head. "I can't sew."
"A charlady?"
"They make less than I did."
He sighed. "A wet-nurse?"
She pulled a face. "They also get paid a pittance."
"I know." He snapped his fingers. "How about a harlot?"
"I'd rather not."
"Then what else can you do?"
She clasped her knees, rocking. "I'd make a good wife. I bear healthy sons."
"No one wants to wake up to that face."
"Don't you want sons?"
He looked away. "No."
"Why not? Every man wants sons."
"I don't."
She glanced at the baby. "Look at him. He's so big and strong. Imagine if he was your son."
He rubbed his face. "I'm trying not to."
"Why wouldn't a man want a son?"
"I don't like brats, now leave it alone."
"I can't work yet," she said.
"I'll arrange something."
"Thank you."
"I'm not doing it for you."
"I know."
Blade crouched on the edge of a rooftop and watched the man walk past below, certain that he was the right one when he passed under a street lamp that illuminated his features. A marsh hawk perched on his shoulder, its head bobbing. Jobal had led the assassin on a merry chase with his penchant for visiting multiple taprooms in a night, more often than not accompanied by several other big men. They were probably part of the same group that had tried to kill Blade, but he wanted them alone when he confronted them. At last, Jobal was, and the opportunity was good. Blade slid off the roof, his boot blades scraping on the tiles, and dropped.
Jobal halted when the assassin landed in front of him with a clack of steel-soled boots, his brow furrowing.
"Who in Damnation are you?"
Blade straightened. "What, you don't recognise me without the blood and bruises?"
Jobal stepped back. "You. What do you want?"
"I'd have thought that was obvious. You and your pals tried to kill me."
"I was paid. It's not my fault."
"Who paid you?"
"The Trobalons."
Blade cocked his head. "I know that. Which one?"
"I don't know. All of them. They sent a servant with the money and instructions."
"If I have no better target, you'll have to do, won't you?"
"I don't know any more, I swear."
The assassin smiled. "I don't care."
"You can't kill me without a client."
"How do you know I don't have one?"
Jobal shook his head. "No one wants me dead."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that. I do."
"Like I said --"
"Assassins have a few rules, but we have traditions too. You see," Blade explained chattily, "we don't like it when people try to kill us. And if that was allowed free rein, we wouldn't be safe. People don't like us, after all. So we have something called 'blood debt'. Any man who tries to kill an assassin and fails is fair game for that assassin. If he succeeds, he's fair game for other assassins, provided they can identify him reliably.
"That's why not many people are stupid enough to try to kill one of us. Chances are, they would be signing their own death warrant. That doesn't include, of course, assassins who're killed while they're trying to do their job, that's just considered bad luck or ineptitude. We don't do much for each other, but this is in all of our best interests, because it puts people off trying to kill us, except, of course, idiots like you. The Trobalons didn't tell you that, did they? Deliberately, I suspect. So, will you run, or will you fight?"
Jobal drew a knife from his belt and brandished it. His familiar took wing, landing on a nearby gutter. The delicate, pink-breasted marsh hawk, with its narrow, cream and brown banded wings was almost blind in the dark, despite its large eyes. Blade smiled and stretched out his arms, releasing the daggers from his wrist sheaths. They slid into his hands, and he raised them. Jobal gulped, his eyes white-ringed. It seemed that, without his friends to back him up, Jobal was a coward.
Blade raised a hand, holding the dagger by the blade, and flicked it into Jobal's shoulder with a meaty thud. The man cursed, stepping back, and tugged the weapon out with a grimace and grunt. He waved it, a little smugness creeping into his expression.
"You missed," he jeered.
"No, I didn't."
"I'm not dead."
"If I wanted you dead, you would be."
"You're not going to kill me?"
Blade shrugged. "Not yet, and certainly not quickly. That would be too easy for you. I endured a great deal of pain, thanks to you, now I intend to return the favour."
Jobal growled and lunged, slashing with Blade's dagger. The assassin swayed back, allowing the weapon to whip past his chin, then opened a gash in Jobal's shoulder with a flick of his dagger. The thug recoiled, clutching his arm, and Blade drew another weapon from his belt. Jobal turned and bolted. Blade cursed and gave chase, the boot blades hampering him, causing him to skid on the cobbles. Jobal proved to be fleet, and sprinted out of the alley and headed up the street, arms pumping. Blade raced after him, cursing afresh at the racket that the boot blades made. Perhaps wearing them had not been such a good idea. Then again, perhaps chasing Jobal was not such a good idea either. The assassin slowed, cursing again. Not only was he denied his revenge, he had lost a dagger into the bargain.
Jobal glanced back and halted, turning to grin and jeer, "What, can't you run fast enough, assassin? Too much effort for you, you lazy bastard? Or are you a coward?"
Blade scowled, hefting his weapons. Due to the lateness of the hour, the streets were deserted, since tomorrow was a working day. Jobal and his cronies, however, went drinking every night, since their services were for hire but they had no permanent employment. The assassin walked towards his quarry, annoyed when Jobal continued to hop about and shout snide remarks. The man seemed to have found a font of courage, and Blade wondered at its source. The goading riled him, however, and he broke into a run again. Jobal took off up the street, Blade gaining on him.
The thug ducked into an alley, and Blade skidded around the corner after him, halting. A group of ten men sat or stood around a brazier, quaffing ale and wine. Jobal ran into their midst, shouting, and the band of cutthroats turned to look at Blade. He had no doubt that this was the same group that had attacked him, and hung about together, even after the taprooms closed. From their ugly expressions and muttering, Jobal had told them who pursued him and why. Blade backed away, glancing around for the nearest escape route. The men charged with a roar, and he sprinted for the closest convenient wall with a drainpipe attached.
Reaching it, he found his hands full of daggers and pushed them into their sheaths before gripping the drainpipe. As he hauled himself up, he realised that the boot blades would make climbing extremely difficult, if not impossible. With a spurt of dread, he released the pipe and turned to run. A man skidded to a halt in front of him, and another blocked the way behind. Blade's senses expanded to encompass his enemies, and he yanked the daggers from his belt. Jobal still regaled his cronies with Blade's plans to exact revenge, displaying the cut on his arm and stab wound in his shoulder.
The cutthroats did not waste time on words. The man behind Blade rushed in, and the assassin spun, leapt, and kicked. His boot blade slashed the thug's cheek, making him recoil with a yell. As Blade landed, he whipped around to face a man who attacked from the other side. Ducking under the sweep of the thug's knife, Blade lunged, thrusting a dagger into the man's belly. Now that he was defending himself, Blade was fully entitled to kill them, although he would have preferred not to take on all eleven at the same time. Another man charged from the side, and Blade's arm swept out, the dagger slashing across his assailant's throat. Before Blade could recover, a fist hit him on the shoulder, and he staggered sideways.
Blade kicked another cutthroat in the thigh as the man tried to grab his arm, spun away and leapt high to drive his foot into a fourth man's neck. The thug staggered away with a roar, clasping his neck, from which little red fountains spouted. Blade swung around, his arms outstretched, and stabbed another man who attempted to slash him with a long knife. The cutthroat collapsed, clutching his chest, and a cord whipped around Blade's throat from behind as he turned. He jerked up his daggers and sliced through the twine, lopping off a few fingers as well, judging by the man's howl of pain. A fist hit him in the flank, sending him sprawling with a grunt, and his foes closed in, kicking him. Blade rolled away, slashed at their legs and inflicted gashes that made the thugs leap back with foul curses.
As the assassin regained his feet, a blow on the back of his neck sent him hurtling into the man in front, who he stabbed in the gut. Someone grabbed his arm, and he kicked, impaling the man in the crotch. A fist cracked into his jaw, sending him spinning to the cobbles again, and he rolled as boots thudded into his ribs. One clipped his chin, and he tasted blood. A knife gored his side, making him grunt, and he kicked upwards with a steel-tipped boot, impaling a man in the chest. The crook recoiled with a curse, falling to his knees, but the rest closed in again. Another knife sliced across Blade's neck, narrowly missing his jugular. He lashed out, and a harsh grunt rewarded him, then a boot hit the back of his head and stars flashed in his eyes.
Blade could not tell how many of his assailants remained. His vision was blurred and red-tinged and his breath came in rasping gasps. The wild run through the city had tired him, and the extreme exertion of fighting so many opponents sapped his strength further. Blood slimed him under his jacket, mixed with sweat. A garrotte whipped around his neck, and his hand flashed up to block it. The wire sliced into the back of his wrist and one side of his neck when his foe pulled it tight. Blade stabbed backwards with his free hand, hitting something solid with a meaty thud. The wire loosened, then tightened again, cutting off his air. He tried to turn, but someone gripped his arm, and knees and boots bore him to the ground.
If they succeeded in pinning him down and disarming him, he had no doubt that they would kill him. Killing a sober assassin, however, was not an easy thing to do, and perilous, as they were discovering. A man grabbed Blade's free hand and wrenched the weapon from it. Blade jerked up a leg to yank another weapon from its boot-sheath. The men growled curses while they kicked and punched him, and a slash of his dagger opened a man's throat in a fountain of blood. The man who held the garrotte jerked on it, striving to throttle Blade, but his wrist held it at bay, although it was sliced to the bone.
Blade fought on pure instinct, all else washed from his mind save his danger and the weapons that tried to kill him. His foot jerked up as a thug tried to drive a dagger into his gut, slicing open the side of the man's face. Blade twisted, seeking to get free of the garrotte, which hampered him severely and threatened to rob him of his senses. He jerked up his legs, using supreme suppleness that even few assassins possessed. His feet flashed past his head to clunk into the man who held the wire. The garrotte fell away, and Blade rolled free, coughing and wheezing.
A fist hit his gut and a dagger gashed his arm, sliding off it to stab him in the ribs. The deflection made its entry shallow, however, and Blade jerked up his feet again, two thuds and grunts telling of their success. Darkness nibbled at his vision as he rolled again, his boot blades scraping on the cobbles. Pushing himself up on his arms, he staggered to his feet, slipped in the blood that slimed the road and almost fell. He wheezed, aware that blood ran down his chest inside his jacket, and turned as he sensed an attack from behind. His foe stopped with a gasp when Blade's weapon impaled his chest, and collapsed to writhe in the dirt.
Eight men lay on the ground, either groaning or motionless, several familiars sharing their fate. Two rats, a scorpion and a small snake, that Blade could see. Three thugs hesitated, beyond Blade's reach but wary all the same. The assassin jerked up his injured right hand, and a dagger thudded into one man's chest, sending him reeling to fall with a groan. The remaining two turned and fled.
Blade swayed, lights sparkling in his eyes. Staggering forward, he retrieved the dagger he had thrown and sliced the man's throat, then did the same for the five others who still twitched and groaned. The last crawled away, raised his hands in a pleading gesture and cried out for mercy. Blade kicked him in the throat, ending his pleas, and found another of his weapons on the cobblestones beside the fallen man. His mind was like ice and his feet dragged as he reeled away from the knot of bodies.
Sheathing his bloody weapons, he hobbled up the street, not thinking about where he was going. His neck wound bled profusely, and his strength leaked out with it. Aware that he was somewhere in the slums, he chose a road and followed it. He was not cognisant of where he was going until he stood before a peeling brown door and recognised it as the one on Lilu's new lodgings. Blade had found the shack for her a tenday ago, when he had kicked her out of his rooms. It was little more than a converted storeroom, which the owner of the larger shack attached to it rented out for a copper a tenday. Blade stared at it.
Lilu would surely spurn him. He had treated her abominably. There seemed no point to knocking on the door. She was more likely to finish off what the thugs had started, and he had no strength left to seek his rooms or a doctor's dwelling, neither of which would do him any good. He was in no condition to care for himself, and a healer would turn him away. He was also aware that two shadows had followed him from the fight. As he stepped towards the door, the darkness that had been threatening to engulf him closed in on a cold wave.
Lilu jerked awake when a great crash came from her door, and sat up disorientated and frightened. A quick glance at Endel assured her that he slept in his cot, and she listened to the sounds outside her door. Deep voices muttered and boots clumped, making her shiver. All her instincts and common sense told her to stay in her bed and keep the door barred, but there was someone out there on the moon-silvered streets whom she worried about constantly. She had to find out what was going on outside her door. Rising, she pulled on a robe and crept over to press her ear to it. Heavy breathing and grunts came through it, mingled with mutters and curses. Her hair stood on end, but she pulled aside the corner of the tatty curtain that covered the three panes of glass that served as a window and peeped out.
Two men bent over a dark heap on her doorstep. Some unfortunate seemed to have collapsed on it, but the men looked like ruffians or worse, although it was too dark to make out their faces. One bent and gripped the unfortunate's hair, raising his head to expose his neck. In his other hand he held a knife. As he lowered it to cut his victim's throat, the man writhed and a silver dagger flashed, making the ruffian recoil with a yell. Lilu looked around and spied her broom in the corner, a stout implement with a heavy, bristled head. Grabbing it, she lifted the latch and yanked the door open, raising the broom.
The man, in the act of bending over his victim again, swore and stepped back. Lilu brought the broom down on his head with all her strength. He reeled, almost falling, and his cohort stepped forward. Lilu raised the broom again and advanced, her teeth gritted. The man shot her a disbelieving glance and grabbed his friend, dragging him out of harm's way. Lilu followed, ignoring the knives they held, and swung the broom in a roundhouse sweep that almost made her lose her footing. She spun right around, the broom catching one thug in the ribs. He staggered with a grunt, cursing.
"Get away!" she shouted, raising the broom again. "Go on! Bugger off!"
The ruffians hesitated, glancing at their intended victim, then the one she had hit growled and reeled away. The other helped him, and they shambled up the street. Lilu watched until they turned the corner, and then looked down at the man sprawled on her doorstep. His sable clothes and slender form made her throat close with dread, and she dropped the broom to kneel beside him. Gripping his shoulder, she rolled him onto his back. Her eyes widened and her heart grew leaden.
"Blade..."
Lilu swallowed a sob of horror and dread. Blood oozed from his throat, pooling on her step. A trail of it led away down the street, and she wondered how far he had walked, bleeding to death. Sliding her arms under him, she picked him up with a groan and staggered inside, dumping him on her bed. He writhed and raised a hand in which a dagger glinted. Lilu gasped and caught his wrist, wrenching the weapon from his grip. Blood slimed his arm, and her concern grew. Lighting two lamps, she placed them on the bedside table and sat beside him to examine him.
The blood that ran from his throat stained her sheet, and she tore a strip off it to bind his neck. Memories rushed back thick and fast while she tugged off his jacket and the soft linen shirt beneath it, struggling with the leather vest. When he was bare to the waist, she examined his wounds and brought her sewing kit to stitch them, glad he was unconscious.
As she tugged the last stitch tight, his eyes opened and he lashed out. Lilu barely jumped back in time, her heart in her throat. Blade swept the room with a glance, then stared at her as if he did not recognise her. She raised her hands.
"It's all right, it's me... Lilu. You're safe. I'm not going to hurt you."
Blade sagged, the dagger she had not seen him draw falling to the floor with a tinkle. He wheezed, raising his hands to paw at the bandage around his neck.
"Leave it," she said. "You're bleeding."
He flopped back, his eyes unfocussed, then they closed. Lilu crept closer, halting when he opened them again to impale her with their icy intensity.
He swallowed, wincing, and wheezed, "You should... throw me out into... the street."
"Why?"
"I... don't deserve... I'm..." His voice was husky, almost a whisper.
"Oh, Blade." She shook her head, closing the gap to sit beside him. "You saved me too."
"I should die. It's the best... thing."
"No." She blinked as tears filled her eyes. "I'm so glad you came to me. You knew I'd help you. I'll always help you, no matter how much you dislike me or chase me away."
He closed his eyes, a frown tugging at his brows. "Gods, Lilu, I'm a worthless bastard."
"I don't think so. In fact, I know you're not."
"You don't know... what I am."
"I don't care. But actually I do, probably better than you."
He swallowed again. "I'm a fool."
"Why? What happened? Who were those men?"
"The ones who... tried to kill me." He coughed. "I confronted Jobal and he led me to the rest of them."
"All of them? What happened? How did you escape?"
A wry smile twisted his lips. "I killed most of them. Those were the only ones left."
"Nine? You... How did you kill nine men?"
"Not easily. Almost got killed myself."
Lilu stared at him, amazed and a little daunted. His pallor was due to blood loss, she surmised. The true extent of his deadly skills hit home with thrilling, horrifying intensity. Much as she loved him, she hated that he was a killer. That she had come so close to losing him frightened her, and she wished his trade was not death, yet at the same time his abilities had saved her. She did not blame him for evicting her from his rooms. It was her fault for teasing him. Who would want an ugly whore and her bastard living with him, anyway? Especially when she was no use to him. She had bruised his fragile ego, and most men would have beaten her for it.
He opened his eyes, and Lilu forced a wan smile. "I'm glad you didn't."
He fingered the cloth around his neck again. "Did you stitch this?"
"No, it was bleeding too much."
"I think it will need... stitches."
"Yes, it does. Maybe it's stopped bleeding now."
Lilu leant forward and untied the cloth, hoping she was right. The wound still oozed, but not too badly, and she picked up her darning needle and thread again, hesitating.
"This will hurt."
"Have you any wine?"
"Only the rat's piss variety."
He sighed, wheezing. "Best get it over with then."
Lilu shifted closer and bent to push the needle through his skin. He hissed and grimaced, and she chewed her lip, jumping when he yelped as she pierced his skin again.
"Don't be such a baby," she admonished.
"Lilu..."
She paused, expecting a threat or jibe.
"Thank you. For taking care of me. This time... and the last. No one else would."
Lilu blinked and nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.
"You must have thought I was an ungrateful - ow! - bastard."
She swallowed. "You didn't ask for help. I chose to help you, and I was glad to do it."
"I don't deserve it."
"Why the sudden melancholy? This isn't like you."
He sighed. "It's more regret than melancholy. I shouldn't have put you - ah! - in danger."
She shook her head. "It wasn't your fault."
"It was. I --"
"Hush now. I'm just glad you're still alive, and my friend."
"I'm..." He paused, frowning. "Don't be so quick to claim me as a friend. I'm not much of one."
"That's for me to decide, isn't it? You could make an effort to be nicer, though. Like you're being now. I like it."
Blade snorted, his lips curving, and his eyes drifted closed. She put her needle away and bound his neck again. Drops of blood speckled his face in little patterns, as if sprayed there, and she shuddered. Clearly it was not his, but had come from the men he had killed. He looked exhausted, and she removed his boots, careful not to cut herself on the razor-sharp blades, then pulled the blanket over him.
Lilu wondered if his odd friendliness would last, and what had brought it on, apart from his injuries. This time, he had sought her help, so perhaps that made him feel more beholden. She had won his trust, and he had not denied his friendship. That, she knew, was extraordinary, and it filled her heart with joy.
In the morning, Lilu left Endel with the sleeping assassin while she went to the market to buy more food with the last of her money. The place was abuzz with the latest gossip, which told of a terrible battle in the slums between a band of thugs and an assassin. According to them, the dead men had paid the price for attacking a killer, and the Watch was not interested in pursuing the matter since the thugs were well-known criminals. Lilu smiled while she filled her basket with bread and vegetables, splashing out on a haunch of smoked meat and a bottle of wine that she hoped the assassin would like.
As she paid for the last items at a barrow-hag's stall, she leant closer to murmur, "I know who the assassin was."
The hag became intent, her wrinkled face brightening. To be the source of new information would give her status amongst her fellow stall owners. "Who?"
"It was the Master of the Dance, Blade."
"Was it now? 'Ow do ye know that, lass?"
Lilu almost blurted that he was her friend, but caught herself. "I know him a little."
"Well I'll be... Was 'e 'urt?"
"Only a little."
"'Ow do you know 'im?"
Lilu straightened, shaking her head. "I can't say. I just do."
The hag's eyes narrowed. "Aye, that would be the truth, I'll wager. If ye was spinnin' me a yarn, ye'd 'ave claimed to be 'is friend, and everyone knows them killers don't 'ave friends."
Lilu nodded. "That's right."
The hag turned away to impart her newfound knowledge to her nearest neighbour, and Lilu skipped home with a light heart. Endel's crying was audible as she turned into her lane, and she ran to her door to unlock it and dash within. Dumping the basket, she scooped up the infant and rocked him, casting an anxious glance at the bed. Blade lay with his back to her, his head stuffed under the pillow. When the baby quieted, he removed the pillow and turned to scowl at her, his hair rumpled.
"You could have comforted him," she said.
"I'm not a damned wet-nurse. I don't have the teats for the job."
"If you had just rocked him a little --"
"You should have taken him with you. Next time I'll slit his damned throat."
"No you won't."
He rubbed his brow. "Don't be so sure. Now I have a splitting headache."
"If I thought for one moment that you'd do something that horrible, I wouldn't have left him here. What's more, I'd throw you out on the street." She held Endel to her breast, and Blade rolled onto his side with a grunt of disgust, facing the wall. Lilu smiled and added, "Which is exactly why you said that, isn't it? So I wouldn't leave him with you again."
He glared at the wall, and she turned away to unpack her shopping, cradling Endel with one arm.
"I'm starting to get to know you, aren't I?" she asked. "You act all tough and dangerous, but you're not that bad, really."
"Tell that to those nine dead men. And the many others I've slain."
"Oh, I know you're a killer, but I'm not afraid of you."
"Then you're not very bright."
"I see you're back to your old ways. I preferred you last night."
"A momentary aberration, I assure you," he muttered.
"And you think I'm going to look after you if you're rude to me? I think not. Either find some civility or go home."
"You won't throw me out."
"Why not?"
He sighed. "Because you spent the last of your money on that expensive food you bought for me, so you need my support again. What's more, now that I've killed all but two of those cutthroats, you don't have eleven more goldens to look forward to."
She paused, frowning. "I still have two coming to me."
"No. I've decided to leave them."
"We had a deal!"
"It's off."
"You can't do that! I need that money, Blade, and I almost got beaten to death to earn it."
"I don't care."
Lilu put the baby in his cot and marched over to the bed, gripped the assassin's shoulder and rolled him onto his back. "You can't do that to me, you..." She trailed off, staring at him.
Blade smiled. "And you believed me."
The singular sweetness of his expression held Lilu spellbound.
His smile faded. "Gods, Lilu, you look like a mule just kicked you in the head."
"That's how I feel."
He looked away, clearly embarrassed. "I'll still give you the money, don't worry."
She sank down on the edge of the bed and tried to take his hand, but he pulled it away.
"Don't fuss over me. Go and finish your chore."
"How do you feel?"
"It hurts; what else?"
"I got you some good wine."
"Ten bottles, I hope."
She shook her head, smiling. "I didn't have enough money for that."
He groped under the blanket and pulled out a money pouch, holding it out. "Here. I prefer red."
"I know." She hefted the bag, which was heavy enough to hold ten goldens, then rose to make lunch.
Blade sat at the back of the Black Swan, a cup of rich red wine in one hand, and watched the patrons come and go, drink and talk. His new haunt was not only a rundown taproom deep in the slums, it doubled as a cheap whorehouse. The two assassins who shared it with him clearly disliked their new surrounds, but had no choice if they wished to benefit from his presence. He had not bothered to learn their names, even though they had been around for the six years since he had won the belt. They were second-rate killers, he was sure, who would have no work if not for their location so close to the Dance Master. They took advantage of the crumbs from his table, offering their services to those foolish enough to seek out the Master of the Dance when they could not afford him.
The reason for his odd choice of haunt sat across the room, flirting with a portly merchant who clearly did not appreciate her blandishments. No whorehouse keeper would take Lilu on until Blade had found this seedy establishment and gained her a job with his promise to the owner to make it his haunt. He had not told Lilu, and had no intention of doing so. As far as she knew, it was a coincidence. His patronage brought more drinkers to the taproom, and, as a consequence, more work for the slatternly whores who traded there. There were a number of beefy men he suspected were there to see if his presence brought any trouble-makers, so they could watch, or perhaps join in the fight. A few pimply youths hung around, possibly to earn reputations for drinking with the Dance Master, and some sly looking men, probably spies for various lords, nursed cups of ale in dark corners. Then, of course, there were his customers, when they appeared.
After his encounter with the cutthroat band, he had had his jacket collar reinforced with thin vertical metal strips and added a sheath of fine chain mail to protect his torso. The scar on his throat had faded to a narrow white line, as had the one on the back of his wrist and the stab wound scars on his chest and flank. He watched a courting couple in a dim corner, entertained by their antics. A ringing slap made him glance around. Lilu jumped up and left a burly merchant clutching his stinging cheek. Evidently he had rebuffed her, and Blade sighed, struggling to hide his smile as the merchant lowered his hand to reveal a red mark. Lilu could slap pretty hard, it seemed, and if she was not slapping someone for commenting on her ugliness, she was doing it to avenge the rebuffs she constantly received.
Blade watched her flounce towards him, his amusement fading. She plopped down on the bench opposite, scowling.
"Go away," he said.
"No. He said I look like a pig's arse."
Blade's lips twitched, much as he tried to stifle it, and Lilu leant closer.
"Go on, laugh, I dare you."
"What, will you slap my face too?"
"If you sit still, I might."
He chuckled. "So why come over here? You know you won't get any sympathy from me."
"I want him to see who he's dealing with."
"Ah. So he'll use your services out of fear for his life?"
"No, so he'll think twice about insulting me again."
Blade shook his head. "Then you should make friends with a thug. Everyone knows assassins don't kill without a client, and only fight in self-defence. See? He's not impressed." He gestured at the merchant, who sipped his wine, unconcerned.
Lilu glared at the man. "Well he ought to be. You could scare him, Blade."
"Why would I want to do that?"
"Because you're my friend!"
"I told you, I'm not a good friend to have."
"But you are my friend, aren't you?" She leant closer and tried to touch his hand.
He snatched it away, scowling. "Don't claim familiarity here, or you'll be sadly disappointed."
Sorrow filled her eyes, and she looked down. "At least I know it's not because I'm ugly, in your case."
"No, it's not, it's because you're irritating, now go away."
Lilu jumped up and headed for the merchant again, to Blade's annoyance. She was looking for trouble, he suspected, in the hope that he would come to her aid. As he was about to quit the taproom and foil her plan, a young woman entered, captivating his attention. Deep auburn hair framed her flawless, fine-featured face, and jewels flashed at her throat and wrists. Her dark rose satin gown fell in graceful folds from a tiny waist that a gold-embroidered bodice hugged. She glanced around with melting brown eyes, looking nervous, and pressed a silk handkerchief to her nose. Her gaze came to rest on Blade, and, to his surprise, she headed for his table, sliding onto the bench opposite. Several male patrons, who had been eyeing her with interest, looked away with grimaces. She leant across the table.
"Are you the Master of the Dance?"
He inclined his head.
"I wish to hire you." She pulled out a purse and dumped it on the table with a thud.
Blade raised his brows. "It's traditional to tell me who you want dead and ask for my agreement before you pay me."
"Why would you refuse? It is your trade. And I shall pay any fee you demand."
"That's not the point." He sipped his wine. "Who do you want dead?"
"My husband."
"And who might he be?"
"A pig."
He almost smiled, but quelled it. "I asked who he is, not what."
"Viscount Treblane."
Blade glanced at Lilu as her voice rose in outrage, followed by another resounding slap. "The trouble is, now that you've marched up to me and dumped coin on the table, everyone in here knows you're trying to hire me. So, when your husband is assassinated, the Watch will have no trouble learning who his true killer is."
She glanced around, frowning. "These are all cutthroats and criminals. The Watch will not believe them."
"Actually, many of these men are merchants and labourers, the sons of such men, and a few spies."
"Whose spies?"
He shrugged. "How should I know? Probably wealthy nobles, wishing to know who's hiring me. They know that if anyone wishes them dead, I'll be the one they hire."
She had the grace to look a little abashed. "What should I do then? This is the place where you are hired, is it not?"
"Yes, but usually nobles don't do it themselves. They send a trusted servant with a message, or, if they do come themselves, they do so in disguise."
"I do not think any of these men will know who I am."
"They have only to describe you."
She fiddled with the pouch. "So what should I do?"
Blade glanced at Lilu again when she shrieked, his brows knitting. The broken-nosed harlot had attacked the merchant, and rained slaps on his balding head. The man rose with an angry shout, his bench scraping on the floor, and grabbed Lilu's hair. Blade picked up the pouch and tossed it into the young noblewoman's lap.
"Leave."
Viscountess Treblane gaped up at him as he rose and headed for the back of the taproom. Brushing aside the tatty curtain that partitioned the rooms where the whores lived and plied their trade, he went to Lilu's and flopped down on the bed. The noblewoman's perfectly enunciated speech interested him, and he pondered it. That was how nobles spoke, he surmised, and he recalled Talon trying to teach it to him. He had not been interested in it at the time, but now he realised that being able to speak like a noble might be a useful tool for his trade.
Soon the furore in the common room died down, and moments later Lilu came in, looking flushed and dishevelled, a red mark on her cheek. She sat on the bed and rubbed it, scowling at him.
"You could have helped me."
"No, I couldn't."
"Why not?"
He sighed, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Because if those thugs thought I had some attachment to you, they'd try to use you to get to me. You'd probably be killed."
"Oh. But why would they want to get to you?"
"I'm the Master of the Dance. Many would like to be able to force my hand, either to kill or not to kill, as the case may be."
"Oh." She looked down at her hands, biting her lip. "So you'll never help me?"
"Not in public, no."
"You'd just stand by and watch them beat me to death?"
He smiled. "No."
"Then what would you do?"
"I'd think of something, but don't try to make me help you. I won't, unless they're trying to kill you. Even then, I'd be tempted not to if you started the fight."
"I see." She sighed. "I suppose that's understandable."
"By not helping you, I'm saving your life."
"But you spend a lot of time with me -- not that I'm complaining, far from it," she hurried on. "But won't that make them think you like me?"
"You're a whore. At most, they'll wonder why I use such an ugly one."
"Right." She tidied her hair. "Who was that woman?"
"None of your business."
"She was very beautiful." Lilu turned to him and placed a hand on his chest. "If I looked like that, would you want to lie with me?"
"I expect half the city would."
"I'm asking you."
He glanced down at her hand. "No."
"Why not?"
"You're a whore."
"If I wasn't a whore."
He shrugged. "Probably."
"So you would want to lie with her, if she wished it?"
"I expect so."
"Will you?"
"I doubt it."
"Why not?" she asked.
"Because she won't wish it. She's a noblewoman."
"Noblewomen have lust too."
"Not for common assassins."
Lilu giggled. "You're such a virgin. Of course she'll lust for you."
"I am not a damned virgin."
"Yes you are." She leant closer. "Shall I prove it?"
"No. Lay a finger on me and you're likely to lose it."
"There, you see? That proves it."
He frowned. "How so?"
"Because you don't want me to touch you, and I didn't even say I was going to, nor did I try. You assumed that I was going to."
"How else would you prove it?"
She tugged at her bodice's laces, her eyes bright with glee.
Blade's scowl deepened. "Stop that."
"Why? A man wouldn't object unless he found it embarrassing."
"Or if he didn't want to see."
"Why wouldn't he?"
He sat up. "Stop it. All of it. The teasing, the taunting and especially the flaunting. I'm tired of it, and if you persist I'll change my haunt, understand?"
She nodded, looking sad. "It was just a bit of fun."
"I don't find it funny."
"I can tell."
He swung his legs off the bed and tried to stand up, but she grabbed his arm.
"Please don't go. I'm sorry."
"Let go of me."
Blade glared at her, thoroughly annoyed with her antics, which constantly reminded him of the lack he tried so hard to forget. He sometimes wondered why he did not tell her. That would certainly put an end to any ambitions she might have to seduce him, but he could not bring himself to reveal his secret. It was too painful, and too humiliating. Yet her constant flirting was also humiliating, he found, since he could do nothing to end it save reprimand her, and that did not work. He often wondered why she persisted when, as a two-copper whore, she did not lack men in her bed.
Probably because she found his reaction amusing, and knew he would never want her no matter how much she flirted with him. He wondered what she would do if he pretended to take her up on her offer, but, knowing Lilu, she would be delighted, since she claimed to love him so much. He jerked free of her and headed back to the common room for another cup of wine.
Blade gazed up at the sweeping marble arches and ornate gabled roof of the Peacock's Nest, one of Jondar's most affluent inns. The missive he had received earlier told him to meet his potential new client here, and gave the room number, but he was not about to walk in and knock on her door. Many exotic trees grew around the inn, and he chose a scarlet-leafed fire tree that gave access to a balcony on the second floor. With no guards to hamper him and an easy tree to climb, he arrived on the balcony in silence and without much effort. Picking the locked doors that led inside, he entered a plush corridor with a polished wooden floor and drab still-life paintings on the cream walls. Busts stood on pedestals between the many doors that led off it, and he found the one marked with the right number, picked the lock and slipped inside.
Viscountess Treblane sat in an upholstered gilt chair in front of a fireplace whose cosy blaze warmed the room. Rich brown velvet curtains framed the windows, and dull paintings graced the walls. A carved four-poster bed stood against the wall on his left, and finely woven rugs softened the floor. Blade walked towards her, his boots silent on the rugs, and she looked up with a gasp when he stepped into her view. Her hand clasped her chest, then she relaxed and smiled.
"You surprised me, sir."
He wandered over to the fireplace. "Sneaking about is my trade, madam. I'm good at it."
"So it would seem. Thank you for coming."
"So, you want your husband dead. Tell me about him."
"Right to the point. How professional of you, sir. Please, sit. Would you care for some wine?"
Blade sat on the settee beside her chair and accepted a cup of rich, musky red wine.
"My husband is a pig," she said. "I cannot abide him. It was an arranged marriage, you see. My father --"
"I didn't mean the story of your misfortune. I meant his looks, his habits and his familiar."
"Oh, I see. He is a man of the boar, of course, and ugly. Fat and hirsute, as all such men are. He turns my stomach. His touch..." She coughed. "Well, he has brown hair and eyes, and he spends most of his day with his noble friends, carousing, hunting, gaming and the like."
"When does he come and go from his dwelling."
"That depends on what time he wakes up, and what he chooses to do. Some days he does not go out, but stays at home and inflicts his unwanted attentions..." She hesitated. "He is always at home in the evenings, after he returns from his debauchery."
Blade sighed, sipping his wine. He hated unpredictable targets, they usually cost him a lot of time stalking them. "What about guards?"
"Only two men in the garden at night."
"What sort of men?"
"Guards."
He smiled, shaking his head. "What familiars do they have?"
"Oh. Well, that depends on which ones they are. There are four of them, to alternate between shifts and days. I am not certain of their beasts, although one, I am certain, is a man of crows."
Blade studied her, wondering what kind of woman she was. The mystery was solved when an emerald snake slithered from her hair to twine around her neck. Its jewel-like golden eyes and triangular head told him it was a tree adder, able to inflict a painful bite and give a man a bad headache. He had never liked snake kin, however. Her information was inadequate, and meant that he would have to spend more time watching the house.
The viscountess leant closer, her gaze intent. "When will you do it?"
Her assumption annoyed him further, as did her eagerness, and he shook his head. "I have not yet agreed to do it, Viscountess."
"Marilda, please. But you will, surely? I will pay whatever you demand."
"Your husband's money, I assume?"
"No, my father's."
"Ah, who arranged this marriage. Clearly he finds no fault with your husband."
"He does not have to rut with him!" Her voice grew shrill, and she restrained herself with an obvious effort. "I cannot stand it. You must help me. How much will it cost?"
Blade frowned at his wine, pondering the many reasons he had been given, over the years, for his clients' wish to slay their victims. Even though he never asked them, they always seemed driven to tell him, as if it somehow vindicated them. Hers was no better than most, and poorer than many, but that did not matter.
He glanced at her. "Fifty goldens."
The sum was outlandish, but she had annoyed him, so she must pay.
Marilda did not as much as blink. "How do I pay you?"
"Half now, half when the job's done. And I have a few more questions."
"Ask."
"Your address, for one thing. When would be the best time to do it, and do you want it to be quick or slow?"
Her eyes gleamed. "You could do it slowly?"
"Yes, but that will double the price."
Her eagerness faded. "I see. I suppose it does not need to be slow."
Blade drained his cup and rose to his feet. "You have the money?"
"Yes." She drew a pouch from a hidden pocket in her skirt and counted out twenty-five goldens onto the table, which left the bag still heavy with more. Blade swept the money into his pouch and tied it to his belt while she gave him an address in the poshest part of the wealthy district.
She looked eager again. "I could make it very easy for you. If I leave the postern gate and kitchen door unlocked, you have only to slip past the guards, who, I am sure, will be asleep after midnight anyway. I will light a lamp in the window when my husband is asleep, so you will know when to come. Will you do it tomorrow night?"
He eyed her. That certainly made it easy, and well worth the fifty goldens. "I could, in that case, yes."
"Excellent." She all but clapped her hands. "And I want to watch."
"Do you now?"
"Yes, most assuredly."
"Have you ever seen a man killed, Viscountess? It's not a pretty thing."
"As a matter of fact, I have. I want to see him die. I will pay more for the privilege if you demand it."
Blade wondered why she was so keen to pay him more, although she had baulked at doubling the fee for a slow death. Her unhealthy interest disgusted him, so at odds with her fragile beauty. He took no pleasure from killing, yet, judging by the way her eyes sparkled and she licked her lips, she would.
"If you are present and awake at the time, I cannot prevent you from watching. Presumably you will be sharing the bed with him, so you will have a particularly good view, I will wager." Blade realised that he had picked up her manner of speech without even trying.
She patted her hands together. "Wonderful. I shall ensure that I am awake, then."
The assassin swung away. "I shall be there tomorrow night. Be sure the gate and door are unlocked."
"I shall. But please, do not hurry off. Have some more wine."
He paused by the door. "I think not, Viscountess."
"Marilda, please."
Blade let himself out and walked to the balcony to shinny down the tree, trying to blot out her eager, lovely face. He compared her to Lilu, disliking what he found. For all the whore's ugliness, she had a good heart, while Marilda's beauty belied her cold viciousness. She did not require the services of the Dance Master, either. Any second-rate assassin could perform such an easy kill, and he almost found it insulting. She had turned him into little more than an executioner, but death was his trade, and the fee was good. Her friendliness was disconcerting too, he found. Why would she wish to spend time and share wine with a lowly assassin, especially one she had hired to kill her husband? By the time he reached his rooms, he was no less disgusted, but somewhat resigned to it.
Blade paused at the postern gate of the address the viscountess had given him, glancing up at the almost full Tree Moon. Too bright for his liking, but that could not be helped. He unlatched the gate and opened it a crack, peering in. For several minutes, he could find no sign of the two sentries, and waited a bit longer before slipping into the garden and closing the gate. He trotted into a patch of shadow under a tree and paused there to scan the garden again. The sentries were propped up against the garden wall, chins on chests. Whatever Viscount Treblane was paying his guards, it was too much.
Leaving the shadow, he walked up the paved path to the mansion's kitchen door and pushed it open, strolling within. A scent of warm bread pervaded the air, mingled with soot and lonions. In the hall, he found a sweeping marble staircase that led to the upper floor and mounted it on silent feet. A corridor stretched away, at the end of which a line of light shone under a door. Blade paused with his hand on the latch and listened, detecting a rasping snore and wheezing grunts. Opening the door just enough, he scanned the room within. The lamp in the window cast a sullen light over a plush bed chamber crowded with too much dull furniture, its walls populated with stiff-faced portraits.
Viscount Treblane formed a vast mound in a massive four-poster bed hung with dark blue velvet. A hairy, tusked black boar slept at the foot of it, the source of the wheezing grunts. Blade paused to wonder how old the viscount was, and whether his familiar would perish soon after him or survive to try to avenge its friend's death. He did not want to have to deal with the enraged animal, and cursed his lack of forethought in not asking his client where the boar slept. That was something he would normally have discovered by spying on his victim.
The viscountess lay beside her husband, her cheek propped in her hand, her eyes drooping. The stench of pig made the still air rank, and he wrinkled his nose as he approached the bed. The size of his intended victim gave him pause, and he reconsidered his strategy. Like all boar kin, Viscount Treblane owned a big-boned frame buried under layers of fat. So much so that Blade doubted his dagger would be long enough to reach the nobleman's heart from his flank. A chest strike had more chance of success, but the viscount lay on his side, facing his wife and exposing the back of his neck. This was not a method that Blade had employed very often, but he knew it.
Reaching the side of the bed, he drew two daggers with a soft slither of steel and considered his target. Moving closer with infinite caution, he raised a weapon and held it poised, ensuring that his aim was true. The viscountess opened her eyes, which widened and brightened with morbid anticipation and delight. Blade swallowed bile and turned his attention back to his target. The tip of the dagger almost brushed the viscount's skin at the base of his skull. Blade thrust it in with a powerful jab, and it scraped past bone to penetrate brain tissue. The man stiffened, his eyelids fluttering, and went limp.
Blade pulled the weapon out and placed his fingers on the nobleman's neck, detecting a faint, fading flutter. Hardly a drop of blood oozed from the wound, and the assassin straightened, glancing at the boar when the beast squealed and thrashed. It tried to rise to its feet and failed, its limbs stiffening as it died. The viscountess stared at her husband, then at Blade, licking her lips as she sat up.
"That is it? He is dead?"
Blade inclined his head, wiping his dagger on the velvet drapes. "You were expecting it to be more exciting?"
"It seemed... so easy."
"That's what you paid for. A swift, silent end."
"It was amazing." She trailed her fingers across her chest, parting her diaphanous nightgown, which barely hid her nakedness. Sliding off the bed, she approached him, skirting the dead pig.
"You are skilled indeed. A master assassin, well worthy of your title, though you have the appearance of a youth. We shall have wine."
He sheathed his daggers. "No we will not, Viscountess. Do you have the rest of my fee?"
She moved closer, her voice dropping to a throaty purr. "Come now, do not be coy. Are you not titillated? Does killing a man not excite you?"
"No."
Marilda stopped before him, too close for comfort. "If you wish the rest of your fee, lie with me."
"I beg your pardon?"
The viscountess gripped the front of his jacket and, taking him by surprise, pushed him backwards. The bed caught him behind his knees, and he landed on his back, the noblewoman on top of him. She straddled him, shed her negligee with a shrug and leant close. Blade froze, staring at her perfect, slender nakedness. Marilda slithered onto his chest, as lissom as a snake, and gripped his face. Pressing her lips to his, she tried to push her tongue into his mouth. The bed foiled Blade's recoil, but he kept his mouth closed. When his hands flashed up to push her away they encountered soft skin, and he snatched them back. Her grip stopped him from turning his head aside, and shock, mingled with intense curiosity, held him fast. Perhaps this time it would be different, although he did not want her tongue in his mouth. She trailed her lips and tongue over his cheek, tugging his collar open.
"You are a beautiful man," she murmured in his ear. "So strong and deadly, like a big, gorgeous cat." She drew back to gaze at the base of his throat, her finger tracing his mark. "A beautiful killer."
Blade wondered why he was so cold inside, as if a blizzard had invaded his chest. He may as well have been a piece of wood. Nothing had changed since his last encounter with a noble slut, much as he wished it had. How he longed for the lust other men had, so he could show her how much of a man he was. He was not, however, and all her beauty and sensuality did not stir one iota of desire in him. She fumbled open his jacket's laces and pushed her hand inside, encountering his leather vest.
She giggled. "You wear far too many clothes."
Shaking back her hair, she raised her eyes to his and froze, blinking. Blade knew what she had seen there; the utter iciness and emptiness he had seen in the mirror so many times. With a swift shove, he pushed her aside and rolled on top of her, straddling her. He found a dagger in his hand, although he did not recall drawing it, and it was pressed against the side of her neck, where her life throbbed so close to the surface.
The humiliation of his lack yearned for release. One swift slash and she would die in a fountain of blood. He leant closer, gazing deep into her eyes. She gulped, raising her hands in a warding gesture, and placed them on his chest. She was so weak, so helpless, and so beautiful. He longed to snuff her like a candle between finger and thumb. Her lust offended him. All he had was perhaps a little despair. He was frozen. She panted with terror, her eyes white-ringed, reading her death in his.
"You are right, Viscountess," he murmured. "I am a killer. That is all I am, and all I sell is death." He tilted his head. "Yet you wish to fornicate with me beside the body of your husband before he has even grown cold. You disgust me. Do you truly wish to join him?"
Marilda's head jerked from side to side, and she gulped again. Her silence bought her life, for he was certain that if she had spoken at that moment he would have killed her. Yet the thought of doing so sickened him. She was helpless, but then, everyone was, against him. Why did the thought of her death repel him? Her soft skin brought memories of other gentle hands that reached out from his past, through the mists that hid it, to stroke and cuddle while a sweet voice murmured tender words. He lifted the dagger, holding it before her flinching eyes.
"This is what you bought. Do not play with ice, Viscountess. It kills just as surely as fire. A more painless end, certainly, but an end all the same. You are closer to it now than you have ever been before. Does it not titillate you? Are you not excited?"
She stared at him, licking her lips. He longed to slice off the wet pink appendage that had assaulted his mouth, and the lush lips it moistened. He turned his head and spat.
"You are worse than a whore. You would pay to rut with the man who just killed your husband. You think your beauty will tempt me, but the ugliness of your mind disgusts me. You inflict your wantonness upon me and sully me with your lust. He was guilty of being a fat smelly man, no fault of his. You are a defiler."
Blade released her and rose to his feet. "Clothe yourself and bring me my money."
Marilda donned a satin gown with shaking hands, unable to meet his eyes. She went over to a desk and drew out a bag of coins, placing it in his hand. Blade sheathed his dagger and tied the pouch to his belt. She retreated, looking dazed, when he brushed past her on his way to the door, where he paused.
"I advise you to scream long and hard in the morning, Viscountess, if you wish to convince everyone that you're innocent of this crime. Doubtless you will enjoy sleeping beside his cold corpse as much as you enjoyed watching him die."
She nodded, rubbing her neck where his dagger had touched her.
Blade slipped out and locked the door behind him before retracing his steps through the garden. Instead of returning to his rooms, as he had planned, his steps led him to Lilu's door in the seedy whorehouse. She sat up when he banged the door closed, her hair wild and her bloodshot eyes wide and red-rimmed in a puffy face. It looked as if she had been weeping. He paced up and down the room, barely five steps in either direction.
Lilu lighted a lamp, watching him. "Blade? What is it? What's wrong?"
He shook his head.
"What's happened? Are you all right?"
He ran a hand through his hair, scowling. She rose and gripped his arm, halting him. He turned his head to look down at her hand, and she released him.
"What did she do?"
Blade paced again, and she sat on the bed.
"You'll wear a hole in my floor." She patted the bed beside her. "Come and sit down. Tell me what happened. She tried to seduce you, didn't she?"
His mouth twisted.
"You were right to reject her. She's a slut."
Blade stopped and stared at the far wall, then walked over to sit beside her, his gaze fixed upon the floor. She hesitated, then took hold of his hand, a little surprised when he did not pull it away.
"You did the right thing. You're far too pure for her to tarnish with her depravity."
Realising that he was not going to speak no matter how much she coaxed him, she pressed his hand to her cheek. She knew that any hint of flirtation from her now would send him out of the door faster than the north wind howled through the Boundary Mountains' crags. He had come to her for some sort of comfort, she hoped, and she thought she knew the reason. Wealthy noblewomen were well known for their appetite for forbidden flesh, particularly that of young men and especially ones like Blade, whose cold beauty and deadly reputation made him so attractive.
Something had upset him to the point that he could not speak of it, and she knew better than to try to persuade him. He would do so when he was ready. She released his hand and poured two cups of wine, the sort he liked, which she kept a bottle of now, for when he visited. He took a gulp, and she noticed that his hand trembled a little. Almost half a time-glass passed while they sipped wine together.
He raised his head and whispered, "She wanted to watch."
"Who did you kill for her?"
"Her husband."
"Why did she want him dead?"
"She disliked him. He was a man of the boar. She is kin of snakes."
Lilu nodded, watching him. "What did she do to you?"
He touched his lips. "She wanted to lie with me."
"She kissed you?"
"She tried."
"You feel... violated?"
"Defiled." He glared at the wall. "She's a defiler."
She hesitated. "To have her thrust unwanted attentions on you would make you feel like that, naturally."
"I almost killed her."
"You hurt her?"
"No. I wanted to kill her. I was a hair's breadth from slitting her throat, but she has no mark upon her."
Lilu knew that the foolish noblewoman was fortunate indeed that Blade was averse to killing a woman. "That's good."
He glanced at her. "Why would she do such a thing to a stranger?"
"She's wanton. Some noblewomen allow their lust to rule them, and take advantage of young men. What has upset you so? Is it because she tried to kiss you, or seduce you?"
"All of it. She looks beautiful, but inside she's ugly. She made a mockery of my trade with her wish to rut with me afterwards, beside the body of her dead husband."
"Oh, I see." Lilu smiled. "Your pride is wounded. She didn't fear you. She should have respected your status as a killer, not so?"
He inclined his head, frowning. "I suppose that's part of it. Also that she thrust her unwanted attentions on me."
Lilu bit her lip, not knowing what to say. She could tell him she understood, and that it was a natural reaction, but she could not reveal that she knew the reason for it. He did not want anyone to know what he was, of that she was certain, and most people did not. She hoped he would tell her, but suspected he would not, since all her teasing had not made him reveal it. He must know she would stop if he told her the truth, yet still he would not, even though her flirting annoyed him. He longed to be like other men, and advances such as this only rubbed salt into his wounds.
She leant closer and took his hand again. "I'm glad you're not tempted by sluts like her. She's beneath you."
He pulled his hand free and slugged back the last of his wine, banging the cup down on the bedside table. "I must bathe."
Lilu watched him leave with a heavy heart, wishing he would stay. Clearly all he wanted now, however, was to wash off the noblewoman's touch, a strange reaction. Then again, there was nothing normal about Blade, she mused.
Blade closed the spyglass and leant against the chimney behind him, pondering his next target with some frustration. Lord Rothwayer's mansion was a veritable fortress, as many that belonged to high-ranking nobility were. Nobles who frequented the Queen's court tended to be targets for assassination, and ensured that it was all but impossible. In addition to the bars on Lord Rothwayer's windows, eight dogmen patrolled around the house, alert for danger. They looked like veterans of the Great War, too old for soldiering but formidable and well-trained all the same. Just like the sacred Knights of the Veil who guarded the priestesses and their temples, and underwent voluntary castration to gain the privilege.
Three days ago, a messenger had handed him a missive requesting Lord Rothwayer's death and promising fifty goldens for the job to be done. Yesterday he had received the down payment, but since then he had been unable to find a chink in the lord's defences. Rothwayer was a close associate of the Queen, and accorded the privilege of his rank in the form of wealth and servants, many of whom lived in the mansion's servants' quarters and were on duty at night. The lord also had a wife and three children, and his two young sons were dog kin. Rothwayer himself was owl kin, a portly man with a kindly face and an air of wisdom. His wife was squirrel kin, and his daughter, the eldest of his children, appeared to be something even more insignificant, like mouse or lizard.
One thing that Blade's spying had taught him, however, was that Rothwayer had a good appetite for pretty young whores, and one visited the mansion each night after dusk. The assassin contemplated the prospect of donning a female disguise again without enthusiasm. There seemed to be no other choice with so many guards, servants and family members around Lord Rothwayer. Every day, he travelled to the palace in a gilded carriage with his guards, and he did not appear to frequent any drinking establishments.
Blade rose and stretched before walking to the edge of the roof to jump down into the street, startling a barrow-hag. The old harridans seemed to be everywhere, he mused, as he wandered towards Lilu's lodgings. The whore was busy when he arrived, judging by the sounds coming from her room, and he settled in the taproom to wait. When she emerged a few minutes later, he crooked a finger at her, and she slid onto the bench opposite with a smile. He drew two goldens from his purse and held them out.
"Go to the market and buy me a woman's wig and a long-sleeved dress, a large one."
She looked puzzled. "What for? Wait!" She held up a hand when he opened his mouth. "Let me guess. None of my business?"
"Correct. You may keep the change, but don't buy cheap goods."
"Now?"
"Yes, now."
Lilu pouted, but pocketed the coins and headed for the door. Blade leant back and sipped his wine, regretting that he had thrown away the wig and dress from Graleth's assassination. At least he had kept the rest of the items.
Sensing a presence, he looked up, surprised to find a Watch commander standing over him. Many of the taproom's patrons gazed at the commander with open curiosity, and the two assassins looked suspicious. The weather-beaten man sank onto the bench opposite, his leathery face set in lines of deep resentment. A harvester beetle clung to his lapel like a badge, its iridescent wing cases jewel-like against his dull brown uniform. He leant closer, his black eyes glinting.
"I dislike being forced to buy your services, assassin."
Blade tilted his head. "I can see that. What forces you?"
"A murderer. He has eluded my men for two moons now, and murders every other night. Women, mostly, and a few children, mainly street urchins, but still... he must be stopped."
"Why can't your men catch him?"
"He's a damned ghost. No one ever sees him."
"That means you can't describe him, and nor can you name him or give me his location, all of which are required before you may hire me."
The Watch commander's scowl grew fiercer. "There's only one explanation for his prowess, Dance Master. He's one of your kind."
Blade shook his head. "Impossible. The Guild would have ordered his death."
"Then he must be from another city, come here to kill with impunity."
"Possibly. But since you can't meet my requirements, I can't oblige."
"Perhaps you should ask your elders how pleased they'll be if my men start arresting assassins."
Blade frowned. "How can I kill a man I can't find, any more than your men can arrest him?"
"Find a way. Ask your fellows to help, I don't care. I want him dead." The Watch commander banged a bag on coins on the table. "Twenty goldens. Ten now, the rest when he's dead."
Blade eyed the purse. "I can't guarantee that I'll find him."
"Then I'll expect a refund."
"I may kill the wrong man."
"So be it. Then you keep trying. He kills in the slums, in the dead of night. Mostly around the Twine District."
The assassin sighed. "Make it fifty goldens, and I'll see what I can do."
"Fine. Forty when it's done."
"That's a lot to pay to save a few unwanted urchins and whores."
"Last tenday he slew Lady Emrith, who ministers to the poor in that area. Her husband is enraged."
"Ah." Blade nodded. "And Lord Emrith has the Queen's ear."
"My orders come from Captain Redgard, commander of the palace guard."
"To hire me?"
"To do whatever it takes to kill this man." The commander rose to his feet. "I want his body. Bring it to a Watch station and tell them who you are."
"And be arrested? I think not."
"You won't be. And if you are, not for very long."
"My trade doesn't include carting around bodies, Commander. I leave them where they lie, for your men to find. So shall it be. I'll inform them of its location, no more."
"Very well."
Blade scowled at the commander's broad back as he headed for the door, disliking his newest assignment. Especially when he already had a booking. Then again, he did not necessarily have to do it himself. Raising a hand, he beckoned to one of the assassins who sat in another gloomy corner. The man hesitated, clearly surprised, then rose and approached, looking wary. Blade gestured to the bench opposite, and the assassin sat down.
"Have you a name?" Blade asked.
"Slayer."
"How appropriate. I have a job for you. Ten goldens to slay the man who's killing whores and urchins in the Twine District. No, I don't know his name or what he looks like, nor do I have his address. That's the job, take it or leave it."
Slayer licked his lips. "I'll take it."
"Good." Blade slapped five goldens on the table. "When he's dead, tell me where his body is. Off you go."
"Quick or -"
"Don't be a bloody idiot. Just kill him, you dolt."
Slayer scowled, but scooped up the coins and left. Blade settled back and sipped his wine.
The next night, Blade donned the whore's disguise in his rooms, inspecting himself in the mirror. Lilu had bought a tasteless bright pink cotton dress with white ruffles, large enough to fit Blade's shoulders, and a belt cinched his waist above the swaddling that gave him womanly hips. The berry juice, eye colour and powder he applied transformed him into the beautiful feminine stranger he had seen in the mirror before. He arranged the long, wavy brown wig into a fetching style with bangs to soften his face. Cheap baubles glinted on his neck and wrists, where long sleeves hid his daggers. Anointing himself with cheap perfume, he twirled in front of the mirror, making the water bag bosom bounce. Fortunately, Lord Rothwayer had a taste for robust girls.
On his way to the mansion after dusk, he waylaid Rothwayer's whore, rendered her senseless with a throat pinch and hid her in an alley. The gate guards let him in without challenge, since Rothwayer used many harlots. A liveried manservant led Blade through magenta halls decorated with drab portraits and family banners to a bedchamber whose decor was just as dull as the corridor's. A fire roared in the grate and lamps lighted the room and the man who sat before the fire, toasting his feet.
Lord Rothwayer looked up when Blade entered, raking him with a measuring glance. "My, you are a pretty one."
"Thank you, Milord." Blade hung his head with a shy smile, striving to appear humble and eager to please.
Rothwayer gestured to a plush, velvet-upholstered chair beside his. "Sit. Will you have some wine?"
Blade sank onto the chair, arranging his skirts, and shot Rothwayer a coy look. "Does Milord always pamper us girls like this?"
"Some more than others, especially the pretty ones." Rothwayer poured a second cup of wine. "Are you in a hurry?"
"Not especially, but the keeper's expecting me back to work 'afore too long."
"Of course." Rothwayer studied him. "You could do better than a seedy whorehouse, girl. Have you a name?"
"Shelma."
"Lovely. Drink up then, so we can... play a little."
Blade sipped the rich, almost woody dry red wine. It would be more pleasant to pass the time before he killed Rothwayer, he decided. Waiting beside a cooling corpse was not his idea of fun. Rothwayer stared into the fire, apparently lost in contemplation. He seemed like a decent fellow, Blade mused, one who probably did not rape the trollops he hired. Nevertheless, caution was always prudent. Rothwayer glanced at him.
"Feel free to remove your clothes whenever you wish, my dear. You know my preferences, I assume?"
Blade hid his shock behind a smile, averting his eyes. "They told me, yes, although I'm a bit bashful, Milord."
"Well now, that will not do, dear girl. You are here to entertain me."
"Yes, Milord. Don't you want to touch me too?"
"All in good time. It helps if you are unclothed."
"I'd feel better if you helped."
Rothwayer sighed and cast Blade an irritated glance. "Why did they send a girl who does not know how to disrobe?"
"Oh, I do, Milord, I just think it'll be more fun if you helped me. Then I can undress you too." Blade put down his wine and rose, approaching Rothwayer.
The lord looked annoyed. "I did not tell you to come to me yet, girl. You are too bold."
"I am that, I've been told." Blade knelt beside Rothwayer's chair, shooting a quick glance at the snow-white ghost owl that sat on a perch beside the bed, its wide blue eyes fixed on him. Placing a hand on Rothwayer's knee, he released the dagger from his other wrist sheath and let it slide into his hand. He raised his head and smiled at Rothwayer, who licked his lips and returned it in a rather pathetic manner.
"Gods, girl, you are lovely." His voice was hoarse, almost a croak.
Blade raised the dagger, which glinted in the firelight.
Rothwayer's eyes widened, and he stiffened in alarm. "What are you doing?"
"I'm not here to entertain you," Blade said in his own voice. "I'm here to kill you."
"Who are you? Why do you want to kill me?" Rothwayer did not seem to notice the change in the timbre of Blade's voice.
"You're the only person I can share my little secret with, Rothwayer, because in a few moments you'll be dead. I'm the Master of the Dance, Blade."
"You... Who sent you?"
"In truth, I don't know. A messenger brought the request for your death, along with a great deal of money. Someone rich would be a safe bet."
"I shall double it."
Blade tilted his head. "I am not for sale when my services have already been engaged. How would that look, if victims were able to buy their lives? Not good, I'd say. No, you are going to die. Don't bother shouting for your guards, you'll die the instant you open your mouth."
"You are her. The woman who killed Graleth."
"In a manner of speaking, except I am not a woman, so don't imagine that you can overpower me. One foolish move and I snuff you out."
"What are you waiting for?"
Blade shrugged. "For enough time to pass so my leaving won't be suspicious. How long do you usually spend with a whore? A time-glass, by my observations."
"Something like that... Could I hire you, Blade, before you kill me?"
"That's never been done before."
"Probably because most assassins do not talk to their victims first."
"Possibly." Blade considered. "I don't see why not. There's no rule against it, and you don't know who hired me."
"Why are you talking to me?"
"It's better than waiting beside your corpse, and you forced me to make my move when you ordered me to undress."
"Of course. So, will you assassinate Fremen Demar?"
"For fifty goldens, yes. I shall expect it all in advance, obviously."
"Yes, of course. It is in my desk. He is a wealthy merchant from the Cloth District, and he wants to wed my daughter for her status, but she hates him, and he is a commoner. If I die, she will be at his mercy. My wife will not be able to prevent him. I suspect that he is the man who hired you."
Blade frowned. "I don't require a reason for the kill. If he is my client, I may have trouble with the Guild, though. How much money do you have in that desk?"
"A hundred goldens."
"I will do it for that, no less."
Rothwayer shrugged. "Help yourself; you could once I am dead, in any case."
"I am not a thief." Blade tilted his head, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Why can your daughter not refuse to wed him?"
"Oh, she did, but with me gone, I think Fremen will ravish her, get her with child and claim her by right of offspring. He is a vile man. If he did that now, I would, of course, report him to the Watch, but my wife... is not a strong woman. He will threaten her, and my sons are too young. I love my wife. She almost died birthing our youngest, which is why we cannot risk her falling pregnant again. That is why I must use whores."
"You could go without. Do not seek to soften my heart with pitiful tales of your misfortune, it will not work."
"I see that." Rothwayer sighed. "You have suffered misfortunes too, I suspect. That is why you can disguise yourself so well as a woman, is it not? Who did it to you?"
"None of your damned business."
"You are right. I apologise."
"Give me the address of this Fremen, and what he looks like."
"He dwells at Eighteen Brightman Way, and he is middle-aged and bald, with a hooked nose and sunken eyes. He is vulture kin, but he is Shunned."
Blade stood up. "Fetch the money, it is almost time."
Rothwayer rose, his face pale, and went over to the carved coalwood desk that stood in a corner. He drew out a heavy purse and handed it to the assassin, who hefted it before stuffing it into his bodice.
Rothwayer faced him. "Will it hurt?"
"Not much, I think, although I have not had the chance to ask any of my victims. It is swift."
"May I lie on the bed first?"
Blade shrugged and gestured with the dagger, letting the second weapon slip into his hand in case Rothwayer made a last minute attempt to escape or fight. The lord walked over to the bed and lay down, arranging himself comfortably, his eyes fixed on Blade. The assassin admired Rothwayer's calm acceptance of the inevitable and noble bearing. He seemed to realise that begging for his life would do no good. It was almost a pity to slay such an honourable man, Blade mused, but it was his trade.
"How will you do it?" Rothwayer enquired.
Blade considered him. "I shall make you sleep first, I think. Then I shall push a dagger into your heart. How does that sound?"
"As good a way as any, I suppose."
"You accept it very calmly."
"Do I have a choice?"
"No." Blade inclined his head. "You are a wise man."
"I wish I could say goodbye to my wife and children."
"I hardly think that is an option."
Rothwayer nodded. "No, I did not think so. It is merely a wish. I love them very much. They will mourn me."
"Again you try to soften my heart. It is not working, I assure you. No one is safe from me if their death has been purchased."
"I do not want to die. Please, I will pay you anything you demand, to spare me. I have thousands of goldens, please -"
Blade leant down and pressed his fingers to Rothwayer's throat, the daggers hampering him somewhat. The nobleman sighed and went limp, his eyes closing. The assassin glanced at the owl, which had raised its crest in alarm. One shriek from the bird and he would be discovered. Although Rothwayer was middle-aged, owls were long-lived, and it may outlive its friend to raise the alarm. Blade approached it, and it bobbed its head, measuring the distance between them. He disliked killing familiars, but sometimes it was necessary.
The bird raised its wings as he neared it, preparing to take off. Blade flicked a dagger, which thudded into the owl's breast, impaling its heart. It hit the floor with another soft thud. The assassin retrieved his weapon and returned to the bed to gaze down at the comatose man. Using the dagger with the bird's blood on it, he ended the portly lord's life and straightened to wipe the weapon on the bed hangings. It had been a most civilised killing, he reflected, with no struggle and hardly any blood. An excellent night's work.
After sheathing his daggers and checking himself in the wall mirror, Blade let himself out and retraced his steps through the mansion to the front door, where the liveried flunky who had let him in waited to open it. The gate guards barely glanced at him, and he strolled into the city without a backward glance, filled with pride and a little euphoria. Talon was right, his female disguise turned impossible assassinations into easy ones.
The city criers spread the news of the slain lord the next day, and the slums were abuzz with consternation and speculation. Suspicion naturally fell upon Blade, but once more the killing was deemed to be impossible and the city Watch hunted a harlot.
On his way to his seat at the back of the Black Swan, a red-haired whore stepped into Blade's path with a coy smile, fluttering her eyelashes. He recognised her as a three-copper whore who worked in the back rooms, and scowled at her. She looked disconcerted, clearly not expecting his reaction, but rallied with a snaggle-toothed smile, trying to place a hand on his arm. Blade evaded her and attempted to move past, but she stepped into his path again.
"Get out of my way, girl," he said.
"Come to my room and 'ave some fun. I can please ye better'n that ugly Lilu."
"How would you know that?"
"'Cause she's bloody ugly."
"And you're not?" Blade's brows rose.
Her smile faltered again. "Not as bad as 'er!"
"That's a matter of opinion, isn't it? I think you're uglier."
"She's a two-copper whore. I'm worth three!"
"I wouldn't pay one copper for you."
"I'll not charge ye." She became coy again.
"Why the sudden wish to bed me?"
"I always did, but now yer 'ere an' I'm 'ere, an' it seems like an apt time." She twirled a lock of ruddy hair around one finger.
"Well it's not. I wouldn't rut with you if you wore three bags over your head. Let me pass."
Her expression became venomous. "Everyone knows she's yer mare, an' soon someone'll snatch 'er and slit 'er throat just fer laughs, 'cause she's yer slut right enough. What's she got that's so special? The lads say she's not even a good poke. No but average, they reckon."
"None of your damned business."
She stepped closer. "Soon enough ye'll run, when she pops out that new brat she's got brewin' in 'er belly. Sure's night's dark it's yer baby, since yer spend so much time pokin' 'er."
Blade's frown deepened. "If you don't get out of my way, girl, I'll make you so ugly even a boar kin's pet won't want to poke you, understand?"
The whore pouted and brushed past him as if she was the one who had rejected him, tossing her flaming hair. Blade entered the taproom and sought his usual seat in the shadows, noting that only one of his fellow assassins was in residence. The man he had hired to kill the murderer was absent. Lilu sat beside a jolly-looking merchant, prodding and pinching him amid gales of giggles. Although she was too ugly for most, her clever wit and sense of humour were popular with many patrons. Blade scowled at her until she sensed his glare and looked around, her grin fading. She left the merchant and approached him, her expression wary as she sat opposite.
"Blade? What's wrong?"
"Apparently I'm soon to become a father."
She looked startled. "You... Oh. Who told you that?"
"One of your ugly friends."
"Which one?"
"Is it true?"
She looked away. "It's none of your concern."
"No, you're right, it's not. And I don't give a tinker's fart."
"Then why are you so angry?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because it's one thing for people to think you're my mare, and another to be blamed for siring your brats."
"Why would you care?"
"I don't!"
"You're angry because I didn't tell you."
He snorted. "I don't give a damn what you do or don't do."
"I was going to, I swear. I just... I knew you'd be angry."
"I'm not!"
She raised her brows, and Blade leant across the table. "She waylaid me to tell me this, and invited me to share her bed. That's what angered me. Apparently she thinks you're a target for those who wish me ill. Have you been spreading rumours?"
"No. I haven't. You spend a lot of time in my room, so it's a natural assumption, and I thought you didn't mind." She tilted her head and smiled. "Are you worried about me?"
"I don't care what happens to you. Why would I worry?"
"Perhaps because you do care."
"Don't delude yourself."
Lilu leant forward. "I know you do, no matter how much you deny it. I understand why you don't want anyone to know, and I don't mind if you pretend not to."
He sat back, scowling at her. "Live in a dream if it suits you then, but if others start to think like you, your life will be in danger. Consider that before you brag about how much I care about you. Any friend of the Master of the Dance has a target on their backs, and will one day find a knife in it."
"I've never told anyone about our friendship, and being your mare doesn't mean you care about me, either."
"But carrying my child does. You had best put an end to that rumour, and fast."
She nodded. "I will."
A man approaching behind Lilu drew Blade's attention, and he said, "Go away."
The whore rose and moved off, and Blade eyed the man who stopped beside his table. The Watch commander sat down on the bench opposite and signalled to the serving wench to bring him a mug of ale before turning to Blade, his expression grim.
"Foolish of you to send another to do your work, Dance Master," he said.
"How so?"
"Because my men found the body of an assassin in the slums this morning, in the area where the murderer slays his victims. They said he looked like he'd been in a fight, and clearly he lost."
Blade sipped his wine, scowling. "Regrettable."
"Indeed. How much did his death cost you?"
"Not very much."
"That's the thing with second-rate assassins; they're cheap, but not that good. That's why I hired you, at vast expense. I'm offended."
Blade shrugged. "I was busy at the time."
"And now you're not?"
"I'll see to it."
The serving wench brought the commander his ale, and he sipped it. "I trust my men won't find your body tomorrow morning."
"I'm no second-rate assassin, Commander."
"I should hope not, with the amount you charge."
Blade leant back and gazed across the room, and the commander rose and moved to another table to finish his ale. Clearly the rogue assassin was a dangerous man, Blade mused. Although that was to be expected, the fact that he had killed Slayer, who had been hunting him, meant he was more skilled than most. Unless, of course, the rogue assassin had ambushed or hunted Slayer instead, but it seemed unlikely that he would, given that Slayer was his own kind. More likely, Slayer had attacked the rogue and paid the price.
Two nights later, Blade made his way to the Twine District along the assassin's highway. From the rooftops, he had the advantage of invisibility and a better view, able to watch what went on below with impunity. The Twine District's shanties clustered along filthy roads in lines of foetid squalor, and some of the roofs were in a poor state of repair, making them unstable and oftentimes dangerous to walk on. Therefore he moved carefully, keeping to edges or apexes, where beams strengthened them. He passed arguing fishwives and playing children, moving deep into the slums in search of his quarry. The two previous nights had been uneventful, and he grew tired of waiting.
Finding a fairly comfortable roost in the centre of the Twine District, he settled down to wait as the waning Tree Moon rose to bathe the ramshackle huts in silvery light. Most residents were safely locked inside by this time and the streets all but deserted, apart from a few drunkards reeling home and an occasional beggar. Blade listened to the various sounds, near and far, that broke the hush. A dog yapped and a tomcat yowled, chickens clucked and a barrow-hag rattled past, muttering. The scent of wood smoke and roasting meat crept past on the breeze, mingled with stew and urine.
Blade jumped when a crash of breaking pottery came from inside the house upon which he sat, and raised, angry voices followed. He cursed and relaxed, his nerves jangling. It would be a while yet before the whorehouses closed and any prey would be abroad for the rogue assassin to kill, and he wanted to snatch some sleep until then. The argument under him continued until the door banged open and a man stormed away down the street, his wife's flow of vitriol following him. Blade closed his eyes as it grew quiet again, listening to the faint night time sounds.
Blade jerked from his doze, wondering what had roused him. The moon sailed high above silent slums, so several time-glasses had passed. A faint scream came from the south, and he turned, then rose and trotted across the roof to the next shack, jumping the gap to land with a crash on its sagging roof. Another scream came from a closer street, and he changed direction. It could just be drunken men raping or chasing a harlot, but he had to find out. A third shriek came, closer still, and he crossed the next two roofs at a run.
As he neared the last location of the sound, he slowed to a walk, for running on rooftops caused far too much noise. A panting woman raced past below, her feet thudding on the cobbles, and a flitting shadow pursued her. Blade followed on the rooftops, falling behind. He had to be sure it was not just some drunken assassin bent on rape, and for that, he had to wait until the man killed her. Something Slayer had not done, since the Watch had only found his body. Blade increased his pace as the pair drew ahead, studying the black-clad man, who looked like an assassin, and his silence seemed to confirm it.
The woman screamed again, and Blade broke into a run as he almost lost sight of her pursuer, cutting across a corner to catch up. Soon the man would tire of the chase and catch her, but for the moment he was toying with her, enjoying her terror. Blade slowed to a walk when the two passed below him again, the woman's gasps telling him that she was close to exhaustion. Halfway along the street, she fell and lay panting, raising her hands in a pleading gesture. The man slowed to a walk and approached her, and Blade moved closer on silent feet.
"No," she pleaded. "Please, don't hurt me."
"That's it," the man said in a soft, rasping voice. "Beg. I like it when you beg."
"Please," she said. "I've got children."
"So much the better. Filthy whore. You and your kind are scum. You don't deserve to live, and especially breed."
"I'm not a whore. I'm a washerwoman."
"Liar. I followed you from the brothel."
Blade paused at the edge of the roof, wondering what the rogue assassin had against whores. Not that he particularly cared. He took his boot blades from his pouch and strapped them on while the man sauntered up to his prey and crouched beside her. He had his back to Blade, but the woman's eyes were white-ringed and her mouth slack with terror. The man drew a pair of long silver daggers from his belt, making his intentions clear, and Blade did not need to wait any longer. He slid off the roof and landed on the cobbles with a clack of steel-shod boots. The rogue assassin swung around, his expression startled, then it twisted into a sneer, and he raised his weapons.
"So, another puppet of the Watch, no doubt?" His gaze dropped to Blade's silver-studded belt. "Ah. But this time it's the Dance Master. Your cohort squealed most delightfully when he died."
"And doubtless you will too."
"He was a bungling, cowardly fool."
Blade shrugged. "Probably. He was cheap."
"You didn't get your money's worth."
"I was tired of him hanging around my haunt, anyway."
"Glad to be of service. Leave now, and live. I have nothing against you."
"Your death's been purchased."
The rogue assassin peered at Blade. "You're just a boy. Are you here to distract me while another sneaks up on me? A crossbowman, no doubt."
"Don't flatter yourself."
The man's black eyes glittered in a lined, narrow face with a broad nose and jug-handle ears. "You may be good at dancing, boy, but you really don't want to tangle with me. I was a Dance Master too."
"But now you're a common murderer, and a disgrace to your Guild. They should have killed you."
"They tried. Many died, so I left. You and your brethren should stay out of it. It's the Watch's job to kill me."
"Until they paid me to do it. Now it's my job."
"Ah, that's a shame. Pitting assassins against each other doubtless pleases them."
The gasping woman stared at them with bulging eyes, apparently too scared to move. Blade walked closer with clicking footsteps, drawing the rogue assassin's attention to his lethal footgear.
He smiled. "So, you came prepared. Using those in a fight is a lot harder than dancing in them, you know."
"But, since you're not wearing any, they'll serve me well."
He nodded. "And it proves your cowardice."
"Why would I risk injury to snuff out a criminal?"
"Perhaps to prove that you can kill me without them. I mean, we know you're going to try, but succeeding is another matter."
"I think I'll manage, and I've learnt the folly of pride."
"Have you now? Yes, I'll wager you've had the stuffing beaten out of you a few times. Smarts, doesn't it? So, now you take no chances, but what satisfaction is there in having an unfair advantage?"
Blade scowled, annoyed by the man's baiting. "I'm here to kill you, not prove my prowess. I just want it over and done with as soon as possible, and with the least effort on my part."
"So, a pragmatist. How droll. You should have just used a crossbow from the rooftop in that case, son."
Blade shrugged. "I'm not a crossbowman, but I'm just as good with a dagger."
"So what are you waiting for?"
"Your tongue to stop flapping."
"Does it bother you then?"
"It's annoying, yes." Blade drew the daggers from his belt.
The rogue's eyes narrowed. "I'd say killing a fellow assassin bothers you more."
"You'd be wrong."
"Oh, I think --"
The rogue threw himself aside as Blade's dagger hissed past his throat and clattered off the wall beyond, missing by a hair. The well-disguised flick of Blade's wrist had been barely noticeable, and only the rogue's training had saved him. Blade, however, had anticipated the rogue's reaction, and his second dagger, thrown a split second after the first, impaled the rogue's shoulder with a meaty thud. The man grunted and sprawled, rolling to his feet with his daggers raised. He glanced down at the weapon buried hilt deep in his shoulder, and a sickly smile twisted his thin lips.
"I see dancing isn't all you're good at, boy."
Blade circled to his left, allowing the weapons from his wrist sheaths to slide into his hands. "Remember that you face a Dance Master before you assume that my youth makes me gullible or inexperienced. It doesn't."
"Well now, that makes it more interesting, doesn't it?"
The rogue hefted his weapons and lunged at Blade, who skipped back and kicked. His boot blade impaled the man's forearm just behind his wrist, knocking the weapon from his grip. The rogue hissed, scowling, and drew another dagger, flinging it with a sideways flick of his wrist. Blade threw himself backwards and rolled to his feet as the weapon hit the wall behind him with a tinkle. He lunged at his opponent, slashing sideways. The rogue jerked his head aside, and the dagger sliced a shallow cut in his cheek. He grunted and wiped the blood off with the back of his hand, his expression ugly.
"You begin to annoy me, boy."
Blade glanced past him at the whore, who rose to her feet and scuttled away to cower beside a wall, her eyes wide. The rogue shot her a quick look.
"I'll get around to you, sweetie, as soon as I've finished with this whelp."
Blade took two steps towards his opponent, spun and leapt, his steel-tipped boots lashing out. The rogue dropped in the nick of time, but Blade lunged as he landed, his dagger slicing into the rogue's shoulder. The man hissed again and moved towards Blade with a series of swift sideways steps, revealing his dancing skill. Blade circled away from him, his feet tapping on the stones, his awareness expanded to ensure that there were no obstacles or threats behind him. The rogue leapt at Blade and kicked. His boot caught the assassin in the ribs as he jumped back, making him stagger. Blade brought a dagger up in a scything stroke that the rogue countered with a lightning-fast retaliation, the blades clashing with a glint of sparks.
Blade's left hand flashed in from the side, impaling the rogue in the flank. The man reeled sideways with a cough, clasping the wound. Blood oozed between his fingers, and he knew as well as Blade that his life was forfeit. That made him even more dangerous, Blade knew. The rogue charged, raising his weapons with the obvious intention of ramming them into Blade's ribs. The assassin skipped back and leapt high, hurling himself backwards as he kicked. His right boot cracked into the underside of the rogue's jaw with a sickening crunch that snapped his teeth together, the three-inch blade slicing deep into his throat.
Blade landed on his back with a grunt, his head hitting the stones, and stars flashed in his vision. The rogue stumbled towards him, his mouth a bloody ruin of broken teeth and slashed tongue, his weapons aimed at Blade's chest. The assassin rolled away as his foe fell to his knees and brought his daggers down on the cobbles where Blade had been an instant before. The rogue lunged before Blade could scramble to his feet, and his weapon sliced into Blade's hip. The assassin gritted his teeth and kicked the rogue again, this time in the side of the head. The man sprawled, jerking Blade's leg, due to the fact that the boot blade was wedged in his skull.
The assassin struggled to yank it free while the rogue twitched and gurgled, the stench of blood sickening him. The dying man's shudders were conveyed to Blade through the weapon stuck fast in the rogue's skull, and he turned his head away and retched. By the time the nausea passed, the rogue had ceased to move. Sheathing his weapons, Blade placed his other boot on the corpse's cheek and tugged on his trapped leg, striving to free it. His hip smarted and his trousers were growing wet with blood. Blade kicked the corpse's head, and his boot blade slid free with a dull grating sound. He rose and moved away, pausing beside the wall to unbuckle his boot blades and stow them in his pouch. His back ached, his hip burnt, his ribs smarted and his head pounded.
Rubbing the lump on the back of his head, he turned to face the whore, who stared at him.
She murmured, "Thank you, Dance Master."
"I didn't do it for you, you stupid trollop," Blade said.
She recoiled, but rallied. "No, of course not, but I'm still grateful to you for saving me."
"You were just bait, now bugger off."
"You're hurt. Can I help?"
"No."
As she turned away, Blade remembered that he was supposed to inform the Watch of the rogue's demise and the location of the body. "Wait!"
She swung to face him again, looking nervous. "Yes, Dance Master?"
"Go to the Watch. Tell them what you witnessed, and bring them here. Tell them who killed him. Do you understand?
The whore bit her lip, nodded and hurried away, glancing back often. Blade squatted beside his victim and cut a strip from the rogue's shirt to bind his hip. The placement of the injury made it difficult to bandage, however, and he pressed the cloth to it to slow the bleeding. While he waited, he examined his victim in the moonlight. The rogue was younger than he looked, Blade surmised, disgusted by the stench that came from him. When he tugged open the man's shirt to inspect his tattoo, he found a string around his neck with bits of shrivelled meat threaded on it, whence the stink came. He could not identify what the dried bits were, but moved upwind, bile stinging his throat. Evidently the rogue had collected trophies.
After half a time-glass, Blade decided that the bleeding had slowed sufficiently and rose to his feet to limp up the lane, heading for his haunt.
By the time Blade reached the rundown whorehouse, sweat beaded his brow and his stomach churned. Staggering into Lilu's empty room, he flopped down on the bed. His hands shook and his breath came in harsh gasps. He knew what it was, but he had not had a fever since he was ten, and wondered at the reason for it. Whereas then he had passed out, now he remained lucid when his muscles went rigid and his back arched in a convulsion.
Blade pressed the rag to his wound to slow the bleeding, which the spasms worsened, wondering if he would survive this time, and what had brought on his childhood illness again. It had something to do with the shrivelled bits of meat around the rogue's neck, he was sure, but he did not understand it. Sweat trickled inside his clothes, but he could not summon the energy to remove them, although he was burning up. Perhaps this was it, he thought with dull resignation. Maybe this time the fever would claim him. Darkness nibbled at his vision, and he let it wash away the pain.
Lilu glanced around with a frown as the fluting notes of her familiar's most haunting song echoed in her mind. Symbell never contacted her when she was not alone, and she sat in the busy taproom with laughing, shouting, singing men and harlots around her. Something was wrong. Radiants hardly ever showed themselves to strangers, and especially not a crowd, but clearly Symbell needed to speak to Lilu now. Freeing herself from the groping hands of the muscular blacksmith upon whose lap she sat, she rose and headed for her room, where Symbell could appear in private.
Lilu stopped in the doorway, her breath catching. Blade lay on her bed, one leg dangling, and blood pooled around his foot. A bloody rag lay beside it, and the assassin's pallor was marked. Sweat ran down his face and soaked his hair, his eyes were closed and tremors racked him. Lilu dashed to his side and took hold of his hand, shaking him, then placed a hand on his brow. She swung away to fetch a basin of water, sloshing it in her haste. Banging it down on the bedside table, she grabbed the nearest cloth, dunked it in the water and placed it on his forehead.
With trembling hands, she unlaced his jacket and stripped it off, glad that he was not a heavy man. Beneath it, his shirt was soaked with sweat, as was his leather vest. She tugged off his garments as quickly as she could, placing more cold, wet cloths on his chest before pulling off his boots and trousers. Every so often, his back arched in a convulsion, and she chewed her lip, wondering if she should summon a doctor.
No, a silvery voice murmured in her mind.
Lilu looked up as Symbell appeared with a faint pop and a flash of light. The radiant dragon hovered over the assassin, her wings fanning him.
"What's wrong with him?"
He seeks to quit this world. His soul strives to be free of his mortal form.
"Why?"
He has witnessed something terrible this night.
"Terrible things are nothing to him, he --"
Hush.
Symbell drifted down to land on Blade's chest, her sharp white claws leaving spots of blood on his skin. Arching her neck, she looked down at him, within him, Lilu realised. Symbell spread her wings with a soft, fluting call. Lilu sensed the temperature in the room drop as the radiant summoned the Cold Fire. Where it came from, Lilu had no idea, nor had she ever seen Symbell use it before. It spread from her in frigid, misty flames, licking over the assassin's skin. She glowed with it, brighter than Lilu had ever seen her.
The assassin's tremors subsided, and the sweat that sheened him dried as Symbell cooled him as only a radiant could, sending her chill deep within him. Lilu sank down on the chair, stunned. Mere moments passed before Symbell recalled the Cold Fire, which soaked back into her, and her glowing skin dulled to its usual medley of hues. The radiant sat on Blade's chest, looking a little smug.
He will live.
"Why did you save him? I thought --"
He has a destiny to fulfil.
"But radiants don't save people, not even their friends."
Symbell tilted her head. No. We do not. But he is God Touched. He must be saved. Without him, much will not happen that must happen.
"Would he have died?"
Perhaps. It was not certain, but probable. His wish to leave was strong. You might not have saved him.
"What about his wound, can you heal it?"
Symbell trilled. I am not a healer. The cold is all I have to offer, on my own.
"And if there were others?"
Together we can do many things, but only Tinsharon can command us.
Lilu's brows rose. "Did Tinsharon tell you to save him?
No. I knew what must be done. You should tend his wound now, and I should leave.
"What did he see that was so awful?"
Symbell shook her head. I know not. I do not believe he knows either, but he will. She glanced around. He watches and waits, but he has a long vigil ahead.
Lilu followed Symbell's gaze, and, although nothing was visible in the gloomy corner, she knew what the radiant was looking at. The cat. Rivan, who waited and watched, but could not aid his friend any longer. Had he hoped that Blade would die, so they would be reunited? Probably, she thought sadly. Being parted from one's familiar was the most excruciating sorrow, it was said, and she could well believe it. That was one thing dragon kin did not have to worry about, though.
The only way the immortal beasts could die was to bond with a human in this, the Age of Beasts, so they would follow their friend into the unknown. The older ones did it, and Lilu suspected that Symbell was many aeons old. That was why radiants would not save their friends; it was the reason they bonded with them, and, while they mourned the passing of their human companion with the most beautiful song they ever sang, they rejoiced at their own demise. Symbell said the death song was a mingling of sorrow and joy, which was why it was so poignant. Apparently, radiants did save God Touched.
Lilu looked up with a smile when Symbell rose into the air on blurred wings. The radiant brightened, then vanished with a soft pop and a glimmer of light. Lilu arranged Blade more comfortably, his skin still cool from Symbell's fire, whose effects she suspected would linger for time-glasses. As she pulled the sheet over him, the door banged open and she whipped around to find Jezzel, the red-haired harlot from down the corridor, framed in it. The whore swayed, her face flushed and hair tangled, and eyed the man in Lilu's bed with a malicious sneer.
"So, 'e's bin pokin' ye again, 'as 'e? Yer two never seem to get enough. No wonder yer raced outta the taproom like the 'ounds of Damnation was after ye. Looks like yer rutted 'im 'alf to death, an' all." She cackled.
"Get out," Lilu snarled.
"Nah, I wants a bit o' the action too, indeed I does. 'E must 'ave a bit o' spunk left in 'im."
"Don't you get enough from those louts in the taproom?"
"Aye, 'deed I do. But I wants 'im." Jezzel stumbled into the room, grabbing the chair. The stench of sour wine hung about her. "Why should yer be the only one 'oo can say they was poked by the Master o' the Dance, eh?"
"I've never said that. You all just assume it, and you're wrong. He would never lie with a two-copper whore."
"Lies! Why else would 'e spend so much time 'ere?"
"It's his haunt, you stupid cow."
"Nah, nah, 'e spends too much time in yer room."
Lilu grabbed the woman when she lunged towards the bed, shoving her at the door. Jezzel lurched back with a curse, her brow furrowing.
"I could 'ave yer thrown out, ye know!" she shouted. "I'm worth more'n yer! Rendal's always complainin' 'bout 'ow yer bother the lads with yer ugly mug!"
Lilu glanced at the comatose assassin, a suspicion forming in her mind. Rendal was the brothel keeper, and she did not think he would tolerate her if he did not have an excellent reason. She stepped towards the drunken whore and pushed her against the wall.
"He comes here because I help him, no other reason! He's wounded right now, you want to see?"
Jezzel stared at her, then nodded. "Aye, prove it if yer can."
Lilu went to the bed and dragged down the sheet, exposing the assassin's blood-soaked shorts and the crimson-stained bed. Jezzel paled, raised a hand to her mouth, and bolted out of the door to vomit in the corridor. Lilu slammed the door behind her and bolted it. Turning to face the bed, she pressed her back to the door, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.
"You did this, didn't you?" she murmured. "You made this cesspit your haunt so Rendal would let me trade here."
Lilu approached the bed and sat beside him, stroking the damp tendrils of hair from his brow. He looked gaunt and tired, his eyes sunken.
"God Touched," she whispered, her heart aching. "What happened to you tonight? Who hurt you? What did you see that made you want to die?" She bent and kissed his forehead. "I love you so much."
With a sigh, she fetched her needle and thread and stitched the wound in his hip, washed off the blood and dressed it as best she could. By the time she finished, the whorehouse was quiet and she was exhausted. She lay down beside him, the bed wide enough to accommodate her as well, and fell asleep nestled against him.
Blade woke the next day, fortunately after Lilu had risen. He was not well enough to leave, and she persuaded him to stay until he was, which he acquiesced to without enthusiasm, although she knew that he liked to be taken care of. He liked complaining too, but she was used to his sour mood when he was injured, and an occasional glare took the edge off his temper, reminding him that he was the one who needed her help. She did not mention her discovery of the reason for his making the Black Swan his haunt, sensing that he would find it annoying. It lifted her mood, however, and she hummed around the room while she tended him, casting him happy smiles that made him frown.
Three days later, he returned to his rooms, and she missed him greatly. She did not see him for almost a moon, and could not answer Rendal's questions about his absence, except that he was injured and must be recovering. This seemed to mollify the brothel keeper, and the patrons kept coming since the taproom remained the Dance Master's official haunt. The Watch commander visited several times to drain a tankard of ale before leaving again, almost as if he, too, awaited Blade's return.
Lilu's belly swelled with the new child she carried, which she suspected was Oxan's, the massive blacksmith who sometimes used her services when he was exceedingly drunk. Oxan's wife had already borne him twelve children, so there was no doubt about his virility. She hoped for a girl this time. Oxan had sired nine girls on his wife, so her chances were good. Endel was now old enough for the fishwife to care for, although Lilu still fed him when she visited. He was not even two years old.
The afternoon that Lilu entered the taproom to find a familiar black-clad man seated in the shadows, her heart skipped a beat and leapt, hammering, into her mouth. She gulped and approached him, and he raised icy grey eyes to meet hers. Lilu settled on the bench opposite, drinking him in with her eyes.
"How are you?"
He shrugged. "Well enough."
"It's good to see you back. Where have you been?"
A faint smile twitched his lips. "Resting." His gazed dropped to her belly and his smile faded. "I see you're expanding again."
She clasped her swollen midriff. "Unfortunately."
"You should find a new medicine woman. Clearly the one you use isn't giving you the right herbs."
"There's only one kind of herb, and it doesn't always work. I'm more fertile than most, I suppose."
He gazed across the room. "Indeed."
"I've told everyone who asked that it's not yours."
"Good. Who did you blame?"
"I said I didn't know. I only have a suspicion, and if I'm right, he won't want anything to do with it, or me, so I'll keep it to myself."
"Good idea. Who do you suspect?"
His curiosity surprised and pleased her. It seemed to indicate that he was interested, which could only mean that he cared. Then again, he might just be making small talk; he looked bored. "I think it's Oxan's."
Blade snorted and smiled. "The blacksmith? That great dolt?"
"He wouldn't have been my first choice either." She sighed.
"Who would?"
Lilu glanced at him, even more surprised. "I don't know. I don't really want another fatherless child." She hesitated. "But if I had to choose, I'd want it to be yours."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Thank the gods it's not. You'd only want me because I have money, and I'm unwed. I'd make a good meal ticket, huh?"
"No. I think you'd be a wonderful father and sire beautiful children."
The assassin glared across the room, clearly annoyed, and she wondered who else he thought she would choose, and why it angered him so. Perhaps because he knew it was impossible, and he did long for children. He focussed on something behind her, his gaze becoming intent.
"Go away."
Lilu rose and retreated to another table, where she sat and watched Blade talk to the Watch commander, wondering what they discussed. The commander dumped a heavy bag on the table, solving the mystery. Evidently Blade had slain someone for the Watch, perhaps the man who had injured him. It certainly looked like he was being well paid. When the commander left, Blade settled into his dark corner, and Lilu glanced around in the hope of finding work. She owed the fishwife a tenday's pay, and had yet to earn it. Spotting Oxan, she schooled her lips into a pouty smile and swayed over to him. He raked her with a scowling glance, licking ale foam off his upper lip. Jezzel had already staked her claim, and clung to his muscular arm, but had not yet persuaded him to go to her room.
Lilu sat on the bench beside him, tossed back her hair with a flick of her head and turned to display the cleavage her low-cut gown exposed.
Oxan eyed her. "Push off, Lilu. Yer fat as well as ugly, now."
"Some men like it," she said, blinking.
"Well I don't. 'Tis bad enough me wife's always a bloated pig, when I come 'ere for a poke I don't want to ride another swollen swine."
The sour-faced drover who sat opposite Oxan chimed in, "Aye, fat whores should be banned from the taproom; they put us off the rest."
Jezzel leant across Oxan. "Away with ye, Lilu, yer angering the lads. Yer face is enough to put 'em off, and now yer belly's makin' 'em shrivel up too."
Lilu scowled. "I still have to make a living. My children have to eat. You wouldn't know, since you don't have any, you dried up cow."
"Well they don't want yer, so go away," Jezzel snarled.
"Aye," Oxan agreed. "Go bother someone else."
The blacksmith shoved her off the bench, and she hit the floor hard, pain flashing up her back. Shooting them a furious frown, she struggled to her feet and leant on the table to thrust her face close to Oxan's, forcing a smile.
"I'll let you have it for a copper."
"I wouldn't want it fer free, yer ugly cow."
Lilu's hand cracked across his cheek, and he leapt up with a roar, overturned the bench and sent Jezzel sprawling with a squeal. Lilu backed away, glancing around for a weapon, and, not finding one, turned to run. Oxan's callused hand grabbed her hair and yanked her around, and she shrieked. The blacksmith was well known for his short temper and violent nature, and perhaps slapping him had not been such a good idea, she reflected. His fist cracked into her jaw, sending her crashing into a table, which tilted, and she slid to the floor. Her head rang and she tasted blood. A boot thudded into her belly, making her close her eyes and curl up with a groan.
As she waited for the next blow, a familiar voice spoke above her.
"I have a use for her, but she's no good to me dead."
Lilu opened her eyes to find a pair of scuffed black boots mere inches from her face, which bore the marks of the straps that fastened blades to them. Relief gushed through her.
"Do what ye want with 'er," Oxan rumbled, "just get 'er away from me."
"Oh, I shall."
A strong hand gripped Lilu's arm and lifted her, forcing her to scramble onto rubbery legs. Blade dragged her from the taproom, steering her around obstacles, and thrust her into her room. She stumbled to her bed and sank down on it, clutching her aching belly. He slammed the door and flopped down on the chair with a sigh.
"Do you have a damned death wish?"
"I need the money."
"You have room and board, what do you need more for?"
She raised her gaze to his pale, hard eyes. "My children."
He rubbed his face. "Gods, Lilu, you try my patience, you really do. Who will pay for their care if you get yourself killed?"
"I don't know. How will they eat if I don't feed them?"
The assassin considered, then dug in the heavy pouch on his belt and drew out a golden, placing it on his palm. "I tell you what. In the interest of peace and quiet in the taproom, so I can enjoy my wine undisturbed, you stay away from that brute, got it?"
She nodded, reaching for the coin. "Thank you."
He closed his hand. "And if you slap him again, I won't stop him from kicking you to death."
Lilu nodded again, and he let her take the coin, which she pushed into her bodice, her heart filled with love for him. "How much did the Watch commander pay you?"
"None of your damned business."
"You were almost killed. I hope it was a lot."
"I was not almost killed."
"If I hadn't stopped the bleeding and stitched the wound..."
He groaned, "Here we go again. Do you never tire of reminding me that you helped me?"
"No."
"You should, it's annoying."
The urge to hug him overcame her, and she rose and reached for him. Blade leapt up and moved out of reach, wagging a finger at her. "You stay away from me. Go and feed your children."
Lilu picked up her coat and headed for the door, where she paused to look back. "You're a good man, Blade. Thank you."
He snorted. "I'm just trying to stop your whining, now go away."
Lilu knelt and spread her arms as her children ran to embrace her, hugged their precious little forms to her and kissed their hair. The fishwife, Nelta, stood beside the wash basin, Endel on her hip, a pipe clamped between her few remaining teeth. Iron-grey hair framed her weather beaten, square-jawed face, and her narrow, knobbly nose jutted over a rat-trap mouth. Her faded brown eyes, set close together under bushy brows, had a kindly twinkle. Nelta had once been a whore, before her husband had married her when she had claimed to be carrying his child. Whether the son she had borne was his remained a mystery, for the boy, who was now a grown man, looked like his mother. Cutthroats had killed Nelta's husband seven years ago, and since then she had eked out a living selling fish and caring for Lilu's children.
Lilu rose and took Endel, who gurgled and waved his arms, and she sat at the table to feed him. Nelta watched her with a smile.
"That lad's going to be a giant when he grows up, lass."
"I hope the next one's a girl."
"Aye, they're always easier." Nelta winked at Estra, Lilu's four-year-old daughter.
Lilu had no idea who had fathered Estra or her eldest son, Dorron, since they had been born before her beating, when she had entertained soldiers and even a few noblemen. She liked to think that Dorron, aged six, had been fathered by a handsome nobleman's son. Dorron's curly brown hair and green eyes reminded her of the youth. Estra, she liked to imagine, was the daughter of a veteran soldier who had visited her on the night before he went to the temple to become a sacred Knight of the Veil. The girl's straight, light brown hair matched her eyes, and there was something about her that reminded Lilu of the soldier, even though he had been grizzled and scarred.
Endel was her handsomest child, with his black hair and grey eyes, which reminded her so much of Blade. Endel had inherited his grandfather's eyes, however, because Tromar's were brown. She wondered what her new baby would look like, thinking of Oxan's shaven head and hazel eyes with a shudder. The man was ugly, but that did not mean his child would be, too. How she wished it was Blade's child. Then, she was sure, he would be gentler to her, and help her more. Although Lilu appreciated the help he already gave, she was sure he would have made an excellent father.
Nelta puffed a cloud of smoke. "I must go to market, lass. You going to watch the babies while I do?"
"Yes. I'll take them for a walk to the park."
"Good. I'll be no more than a time-glass. I expect you have to get back to work."
Lilu nodded. "I'll be back before you."
"Right." Nelta took her coat from the hook behind the door and left.
Lilu dressed her children in warm coats and strolled down the street to one of the city parks. In the affluent areas, they had trees and grass, but in the slums they were little more than areas of packed dirt where children played with dogs, balls and sticks. Estra clung to her hand and Dorron marched ahead, Endel sat on her hip, sucking his thumb. Lilu used the golden to buy the older two hot pies from a barrow-hag and a sticky sweet for Endel. Fourteen silvers would pay Nelta for a moon and buy food for two tendays.
After spending half a time-glass in the park, Lilu headed home, Estra weeping because she was tired of walking. Turning a corner, Lilu froze. Tromar stood just up the street, talking to a merchant. She stepped back, intending to duck behind the corner, but Estra wailed and Tromar glanced around. He scowled and strode towards her. Lilu dragged Estra around the corner, shouting for Dorron, who came trotting back. She hurried along the road, glancing around for somewhere to hide. Houses lined the street, offering no shelter. She came to a lane and ducked into it, hoping Tromar had not seen her. Endel cried and Estra shrieked, tears streaking her flushed face.
Lilu stood with her back to the wall, gasping with terror and exertion. Estra tugged at her skirts, demanding to be picked up, and Lilu raised a finger to her lips.
"Hush."
Tromar rounded the corner, and his eyes glinted with delighted malice when he spotted her. His shaggy bear followed him, huffing and snuffling in the garbage. There was nowhere left to flee. The alley was a dead end and Lilu was too tired. She wondered if he would kill her in front of her children. He stopped before her, raking her with angry eyes.
"Tho, the ugly whore ith all alone. Where'th your protector, hmmm? The one who did thith." He gestured to his flattened nose and scarred eyebrows. He spoke with a lisp now, due to his missing front teeth. "I know it wath becauth of you." He glanced at Endel, who stared at him with wide eyes, and his gaze sharpened. "How old ith he?"
"A year and a half," she lied.
He shook his head. "No, he'th older than that. Closer to two, I reckon. And he'th the thpitting image of me. Tell me that'th a coincidence and I'll thplit your head for you."
"I've had many black-haired customers."
"Lying whore. I wath there, remember? I know who your customerth were, and I'm the only one who hath black hair. He'th my thon, ithn't he?"
"No."
Tromar stepped closer, his expression murderous. "Don't lie to me! I can see he'th my son!"
"He's not! I know who his father is, and it's not you! Even if he was yours, he's mine too, and you have no rights."
"I'm hith father. I have rights."
Lilu clutched Endel to her, and Estra hid behind her skirts. Dorron frowned at Tromar, looking puzzled.
The drover's face twisted. "Look at him, drethed in rags. You have no right to my thon. I won't let a dirty whore raithe him." He reached out to stroke Endel's cheek, and the boy turned to clutch Lilu.
"I'm his mother."
"You're a two-copper whore!" he shouted. "And you'll be a dead one if you don't give me my thon!" His voice dropped to a vicious mutter. "You already have two, and another one on the way. You can have ath many ath you want, but he'th my only thon."
"How will your wife feel if you bring him home?" Lilu demanded, clutching at straws. "The son of a whore!"
"My thon! She doethn't need to know who hith mother ith. She'll accept him, or I'll beat her until she doeth."
"And she'll beat and starve him in turn."
"No." He shook his head. "I'll hire a woman to care for him. A wet-nurse, if needth be. Duth he need a wet-nurse?"
"You're not taking him!"
"You can't thtop me," he sneered. "If you fight, he might get hurt."
"You'd hurt your son?"
He glanced at Dorron. "No. I won't have to. Hand him over or your other children will thuffer."
Lilu went cold with shock, and the dirty alley spun. She did not doubt that he would make good on his threat. She knew from bitter experience just how brutal he was, and he would think nothing of harming her children. The beefy drover stepped closer and gripped Endel's arm, dragging him from her arms, and the boy shrieked. Tromar gripped him too tightly, making him cry and squirm.
"Don't hurt him!" Lilu shouted, reaching for Endel, who held out his arms to her.
"I'll not hurt my thon," Tromar said, clutching the boy to him. "But I'll gladly kill you if you make trouble."
Lilu sobbed with helpless terror and fury as Tromar strode away, Endel shrieking in his arms.
Dorron tugged at her skirts. "Mama? Where's Endel going? Who's that man?"
She wiped her eyes. "It's all right, sweetie. That's Endel's papa. He's going to look after Endel."
"But Endel's crying, Mama."
"He'll be all right. Come on." Lilu swept up Estra and followed Tromar at a distance. His bear trailed behind him, allowing her to stay out of sight. Tromar led her to the poor district, better than the slums, but not by much. Endel's screams lured her on, even if the bear had not given Tromar away. Lilu hid behind a corner and watched the bear enter a dilapidated house, longing to call the Watch. That would do her no good, however. The guards did not interfere, generally, in family disputes, and they would probably think that Endel was better off with his father. Lilu knew better. Tromar would end up beating the boy, just as he did his wife and the whores he used. He was a bully; it was in his nature.
By the time she returned the children to Nelta and explained Endel's absence, her limbs were leaden. Her pregnancy was an unwanted burden, sapping her strength, and she plodded to the whorehouse with heavy feet, utterly drained. Blade was not there, and she flung herself down on her bed and wept.
When Blade arrived, she had been weeping for three time-glasses, and her eyes were slits. He studied her with a frown as he sat on the chair.
"What's wrong?"
Fresh sobs racked her, and he sighed and folded his arms, gazing at the wall until she gulped and blew her nose on a rag.
"It's Tromar," she husked. "He's taken Endel."
"Tromar's his father, then?"
"Yes."
He looked puzzled, cocking his head. "And you want him back?"
"Of course I want him back, he's my son!"
"And Tromar's."
"That man is a brute! He'll beat Endel for sure! Besides, he's my son!" Her voice rose. "Tromar almost beat me to death. He almost killed Endel then, next time he will!"
The assassin winced and rubbed his ear, frowning. "I'm not deaf, Lilu."
She lowered her voice. "Will you help me?"
His brows shot up. "How?"
"Kill him!"
"You have ten goldens?"
She sagged, wiping her nose. "You know I don't."
"Do you have two goldens?"
"You'd do it for two?"
He shook his head. "But doubtless the second-rate assassin who shares my haunt will."
"I don't have two goldens!" she wailed.
"Then I don't --"
"Damn you, Blade, you owe me!"
He frowned. "This is why assassins don't have friends, and I don't appreciate your demands."
She tried to see beyond his bland, inscrutable expression. "What if it didn't involve killing?"
"What would it involve?"
"Endel looks just like you. Come with me and claim to be his father. If we can convince Tromar that he's not Endel's father, he'll give him back."
He snorted. "Or slit his throat."
"The Watch takes a dim view of child killers."
"If Tromar is so desperate for a son, trotting out another potential father won't convince him. You have no proof, and we both know full well that I'm not."
"Please help me." Fresh tears stung her gritty eyes.
He cocked his head. "Why should I?"
"Because I asked you to?" She dug in her purse and took out the fourteen silvers, holding them out. "This is all I have."
"You insult me."
"Do I?" She studied him again, wishing her tears did not blur her vision so much. She did not understand him, she realised, much as she thought she did. Offering him so little money was an insult, especially since he had given it to her in the first place, but she did not know what else to do. He wanted something else from her, and she wished she knew what it was.
"What do you want?" she asked. "You can't pretend not to care, this time, and do it behind my back. I know you made this your haunt so I could trade here. I know you ruined Tromar's face for what he did to me, and carried me to my room when he beat me."
His scowl deepened. "Do you?"
"Yes. And you know I love you. I would do anything to help you and anything you asked of me. Just like I know you'll help me."
"Indeed? And how do you know that?"
She leant forward. "You want to know? You want to know why I saved you in that alley, carried you home and nursed you for three tendays? You want to know why I chased off those thugs and stitched you up when they almost killed you? I'll tell you. You're God Touched."
The assassin recoiled as if she had slapped him, paling. His reaction astonished Lilu. He knew. She crept closer to kneel before him, placing a hand on his knee in a timid gesture, terrified that he would leap up and leave.
"I know. It shines from you in a white light. I know something else, too. I know a cat follows you. A dead cat."
His face was so ashen she thought he was about to pass out. He stared at her as if she had reached into his chest and plucked out his heart.
"What is his name?" he whispered.
"Rivan."
He looked away. "You have no right to know that."
"But I do."
"How?"
"I... I can't tell you that."
"Are you a witch?"
"No!"
He glared at the wall, his mouth a grim line.
Lilu shifted a little closer. "You knew it, didn't you? You know you're God Touched."
His eyes flicked down to her, as frigid as a blizzard. "My father called me that."
"Then he knew it too."
"I don't even know what it is."
"Legend says that it means Tinsharon has touched you," she said. "When you were born, you died, and he restored you. Now he guides you. That makes you God Touched."
"He has brought me nothing but pain."
"No. He saved you. Through me, and others too, doubtless."
His frosty gaze made her shiver. "How do you know about Rivan?"
"I've seen him. He follows you still, and watches. He's waiting for you to die."
"Yet you saved me."
"You have a destiny to fulfil. That's all I know."
"How do you know?"
She shook her head. "I can't say."
"You will never speak of this again." He glowered at the wall. "I can't kill without a client, and you can't pay me. Fourteen silvers isn't enough."
"But you will help me."
Blade rose, jerking his knee from her grip. "I'll consider it."
Lilu sagged as the door banged shut. Crawling back onto the bed, she stared at the mildewed ceiling.
"I know you will," she whispered, and a trill of soft laughter echoed in her mind.
Blade crouched atop a steep, brown-tiled roof that overlooked the house where the drover, Tromar, dwelt, watching the windows and doors. Its white-washed walls had not seen a fresh coat for decades, and soot streaked them. The grey slate roof sagged in places, and several window panes were cracked. Washing lines spanned the gap to its neighbour, an equally rundown brick house with a red-tiled roof. The street was cobbled, since this area was not part of the slums, and several houses on it boasted stables with skinny inmates. Late afternoon sunlight gilded the shabby neighbourhood, and birds sought roosts for the night.
A child's high-pitched wails echoed down the street, coming from within Tromar's house, and raised voices, a man shouting and a woman weeping, mingled with them. Apparently Tromar's son was causing trouble already. A crash of breaking pottery cut through the man's angry bellows, followed by a shriek of pain and the crack of leather on flesh. Blade wondered who Tromar was beating, his wife or his son. Probably the former, he mused, since he had only found his son a few time-glasses earlier. Dusk crept through the city on gloomy feet, filling the streets with shadow.
Lilu's habit of bearing her customers' children caused plenty of trouble, it seemed, and a part of Blade was glad he would never have that problem. He had resigned himself to it over the years, and, while the thought of a son had a great deal of appeal, he knew it would never be. Tromar was a vicious bully who did not deserve a son, and divesting him of his precious offspring would be satisfying. It did not fit into any of the compartments that Blade had created in his mind to justify his actions, however.
It was not his trade, nor was it vengeance, nor could he accept it as repayment for Lilu's aid. He had repaid that plenty already, and assassins were not supposed to have friends. She was not his friend, though, he told himself often, and now she knew too much. Her words had shocked him to the core, and he wanted to know how she knew. He returned his attention to the house as the shrieks rose to a crescendo, then died away to broken sobs. The child continued to scream, and a man emerged from the dilapidated dwelling, slammed the door behind him and stormed away up the street, probably heading for the closest taproom. Blade recognised Tromar from his swaggering gait and stocky build, and the big brown bear that shambled after him. He considered the house again, weighing his plan.
Tromar's exit had left the front door unlocked, but there was still a woman inside. Her weeping came from a room on the top floor, however, and the child's screams came from downstairs. Blade glanced up and down the street to assure himself of its emptiness, then slid from the roof to land on the cobbles with a soft thud. With silent strides he reached the door and yanked it open, the boy's shrieks assaulting his ears. They emanated from the lounge, where two shabby brown sofas faced an empty hearth. On one, a boy wrapped in a grey blanket sat and screamed, tears running down his cheeks and snot oozing from his nose. Blade went over to him and bent to press his fingertips to the child's soft throat, silencing him. Scooping up the limp boy, he left the house and trotted up the street.
Blade stopped in a dim alley to check the toddler, his nose wrinkling at the foul stench that came from the boy's nether regions. Disgusted, he loped towards the slums, where a frantic mother doubtless wept for her malodourous offspring. The Master of the Dance, reduced to child snatching. Lilu would owe him for this for the rest of her life, especially if it caused more trouble with Tromar. He considered stashing the child somewhere until Tromar had visited Lilu and discovered that she did not have his son, but the drover would, in all likelihood, kill her.
What was more, the boy would wake soon and resume his shrieks, drawing attention from far and wide. The thought of handing him over to Lilu, and thereby doing exactly what she had asked of him, rankled. He was not a pawn to be manipulated by tears, pleas or demands. Yet here he was, heading for his haunt with her smelly son. It would set a bad precedent, and she might think she could make similar demands in the future. He considered tossing the boy in the river, but that was an assassination and he had no client. Snatching the child had been easy; finding a way to give him back without appearing to do so was a far tougher problem.
By the time he arrived at the whorehouse, he had failed to come up with a solution, and the child was on the brink of waking. Banging into the whore's room, he marched over to the bed where a plump form huddled and kicked the frame.
"Lilu, wake up."
The whore sat up, rubbing her eyes, and he thrust the child into her arms, swinging away when she gave a shriek of joy and clutched the boy to her breast. He slammed the door so hard on his way out that it almost bounced off its hinges. Angrily he sniffed his sleeves as he entered the taproom, ensuring that none of the child's stink had rubbed off on him. Banging on the counter to summon the barkeep, he demanded a bottle of wine and retreated to his shadowy corner with it, thoroughly fed up. When wails came from the back room, the brothel keeper looked around with a scowl. Children were not allowed in the whorehouse. The keeper headed for the whores' rooms, but Blade caught his eye and raised a finger, wagging it. Rendal returned to the bar, looking sour.
Within minutes, the wails faded, and Blade tried not to imagine how Lilu had stopped the boy's crying. After a time-glass of silence, during which he drained the bottle of dry red wine, curiosity got the better of him and he went to Lilu's room. It was empty, and he flopped down on the bed with a sigh, closing his eyes. His hip still ached sometimes, and the wine made him sleepy.
The creak of the door woke him, and he sat up in darkness. His keen eyes made out Lilu groping to the table to light a candle with the tinderbox. He squinted in the illumination, frowning. She spotted him and gasped, squealed and rushed at him. Blade raised his hands to ward her off, but she pounced on him, flattening him under her bulk. She stank of sweat and what he suspected was milk or something just as revolting.
"Get off me, Lilu!" He tried to push her away, but she wound her arms around his neck and hung on.
"I knew you'd get him back," she mumbled into the side of his neck.
"Get off!"
"No." She raised her head to gaze down at him, her eyes shimmering. "Thank you."
He glared at her, his nose wrinkled. "You stink as bad as that damned brat."
She giggled. "There's nothing you can say that will offend me now. I love you so much."
"I almost tossed the bloody little shitter in the river."
"No you didn't."
"Yes, I did."
"Liar." She stroked his cheek, and he jerked his head to the side.
"Quit pawing me and get off."
She smiled and kissed his cheek. "You're so soft. Now that I have you at my mercy, I think I'll enjoy it for a bit."
"Oh, you think so?"
"I do." She nodded. "I've wanted to get my hands on you for a long time, but you're usually as slippery as an eel. Did you have too much wine tonight?"
"It would seem so."
"You're not blushing for a change, but apart from telling me to get off, you don't know what to say, do you?"
He turned his head to glower at her, immensely uncomfortable with her proximity and striving not to show it. "You stink."
"Ah, that won't work either, I'm afraid. I probably do, but I don't care if it offends you."
"This is the thanks I get?"
"Yes, actually, it is." She hugged him, ignoring his shudder. "If you really wanted me gone," she murmured, "I know you could do it."
"I'd have to find a new haunt after killing a whore."
"No you wouldn't. Rendal would be happy to be rid of me."
He sighed. "I'm not enjoying this, Lilu."
"But I am. I won't let you boss me around. I need a hug sometimes, you know, and I think you do too."
"No I don't."
She raised her head to study him again, tracing his lips with a finger. "Is Tromar dead?"
"No. I don't kill without a client."
Her eyes filled with dread. "He'll come after me. He'll kill me to get Endel back."
"Probably."
"Will you let him?"
"If you don't get off me, I might."
She smiled and shook her head. "It's a good thing I don't believe your lies any more. There was a time when I did, but I know you better now."
"Not well enough to predict me."
"Perhaps not, but I know I'm right about this. You need me. Where else will you go when you're hurt?"
He snorted, shifting. "Assassins have managed without helpful whores for centuries."
"And yet, without me, you'd have died twice... no, three times already. You court death more than most, and one day it's going to take you."
"Good." He averted his eyes. "You're mistaken if you think I fear it."
"And yet you seek me out when you're hurt. Why is that then?"
"It's painful."
"Ah. So it's the pain you fear?"
"I'm not fond of it, no."
Lilu gripped his chin and forced him to look at her. "Don't you dare throw your life away. It's more precious than you know, especially to me."
"Because I've helped you a little in the past? Don't count on any more, it may not be forthcoming."
"You hate anyone knowing that you're a good man, but I already do, so there's not need to try to hide it from me any longer."
Blade raised a hand to take hers in a soft hold that made her glance down at it in surprise. His fingers tightened on her middle finger, and he yanked back on it. Lilu recoiled with a yelp, sliding off to land on the floor with a grunt. He sat up and frowned at her.
"Now my patience has ended. You should've let me go earlier, instead of forcing me to hurt you."
She levered herself up, nursing her finger. "It's not a slit throat, though."
He swung his legs off the bed. "You're not dead only because of my trade, not because I have any fondness for you."
"Rubbish." She quailed a little when he glared at her. "All right, have it your way. What about Tromar?"
"What about him?"
"You know he's going to come here and try to kill me."
Blade yawned and stretched. "I hope he succeeds."
She sighed and struggled to her feet, then sat beside him. "I know what you're going to do."
"Do you now?"
"Yes. When he comes, you'll make him attack you, then you'll be able to kill him in self-defence."
"If you annoy me any further, I'll let him give you a good beating first."
Lilu smiled and tried to slip her arm through his, but he jumped up and headed for the taproom, slamming the door behind him.
The following night, Blade glanced up when a commotion started at the brothel's door, where a brawny man shoved patrons aside, his scarred face twisted in a murderous scowl. The assassin recognised Tromar's battered countenance and tensed, glancing at Lilu, who met his eyes with wide, frightened ones. He allowed a slight smile to curl his lips, raising his wine cup, as if to wish her luck. It would serve her right if she thought he would allow the drover to beat her to death. She was becoming far too impertinent.
Tromar's beady, bloodshot eyes roamed the room and came to rest on Lilu, who jumped up and headed for the back rooms. Blade sighed and shook his head at her stupidity. If she had stayed in the taproom, the brothel's bounder boys might have come to her rescue, but in the back room she was on her own unless she screamed loudly enough to force Rendal to do something. Tromar roared and stomped after her, shoving men and whores alike from his path. Lilu slipped through the curtain with a shriek of terror, the drover in hot pursuit.
Blade cocked his head and listened to the door slam, closely followed by a crash as it was kicked down. Many of the patrons turned to stare in the direction of the sounds, some glancing at Blade, who resented their obvious assumption that he would help the harlot. A muffled scream came from the back room, and Rendal turned his head to look at Blade. The assassin slugged back the last of his wine, rose to his feet and wandered towards the ruckus.
The door of Lilu's room lay on the floor, ripped from its hinges by the powerful kick that had left a boot-shaped impression in it. Blade shuddered to think what a kick like that could do to his ribs, or worse still, his face. He had no intention of tangling with the brute. Leaning on the frame, he watched the pair struggling on the bed. Tromar straddled Lilu, his hands gripping her throat, and her face was turning blue.
"Where ith he, you bitch? What have you done with my thon?" he bellowed, spittle flying from his lips.
"She can't tell you if she can't breathe," Blade drawled when Tromar drew breath.
The drover glared at him. "Bugger off, you little dandy!"
Lilu clawed at Tromar's eyes, making him grunt and raise his head, tightening his grip. She coughed and writhed.
Blade raised a hand and inspected his fingernails. He would have to speed this up, or Tromar would strangle her. "Have you ever wondered who bashed your face in, Tromar?"
The drover turned to gape at him, and his grip loosened, allowing the whore to draw a wheezing breath. "Who?"
"You never saw me, did you?"
"You? You're a runt!"
"Ah well, even a runt can bring a big man down when armed with a sturdy plank."
Tromar's eyes bulged, and Blade got the impression that the drover had been trying to find out who had smashed his face ever since it had happened. His lust for vengeance overcame his wish to find his son, which, Blade supposed, he thought he could still do once he had dealt with the assassin, and he released Lilu and climbed off the bed.
"I'm going to rip your armth off and thtomp your fathe into the street," the drover rumbled, closing the gap.
Blade pushed himself away from the doorframe and headed for the back door, Tromar in pursuit. Out in the street, Blade turned to face his aggressor, noting the big brown bear that waited there for its friend, rooting in the garbage. Such a dangerous familiar made the situation more complicated, and he had no doubt the animal would outlive its friend. Blade wondered why the bear waited outside the back door when Tromar had come in the front, and deduced that it was probably because the drover had planned to kill Lilu once he had the information he wanted, and then leave through the back door. Tromar cracked his knuckles, a disgusting mannerism all bullies seemed to share, his face twisted with hatred. Blade circled away from his foe.
"You're no uglier now than you were before," he said. "If anything, it's something of an improvement."
"You're a dead man."
"Am I now? That sounds like a threat."
"It'th a promith." Tromar lunged at him, fists swinging.
Blade skipped back out of reach. "It's not a good idea to threaten the Master of the Dance."
Tromar paused, his eyes glinting. "Ith that what you are? I thought you were a bugger-boy from the brothel."
"No such luck, I'm afraid."
The drover raked him with a disparaging glance. "You may be good at thneaking into bedrooms and thlitting men'th throats while they thleep, but you've got no chanth againth me."
"You think I'm going to fight you?"
"You have no choith, becauth I'm going to beat you to a bloody pulp, whether you do or not." Tromar stepped towards him.
Blade retreated. He had hoped the drover would draw the ugly knife in his belt, but evidently he was not that stupid. Although there were no witnesses to the fracas, Blade had no intention of letting the big man lay a finger on him. He was tired of injuries and the pain that accompanied them. A glance at the door found Lilu in it, her face pale, her eyes fixed on him. She was not much of a witness, but she would have to do. He should have led Tromar through the common room, he realised, but it was too late now. The drover lunged at him, his beefy fists skimming past the assassin's chest as he jumped back, releasing the daggers from their wrist sheaths. They slid into his hands, warm and smooth, and he raised them. Tromar's eyes widened.
The first dagger hit him in the eye, the second impaled his throat. The drover stumbled to a halt, his mouth working, and his hands rose to grip the hilts. Blood ran down his chest, soaking his shirt in a crimson tide. He teetered, gurgling, and plucked the dagger from his eye. His knees buckled, and he sank onto them, making horrible gargling sounds. The bear swung around with a growl and charged. Blade sprinted for the nearest drainpipe, and Lilu stepped back, slamming the door. The assassin shinnied up the pipe with remarkable speed, even for him, which was not surprising considering the shaggy behemoth that raked the wall below him with six-inch claws.
Blade pulled himself onto the roof, which creaked ominously, and flattened himself on it to spread his weight. The bear growled and scrabbled at the wall, ripping the drainpipe off in its zeal. It gave the peculiar grunting roar that bears made, a sound filled with grief and rage. Blade peered over the edge when it fell silent. The animal shambled over to its friend and licked the drover's face. Tromar lay on his back and still shuddered and twitched, blood pooling under his neck. The bear snuffled and nudged him, moaning, then lay down beside him and rested a huge paw on his chest. Blade almost pitied the beast, but not quite. Tromar would be dead in a few more minutes, but it would be a while before the animal left, and until then Blade would not be able to retrieve his daggers.
The assassin crawled over the roof and dropped to the street in front of the brothel, pushing open the door to saunter inside. Many of the patrons turned to stare at him, probably wondering how he had got to the front door so fast when he had left through the back mere minutes ago. The brothel stood in a row of buildings that ran the length of the street, so there was no way to run around to the front door that quickly. Rendal eyed him, polishing a cup. Blade brushed dirt from his jacket and headed for the back room, sweeping aside the curtain.
Lilu sat on her bed, weeping, and looked up with swollen, red-rimmed eyes when he strolled in. She rose with a glad cry and came at him, her arms spread. Blade tried to evade her, cursing, but she flung her arms around him and clung to him.
"Bugger it, Lilu, let me go," he said.
"That was horrible."
"Did you expect it to be entertaining?"
"I... No, but gods, he stood no chance, did he?"
He snorted, trying to extricate his arms from her grip. "No."
"Why didn't he use his knife?"
"Whose side were you on?"
"Yours, of course." She looked up at him. "I just didn't think it would be so easy for you."
"Oh, you thought I'd let him beat me up first?"
"I thought he might hurt you."
"But that didn't stop you from asking me to kill him."
"I didn't want you to be hurt," she said. "If you had taken the silvers and assassinated him, you wouldn't have been, but you wouldn't. All because of your pride!"
Blade jerked his arms free and shoved her away. "You're an ungrateful trollop."
"I only meant..." She held out her hands in a pleading gesture. "I don't want you to be hurt. I couldn't bear it."
"I've earned the right to be proud of what I do." He spread his arms. "You think becoming the Dance Master is easy? You think I should sell my services for a few damned silvers? That I gave you!" He kicked the chair across the room with a shriek of tortured wood. "I should change my haunt, and then we'll see what happens to you."
"No, please. I just... I was afraid for you!"
"Killing is what I do, you stupid whore. It's my trade! Once I decided to kill him, he was a dead man, no matter how I did it. You don't understand that, do you?"
"You've been hurt before."
"Only when set upon by a gang of louts in a dark alley when I was so drunk I could barely walk. And then, when I was cornered by a dozen armed men, most of whom I killed. One stupid drover was never a threat."
"And the last time?"
"What last time? Oh, that." He sank down on the bed, running a hand over his hair. "That was different."
"How?" She sat on the chair, gazing at him.
"He was a rogue assassin, and I had to confront him in the street, since I didn't know his name or where he lived."
"I'm glad you're all right." She hesitated. "Will you have trouble with the Watch?"
"No. He attacked me. Many people saw him follow me outside, and what happened after that isn't hard to guess." He flopped back, rubbing his face. "I would have gone out the front, but I thought the damned bear would be out there. Instead it was at the back, so he was planning to kill you whether or not you told him where his son was."
She nodded, bowing her head. "I thought he would."
"You'd better not birth any more bastards whose fathers I have to kill."
Lilu turned and leant over him, reaching out to stroke his brow. "Thank you."
Blade sighed and closed his eyes, tolerating her touch for a change. Her soft hand soothed his aching head, and, while he resented her assumption that she could paw him, he found that he did not mind so much anymore.
Blade sipped his wine and gazed across the seedy taproom with bored eyes. Two years had passed since the birth of Lilu's fourth child, a strapping, bellowing girl who had come into the world without his aid, to his relief. The midwife had visited the broken-nosed whore in her room, and three time-glasses later had emerged with a wet, wriggling infant and attempted to hand it to him, assuming him to be the father, since he had been hanging around outside. Blade had fled, which had enraged the midwife and amused Lilu. She had been delighted with her second daughter, despite the child's bright red hair and freckles, which had confirmed her sire as the blacksmith, Oxan.
The assassin's glance brushed past Lilu, who sat with Oxan, still one of her few regular clients, giggling and tickling him as she tried to temp him to her room. Her waist thickened with her fifth child. Blade suspected that it had the same sire as her fourth, whose big bones and course features came from her sire. Hopefully this one would be a boy, who at least would not suffer for his ugliness. Blade suspected that Lilu's daughters would be forced to follow their mother's trade, since the plain girl had lank mouse-brown hair and timid brown eyes set in an insipid face. Endel was now a big, handsome boy of four, of whom Lilu was inordinately proud.
Blade glanced at a clutch of five young, giggling noblewomen whose glossy hair framed pretty, doe-eyed faces with dimples and pouty mouths, their necks and ears adorned with jewels. They shot him flirtatious looks as they sipped their wine, licking their lips in blatant invitation. Only for the Master of the Dance, though. Four hopeful men had already been spurned with sharp words and hard looks. He suspected that if he chose to wander over to their table, they would welcome him with warm smiles and soft eyes. They had been eyeing him for a time-glass already, but he had no intention of taking their bait.
Blade yawned and toyed with his wine cup, glancing at the late afternoon sunlight that slanted in through the windows to pattern the dirty rushes. Business was slow, and he contemplated going to Lilu's room to rest, but that would make it impossible for her to lure Oxan there, and she would not be pleased. His attention was drawn to the tableful of noblewomen when they pushed back their chairs and rose. They approached his table in its gloomy corner, their expressions a little hesitant, but determined. Blade leant back, a stray shaft of light making his silver-studded Dance Master's belt glitter. The girls gazed at it, then at him, and giggled.
The boldest, a girl with mahogany hair and dark blue eyes, gestured to the bench opposite him.
"May we join you, Dance Master?"
He shrugged. "It's a free kingdom."
They all squeezed onto the bench, pushing, pinching and giggling, and leant over the table to display their cleavages. The boldest smiled at him, and he returned it, making her blush.
She licked her lips. "What is your fee?"
"Depends on the kill."
"For a hard... one?"
"Fifty to a hundred goldens."
"That is expensive."
He sipped his wine. "I'm the Master of the Dance."
"You have been the Dance Master for some time now, have you not?"
"Seven years."
"How do you... kill people?"
He gazed across the room. "With a dagger."
She leant closer still, almost slopping her wine. "Could we watch?"
"Who do you want dead?"
"Well..." She glanced at her cohorts, who nudged her. "I will tell you when you collect your down payment. Will you come to the Peacock's Nest at midnight tonight?"
"I could."
"Good. Room 15."
Blade inclined his head, then glanced at Lilu, who bore down on him with a grim expression. The girls looked up at her when she stopped beside him, her arms akimbo. Blade rocked his bench back, wondering what she was going to do this time. He groaned when she plonked herself down in his lap, grimacing at her weight. She clasped her belly and, he assumed, frowned at the girls, who looked startled, rather like rabbits catching sight of a prowling fox.
"He's not interested," she said. "How dare you flirt with him?"
Blade grasped her waist and tried to push her off, but she gripped the table. "Lilu, bugger off. They're customers."
The whore snorted. "Rubbish. They want you in their bed, like the nasty little strumpets they are."
The girls blushed and almost fell over each other in their haste to quit Blade's table, fleeing the brothel. Lilu turned to him.
"You're so gullible, Blade. They don't want anyone dead."
"They said they did."
"Shows how much you know."
"You could be wrong."
She shook her head. "I'm not."
"Well I'm still going to go and find out."
"They'll try to seduce you."
"Then I'll leave."
She cocked her head. "Why not take advantage of what they offer? They're pretty."
"Maybe I will."
"Maybe you should."
"Then why did you chase them away?" He smiled. "Are you jealous?"
"Maybe I am."
"You don't own me."
"Oh, but I do. You're my assassin."
He snorted. "No I'm not. Get off me."
The whore rose just as Oxan marched up, scowling at Blade. The blacksmith gripped Lilu's arm and towed her through the curtain at the back of the taproom. Blade sipped his wine and sighed. Lilu had her two coppers, thanks to a bit of jealousy on Oxan's part, it seemed. Little did the blacksmith know that he was the father of two of Lilu's brats, nor would he have cared, since his wife had borne him fourteen ugly children now, and also had another on the way. Soon he would spurn Lilu when she grew too swollen, for he had an aversion to pregnant women, ironic in a man who impregnated so many. The red-haired whore, Jezzel, had also borne him a child last summer. Blade finished his wine and left the brothel, heading back to his rooms to rest, since he had to be sober to meet his possible clients at midnight.
Blade woke after dusk and dressed, tucking all six of his daggers into their various sheaths. At the brothel, he found Lilu in her room, nursing a bruised cheek and an aching head. Oxan, it seemed, had not taken kindly to her flirting with the assassin that afternoon, and she was a little the worse for wear. She welcomed him with a happy smile, however, and he ate a meal in her room while she plied him with chatter.
Afterwards, he returned to the common room to nurse a cup of wine until midnight, then set off for the Peacock's Nest. Almost all of his noble clientele asked him to meet them there, and he knew it well. His route to the balcony was well worn, and he found the door to room 15 unlocked. He pushed it open and slipped inside, surprised to find only one girl waiting for him in the sitting room. Soft giggles from the curtained doorway to the bedchamber, however, told him that the others were there, and Lilu was probably right. The mahogany-haired girl greeted him with a shy smile, her cheeks reddening as she rose from the sofa before the fire.
Blade stopped beside the hearth. "So, who do you want dead?"
She looked flustered. "Will you have some wine, while we discuss it?"
"There's nothing to discuss. You tell me his name, address and familiar, describe him and give me the down payment. I'm not interested in anything else."
She shot him a coy smile. "Are you sure about that?"
"Positive."
"You have not yet heard my proposition." She strolled closer.
Blade raked her with hard eyes, noticing that, while she appeared to be modestly attired, the blue velvet gown owned only one fastening at her waist, and a sheer white garment peeped through the gaps. He surmised that she could shed it at the drop of a hat. Her blatant coquetry angered him, as had so many before her, and he made a point of humiliating such women, who wasted his time. Yet he always came away from the situations humiliated himself, which angered him further.
The assassin tilted his head and forced a slight smile. She stared at him, then tried to take his hand, but he stepped back, foiling her.
"Will you come with me, so I can show you?" She gestured towards the bedroom.
Blade followed when she headed for it, and she paused before sweeping aside the velvet curtain to reveal a lushly furnished chamber with a vast bed at its centre and no less than seven naked girls reclining on it. The girl smiled when he cast a startled glance at her, and raised her brows.
"What do you think?" she purred, becoming more confident in the presence of her peers.
"If you want all of them dead, that will be three hundred and fifty goldens."
She looked puzzled and a little shocked. "How can you say such a thing? I do not want them dead."
"Then what do you want with an assassin?"
"You are the Master of the Dance, no common assassin."
"I assure you, I am a common assassin, just the best in my Guild."
She stepped closer, her hand seeking the clasp at her waist. "We are all virgins, Master Blade, and we want you to deflower us."
"Do you now?" He took refuge in flippancy while he recovered his aplomb, schooling his features to a bland expression.
"Yes. Are we not beautiful?" She shrugged off the gown and let it fall, revealing a sheer white garment that did nothing to hide her nakedness. "We will pay you, naturally. Fifty goldens, I believe it was."
"To kill a man." He paused, eyeing her. "Deflowering maidens is not amongst my services. You require a bully boy for that." He named a particularly vile breed of Jondarian male who hired themselves out to rich noblewomen and were well known as rapists to boot.
Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "We do not want a bully boy; we want the Master of the Dance, and you are handsome, doubtless as skilled a lover as you are a killer."
"Why, because so many noble trollops have tried to seduce me?" He cocked his head again. "Do you know how many have succeeded?"
"Many, I am sure. Many have bragged about it, for certain."
"Have they? Then they are liars."
"You jest, surely? A man such as you must have had many conquests."
The girl placed a hand on his chest, tugging at the laces that bound his jacket. He knew what she wanted so much to see, and allowed her to pull open his collar. She touched the black dagger tattoo at the base of his throat, her breath quickening. Two other girls rose and approached him, and he doubted that any of them were maidens, from their bold looks and shameless nakedness. They made him extremely uncomfortable, however, since he was sure he was the only virgin in the room. How ironic that so many beautiful noblewomen longed to seduce him. A eunuch. For the first time, he admitted what he was to himself, and his anger rose in a black tide that he had not experienced since his late teens.
Blade smiled and raised his hands to cup her face, and she returned it, her eyes sparkling.
"You will not tempt me, little slut," he said. "I am immune to your kind, no matter how much you flaunt yourself. I sell death, not... what you want."
Her eyes widened. "How can you spurn us?"
"Easily."
His fingers slid down to the edge of her jaw and then to her throat, and tightened. She slumped senseless to the floor, banging her head on it quite hard. The rest of the girls twittered and retreated when he advanced upon them.
"Who else would like to die this night?" he enquired.
They backed away, shaking their heads.
"When you hire an assassin, in particular me, beware. I sell nothing but death. I am a killer. Is that what you want?" He snorted. "And yet I see that it is. You are disgusting little harlots."
"Why do you refuse?" a raven-haired beauty with limpid dark eyes demanded. "We are beautiful. Is it that fat whore with the broken face who was with you in the filthy taproom where you reside? She is uglier than a pig's rear end."
Blade considered her. "Insults now? She is worth ten of you, for she must sell herself to live, while you think you can buy anything you want." He turned his head and spat. "Get yourselves a bully boy if you have a yen to poke a commoner."
She glanced down at her friend. "If you have harmed her, you will answer to the Watch, and our fathers will see to it that you pay."
"Your fathers should lock you up until they find husbands to satisfy you. She may have a sore head, nothing more."
Blade swung away and quit the room with its cloying perfume and naked girls, his anger growing. On the way back to the brothel, he thought about the name he had given himself at last. The truth. He was a eunuch, deprived of the pleasures of the flesh, or perhaps above them. There was a measure of comfort and pride in that. He wished he was not as he was, and able to take what they offered. That wish was futile, he knew, although it had taken him a decade to admit it, all hope was gone now. The black tide threatened to engulf him, and he glanced sideways as he marched along the street, almost certain that a black cat walked beside him. Was his madness returning? Yet Lilu had seen Rivan, too.
By the time Blade reached the brothel, he wanted to kill someone. Anyone. All his old urges rushed back to fill the void of his self-esteem and stolen manhood, and he found himself outside Lilu's door, not even sure how he had got there. He pushed it open and marched in, intending to fling himself onto the bed and rest for a while, until he calmed down. Glimpsing moving shapes in the gloom, he swung away with a curse, slamming the door behind him.
Out on the street again, he strode along, not caring where he went. A Maiden Moon sank towards the rooftops, seeming to mock him further. A desperate voice called his name, and he glanced back. Lilu ran after him, clasping a robe around her. He swore and walked faster. She called his name again and again, refusing to give up, her bare feet slapping on the dirt. Why did she not leave him alone? The black tide nibbled at his sanity, and a shadow seemed to follow him, sleek, swift and silent. He wanted to be alone. It was his natural state of being. He would always be alone. Except for the ugly whore who was stupid enough to crave his friendship, and would probably pay for it with her life one day.
Blade stopped and swung around, becoming aware that he stood beside one of the filthy parks that were found in the slums. Whatever trees had once populated it had long since been chopped down to feed paupers' fires, and beggars slept in it, fouling it with their excrement and dirty bodies. Blade hated this stinking city. Lilu ran up to him and stopped, gazing at him intently.
"What's wrong?"
"Bugger off."
"It's those girls, isn't it? They tried to seduce you."
"It's none of your damned business."
"Blade..." She stepped closer, reaching for him, but he took a pace back.
"It doesn't concern you."
"Don't push me away, too. I've done nothing wrong. Hate them, not me."
His lip curled, and his hand caressed the hilt of a dagger in his belt. "You disgust me, too."
"No, you're angry with them, and you have a right to be. I tried to warn you." She reached for him again, but he backed away, shaking his head.
"All right," she said, "just talk to me, please. Tell me what's wrong. What happened?"
Blade turned his head to gaze down the street. How could he tell her the truth? How could he tell anyone what he truly was? The Jondarian Master of the Dance was not even a real man. He was just a killer, useless for anything else. Why was he even alive? Why did people keep saving him? Especially this broken-nosed, gap-toothed whore.
Why had he fallen into a fever after he had killed the rogue assassin? Was it to do with what the Watch commander had told him those bits of shrivelled flesh were that the rogue had collected and made into a macabre necklace? It was the closest thing to evil he had encountered since he had left the Cotti camp. He became aware that Lilu stood close to him, her hand raised. The black tide surged, and he found his daggers in his hands, poised beside her neck.
She shook her head. "You don't want to kill me."
"No one will miss you," he said.
"You will."
He pressed the flat of a blade to her skin, making her shiver. "They offered me fifty goldens to deflower eight of them."
"They were not maidens."
Blade imagined the blood that would flow if he drew the weapon across the pulsing vein in her throat. The thought did not thrill him. It never did. Killing held no joy. Nothing did. She raised a hand and gripped the blade, and he frowned, wondering if she was stupid enough to slice her fingers. He met her eyes, which pleaded, dark and moist in the moonlight. Glittering trails ran down her cheeks. Why did she weep? He had not harmed her.
"I love you," she whispered.
Blade released the daggers and stepped back, turning away. One weapon clattered to the cobblestones, the other remained in her hand. She bent to pick up the fallen one. He raised his hands and stared at them. He still wanted to kill someone, and there was only one person he loathed more than any other. Himself. She stepped in front of him, annoying him with her persistence. She should run from him. Anyone with an iota of intelligence would, in his current mood. She had seen Rivan; she knew the ghost that haunted him. The cold hilts of his daggers filled his palms as she pressed them into his hands. She stepped closer, playing with ice, he mused. Tempting fate. The anger had drained out of him, leaving him empty. Frozen. He had always been frozen, it seemed.
Lilu slid her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his chest. No one had the right to trust him that much. He was not trustworthy. Why did she cling to a killer? He returned the daggers to their belt sheaths with soft snicks and shoved her away, breaking her hold and making her stagger back. She hugged herself, shivering.
"Go home, Lilu. Go back to your lover. I want to be alone."
She shook her head. "I don't think --"
"I don't care what you think. Stop following me."
Blade strode away, annoyed when she pattered after him again. She was liable to catch a cold, or be attacked by thugs, half dressed as she was. He wanted to wash off the cloying scent of the girl's perfume, which seemed to have soaked into his clothes, and assailed his nose from time to time, but he could not return to his rooms with Lilu in tow. He stopped and swung around again.
"Go home!"
She stumbled to a halt. "Where are you going?"
"To my rooms."
"Are you all right?"
He spread his arms. "Wonderful, now bugger off."
She glanced around with a shiver. "It's a long way back to the brothel. Can I stay with you tonight?"
"You shouldn't have followed me."
"I was worried about --"
"I don't need you worrying about me. Gods!" He swung away, running a hand over his hair.
"Yes you do. You need someone to care about you, because you hate yourself so much. And you shouldn't. You did nothing wrong. Why did you come to my room, if not to speak to me? What did you want to talk to me about?"
"Nothing." He shook his head.
"Then we don't need to talk, just let me stay with you tonight. I'll sleep on the floor," she added quickly. "I won't be any trouble."
"Why do you persist?"
"You know why." She walked nearer. "You push everyone away, but for some reason you've allowed me to get closer to you than most, and I'm glad. Tonight you need someone. I know you do, and I won't abandon you now just because you're in a foul mood. I've weathered your storms before and I'm still here, unscathed. Even now, you won't leave me here alone. You could if you wished, I know. Of course, you'll never admit to caring about anyone, but I know you do. What sort of friend would I be if I left you alone now?"
"You're not my friend."
"But you are mine. Whether you like it or not."
Blade studied her ugly face and wondered why her presence, bothersome though it was, seemed to have drained the anger out of him. The black tide had receded, leaving only the cold emptiness that he had come to know so well. It defined him. He cast his mind back to the time when he had lain injured in her bed, and how he had kept returning after he had recovered, as if drawn to her. Gratitude, perhaps, at first, but it had grown into something more. An attachment. The only one he had, tenuous though it was.
Lilu cherished him, and he was still cat kin, after all. He liked to be cherished. No matter how much he pushed her away, she clung to him and spoke the words he longed, deep down, to hear, much as he denied it. He was an empty man with a horrific past and a bleak future, yet she would not let him go. She knew what he was, some of it, at least, but more than any other, and perhaps all that he wished anyone to ever know. He had grown a little gentler from knowing her, and she chased the black rage away.
He held out his hand. "Come, then."
Lilu looked startled, but slipped her hand into his with an uncertain smile, and he wondered if his unexpected action unnerved her. Quite possibly. It did not matter. The darkness had left his soul... for now.
Blade stared into his wine cup, fed up with the tolling of the great golden bell that echoed through the city. For the first day of mourning, the populace of Jondar had vented its grief in singing, prostration towards the distant palace and visits to temples to light flames and pour water for the dying Queen. Tashi-Mansa had reached her fiftieth year, and taken the Queen's Cup. The initial fervour had died down, and an air of desolation hung over the city. Blade found it odd, since Jashimari queens were distant, invisible women whom commoners were lucky if they saw once in their lifetimes. That was when the newly crowned Queen stood upon the Plinth of Power outside her gold-plated palace and pledged herself to her people and the Endless War.
That happened every five and twenty years, when the Elder Queen drank poison and died. As traditions went, it was pretty macabre, he thought, but served to ensure that Jashimari queens did not live long enough to become senile and dangerous, as had happened once, ages ago. The great golden bell in its tower tolled for three days, by the end of which the Elder Queen was dead. Her daughter was crowned mere time-glasses after the old Queen took the poison, however. The coronation took place within the palace, unseen by commoners, who packed the streets around it to glimpse the young Queen when she emerged and ascended the Plinth to make her pledge.
Curiosity had driven Blade to a rooftop not far from the palace gates, which gave him an excellent view of the Plinth. The gates had swung open at the appointed time, just as Queen Minna-Satu had emerged from the palace's arched doorway and paced down the long, tree-lined avenue that led to the Plinth. Blade recalled the mighty golden sand cat that had walked at her side, a jewelled collar around her throat. The Queen's familiar. He had used his spyglass to gain a better view of the young Queen in her sweeping turquoise gown and sheath of golden chain mail. Twenty handmaidens had carried the fur-lined train that stretched behind her, and curled white plumes had bobbed in her hair.
From his vantage, he had watched her ascend the steps that ran up the back of the Plinth to the top, where attendants waited to hand her a six-foot sceptre. Her small stature had surprised him. She had waited for the golden bell to peal, and, as the sound faded, she had spread her arms and cried the brief pledge before the next peal sounded.
"I pledge myself to you, Jashimari! From this day forth, for five and twenty years, I am your queen. I shall defend Jashimari. I shall uplift its people and uphold your honour. I shall end the Endless War!"
The crowd had cheered and trumpets blared, then the golden bell had drowned them all out. Queen Minna-Satu had turned and descended the Plinth, her duty done, and Blade had frowned at her proclamation. It puzzled him still. End the Endless War? How was that possible? Why would she wish it? By the time the young Queen had re-entered the palace, he had shrugged it off. Certainly it made no difference to him what she vowed to do.
Three days later, the city seemed to hold its breath while it waited for the last peal of the bell that it would not hear again for another five and twenty years.
Blade sipped his wine and glanced at Rendal, who polished cups behind the counter. The taproom was empty apart from him and Lilu, who dozed on a bench in the corner, her mouth open. Most chose not to drink, and some did not eat either, during the Elder Queen's three dying days, out of respect. Blade had not changed his habits, however. He had no interest in queens, dying or otherwise. Ironically, tomorrow would be a day of manic celebrations, and the taproom would no doubt be packed. The assassin did not plan to partake in that, either.
The silence between the bell's peals seemed longer this time, and Blade looked up. The silence grew more profound as the sounds of the crowd outside faded away. The bell had stopped. A wail went up from the mourners, and the crowd fell to its knees and performed its last prostration to the Elder Queen, a distant roaring spreading through Jondar. Lilu woke with a snort and looked around, rubbing her eyes. Rendal put down the cup and vanished behind the counter as he performed his abasement.
Blade topped up his wine and sighed, relieved that the bell, though not loud this far from the palace, had stopped at last. Tashi-Mansa was dead. The crowd shouted her name, then silence clamped down again. It was amazing how quiet the city could be when everyone was silent, he mused. Gradually the sounds returned as people muttered, carts rattled, children shrieked and animals bawled, barked or neighed. The temples would fly grey dream silk for a moon-phase in Tashi-Mansa's honour, then her time would be done. Now it was up to her daughter to lead the kingdom for the next five and twenty years.
Patrons trickled into the taproom, demanding ale or wine, and Lilu sat up and tidied her hair. In distant parks, closer to the palace, carnivals and side shows abounded and the wealthy and noble celebrated in flag-festooned streets. Here in the slums, however, not much changed.
Blade looked up as a middle-aged woman sat on the bench opposite, a smile on her powdered, noble-born face. Brown ringlets fell from an elaborate coif and berry juice reddened her lips. Her brown eyes roamed over him, lingering on his belt, then flicked up to his chest, unable to see his mark since he wore a high-collared jacket. She leant closer.
"Will you celebrate our new queen with me, Dance Master?"
"No."
"I will make it worth your while." She pushed a golden across the table.
Blade shook his head. Over the years, he had grown accustomed to the attentions of noblewomen, although he had not come to like them.
"I am not a bully boy, Madam."
"I do not want a bully boy, Dance Master."
"Then perhaps your husband will oblige if you make him the same offer."
Her brow wrinkled. "Why do you refuse?"
"I am not interested in such pastimes."
"Come now, surely everyone is?"
He shrugged. "Everyone except me, it would seem."
"And why is that?"
"None of your business."
Blade glanced up as Lilu arrived at his side, as she often did when noblewomen propositioned him. To his annoyance, she squeezed onto the bench beside him and scowled at the woman.
"Go peddle it elsewhere," she said.
The woman rose and left, clearly offended.
Lilu smiled Blade, her eyes sparkling. "I'll pay you a copper for it, Dance Master."
"I think a golden is my fee for that these days."
"Made any sales?"
"Not as many as you'd think."
She giggled and slipped her arm through his. "You'll be retiring soon, so at least you'll be able to earn a living then."
He frowned and shook her off. "I have no plans to retire."
"You're almost thirty years old. Don't assassins retire at your age?"
"Only those who have lost their edge."
"And you haven't?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"But you will before you do, won't you?" She looked concerned.
"In all likelihood."
"Good." She shot a glance at his belt. "None have ever retired as Master of the Dance, I've heard."
"Not as far as I know."
"Will you be sad to give it up?"
"I expect so."
Lilu sighed, looking martyred. "Trying to have a conversation with you is like pulling teeth."
"You should know; you've got so few left."
"That's mean." She leant back and gazed across the room. "What do you think of the new Queen's proclamation?"
He shrugged. "Not much."
"You don't approve?"
"I haven't thought about it."
"And if you did think about it?"
"Why would I bother?"
She frowned at him. "Because I asked you to?"
"Why do you want me to?"
"Because I want your opinion!"
"Why?"
"Blade!"
He smiled, shaking his head. "I don't care one way or the other."
"And if you did?"
"But I don't."
She gave a frustrated snort. "It's a waste of time trying to talk to you, isn't it?"
"I'm working."
"You call lazing around drinking wine working?"
"Just as you call lying on your back working."
"I do more than --"
He raised a hand, grimacing. "Spare me the details."
"This isn't working; it's waiting for work."
"You call it work when you're trying to persuade men to bed you."
"Because it is!" She shook her head. "I have to sit with them and talk to them, and they --"
"Again, spare me the details. I've seen it too often."
"You still can't call sitting around drinking wine work."
"And yet, I do."
"So what do you do for fun?"
He shrugged. "Nothing."
"What about when you talk to me? Isn't that fun?"
"Not really."
"So why do you do it?"
He sipped his wine. "Because you talk to me whether I like it or not."
"If I didn't, no one would."
"That wouldn't bother me."
"You're a heartless monster."
He smiled again. "I know."
"You've been working on becoming one for how long now? Nine years?"
"More like seventeen."
"Well, you've certainly perfected it."
"I usually do, when I set out to do something."
She cocked her head. "Why would anyone want to be a heartless monster?"
"So people will leave him alone."
"Why do you want to be alone?"
"I like it."
"Yet you visit me in my room quite often."
He gazed across the alehouse. "Go away."
"Was that an awkward question?"
"It wasn't a question."
"Statement, then," she said.
"No, just an irritating one."
"Because you don't like to admit that you enjoy my company."
Blade turned his head to scowl at her. "Right now I'm not."
"But you do, sometimes."
"It's tolerable, when you're not nagging me, talking my ears off or pawing me."
"So that would be... when I'm asleep?"
"Precisely," he said, his slight smile returning.
"And yet you don't sleep with me."
He chuckled. "There are usually men in your bed."
"Otherwise you would?"
"Gods, no."
"I wouldn't charge you, you know." She put a hand on his knee, making him jump and frown.
"Bugger off, Lilu."
She giggled. "You're blushing."
He sighed. "I'm not, but if I was, it would be out of embarrassment at being pawed by an ugly trollop."
She leant closer, pouting. "How would it be if an ugly trollop kissed you?"
"Disgusting."
Lilu darted in to kiss his cheek.
Blade wiped it, shooting her a frown. "Go away before I make you."
"Or I'll ruin your reputation?"
"Before someone thinks you'll make a good bargaining chip."
She glanced around. "If I just leave, it won't be --"
Blade thumped the table. "Bugger off!"
Lilu jumped up and flounced off, her nose in the air. The assassin leant back and signalled Rendal to bring him another bottle of wine.
Almost three moons later, Blade strolled into the taproom and sat in his usual spot. The serving wench brought him a bottle of red wine, and he settled down to wait for a customer to approach him, if one was going to. On average, he received one assignment per moon-phase, although sometimes he got as many as three and occasionally none, but he had amassed a sizeable collection of goldens to tide him over the lean months. He spent a few time-glasses each day in the common room, and the rest of the time reading or practicing his skills.
Pouring a cup of wine, he glanced around, spotting Lilu giggling with four tough looking soldiers in civilian clothes. Their stern, scarred miens and rigid postures gave them away, along with a certain air of nobility that hung about them, even though they were clearly commoners.
Half a time-glass later, they left, and Lilu came over to slide onto the bench opposite Blade, who shot her a frown.
"Go away."
"I have something to tell you. Those four are from the palace guard, and one of them told me something amazing."
"Only one? You were sitting with four of them."
"He came to my room."
"Ah." Blade gazed across the taproom.
"He said that he and his companions are going to Cotti. The Queen has offered them lands, riches and titles." She leant closer, lowering her voice. "To kill the Cotti King."
Blade's heart quickened, but he feigned disinterest. "How bizarre. They won't get near Shandor, never mind slay him."
"Well, that's what he said. The Queen also wants the Prince brought to her, alive." She glanced around as if she was imparting royal secrets, when this was clearly not something the soldiers had been sworn to secrecy about, or else the man would not have divulged it. "Do you think it has something to do with her plan to end the war?"
"Killing Shandor won't end it. It's more likely to escalate it."
"But perhaps she'll be able to negotiate peace with the Prince."
He said, "The Cotti live only to make war and slaughter innocents."
"She must have a reason for doing it."
"I expect she thinks she can make peace with Kerrion, but I would say she's sadly mistaken."
"And yet, she consulted the Idol."
Blade shrugged. "What of it?"
"He can see the future. Perhaps he told her what to do this to end the war."
"Then he's sadly mistaken, too."
Lilu picked up Blade's wine cup and sipped from it, looking thoughtful. "I'll wager you could kill the Cotti King."
"Probably."
"Wouldn't you like to be a wealthy noble?"
"Not particularly, and I certainly don't want to go back to that infernal desert."
Her gaze sharpened. "You've been there before?"
Blade looked away, cursing his slip, and several minutes passed before he replied, "A long time ago."
"That's where..." She looked down at the wine, biting her lip.
"That's where what?"
"You were... hurt."
"You already know this."
She shook her head. "I thought so, but you'd never talk about it."
"Nor will I now."
"I understand."
"No you don't."
"The Cotti are cruel; everyone knows that."
Blade retrieved his wine cup and topped it up. "The true depths of their depravity aren't known to anyone who hasn't been in one of their camps, and they don't survive."
"But you did."
"I was unlucky."
"Some would say lucky."
"They also know nothing." He hesitated. Although he considered her suggestion to be impossible, the prospect of killing the Cotti King did interest him. "How many bungling soldiers has the Queen sent into the desert?"
"I don't know. At least one other group, I think."
"They won't succeed."
"He said she offers a mighty reward. An estate, a title and a yearly income. You'd never have to work again."
He shook his head. "It's a fool's errand."
"Not for you."
"A little while ago, you were begging me to retire before I got hurt, now you want me to go to Cotti and kill their king? That's about the most dangerous thing I could attempt."
"But think of the rewards," she said. "It would be worth the risk, and if, as you say, you haven't lost your edge, you'll be fine."
"And you think you'll share in my reward, huh?"
"If you were generous, I suppose I might. It would be nice."
"Leave it alone. You don't know what you're talking about. Ten leagues of burning sand just to get to Shandor's camp, and no Cotti horse to ride. A Jashimari beast would be instantly spotted, even if it survived the journey."
She shook her head. "No, the soldier said less than a league. The camp is practically in the foothills of the Endine Mountains."
"They've moved it, then."
She leant forward, her eyes gleaming. "Don't you want to kill Cotti? Especially their king."
Blade inclined his head. "There would be some satisfaction in that."
"And you'll have the Cotti Prince as your prisoner all the way back to Jondar."
"That part's not so appealing."
"But he'd be at your mercy," she said. "You'd be able to humiliate him, or worse."
"I'm not a torturer."
"Think on it, though."
"Maybe." Blade said, to put an end to her nagging. He had no intention of leaving the city and enduring the hardships of travel, nor did he ever want to return to Cotti. Even if he wished it, he could not do the deed without a client, and the Queen hardly ever granted audiences to commoners. She consulted with her advisors and nobles, and the only commoners who were allowed into her presence were palace soldiers, the clergy and her advisors. Lilu gazed at him, clearly expecting him to come to a decision while she waited, and he sighed.
"Even if I wanted to, the Queen doesn't speak to commoners."
Her face fell, and she looked thoughtful. "You could request an audience."
"She won't grant it."
"You don't know unless you try."
"I think the chances of an assassin gaining an audience are even slimmer than any other commoner, and that happens rarely. You're being silly. Even commoners spit on assassins."
"Well they shouldn't. And you're not just an assassin; you're the Master of the Dance."
"I doubt the Queen even knows what that is," he said, "and it wouldn't impress her if she did. And you really think her guards will allow a killer into her presence?"
"You're an assassin. Everyone knows you won't kill without a client. No one would pay you to kill the Queen, and even if they did, you wouldn't do it, because you're Jashimari."
"I'd have a better chance if I didn't tell them who I am."
"So you'll do it, then?" She looked eager again.
"No. It would be a waste of time, and the palace guards would probably arrest me just for trying."
"They can't. There's no crime in asking for an audience. Even if you were only allowed to meet her chief advisor, he could give her the message."
Blade sipped his wine, becoming irritated. "The palace guards could easily concoct a reason to arrest me, or they may just kill me and throw my body down the closest cesspit. Assassins are considered to be vermin, remember? Killing one hardly constitutes a crime."
"You killed Lord Rothwayer and Graleth. I'll wager you could sneak into the Queen's bedchamber if you wished."
He chuckled. "Oh, that's a good idea. As soon as I woke her up to put my proposal to her, she'd scream the place down and her guards would chop off my head. I got away with those killings because I left no one alive to raise the alarm, but I can hardly do that to the Queen if I want to talk to her, can I?"
"You could do what you did to me. Make her fall asleep."
"I can't talk to her while she's asleep."
"No," she said, "you make her sleep, then you bind and gag her. You speak to her when she wakes up, then make her sleep again and untie her."
"How will she agree if she's gagged? And how likely do you think she is to agree after I've just broken into her room and assaulted her?"
"But it will also prove that you could kill the Cotti King. I mean, if you can get into Minna-Satu's bedchamber, you'd have no trouble getting into Shandor's would you?"
"Except Shandor lives in an army camp, not a palace."
"Doesn't that make it easier?"
He shook his head. "Not really. There are several thousand seasoned warriors around him. Besides, I think the Queen's palace will be a little harder to get into than Graleth or Rothwayer's mansions."
Lilu sighed and picked up Blade's wine cup, sipping from it. "You don't really want to do it, do you?"
"Not particularly, no."
"Do you think you'll fail?"
"I don't think I'll be granted an audience with the Queen."
"But what if you did?"
"I won't," he said.
"I think you might. Why don't you just try? Prove me wrong. What harm can it do?"
"Apart from getting me arrested or killed?"
"If you don't tell them you're an assassin, they won't arrest or kill you."
"Until they see my mark."
"How will they? Do you plan to go there without a shirt?"
Blade retrieved his wine cup and refilled it. "They'll search me. If they see my mark... I'm a dead man, most likely."
"But maybe not."
"Gods, Lilu, leave it alone!" He glared at her, thoroughly fed up with her nagging. "I'm not going to ask for an audience or break into the Queen's bedchamber. It's ridiculous. And even if I did, by some miracle, get an audience, she won't hire me. Why should she, when she has thousands of soldiers at her beck and call?"
"Because they can't do what you can do. They won't be able to kill Shandor."
"She doesn't know that."
"She will, when more of her men have failed."
"She still won't know that I could do it, and if she does realise it, let her send a messenger to hire me."
Lilu sat back and folded her arms. "Maybe she will."
He snorted. "And maybe potpigs will fly."
"If you don't --"
Blade banged his goblet down, slopping wine. "Enough now!"
The whore glowered at him, then jumped up and flounced away, this time genuinely angry. He sat back and sipped his wine, trying not to think about Lilu's suggestion and its pitfalls. It was a foolish idea, and she was wrong. As for sneaking into Minna-Satu's bedchamber to speak to her, that was ridiculous, and a recipe for parting his head from his shoulders. He shrugged it off. Perhaps Minna-Satu's soldiers would succeed.
Two moons later, Blade relaxed on Lilu's bed while she was in the taproom collecting another bottle of wine. Mid-afternoon sunshine crept in through chinks in the dirty curtains to spot the rumpled sheets with flecks of gold. He was glad that Lilu washed her bed sheets regularly, so, although old and grey, they were clean. He had just returned from practicing on his platform outside the city, and drying sweat prickled his skin. He would have gone to his rooms to bathe, but his exertions had given him a thirst that he wanted to slake first. The whore was taking a long time to fetch the wine, however.
Just as he was about to go in search of her, she entered, locking the door behind her. He eyed her when she sat on the chair beside the bed, wondering why she had locked the door. She poured two cups of wine and handed one to him, and he noted the excited sparkle in her eyes.
"I've just heard that all the soldiers the Queen sent to Cotti failed to kill the King," she said. "Two dozen men."
He sipped the wine. "What of it?"
"You should go, and..."
He raised a finger and wagged it. "I've already told you I'm not going to ask for an audience, and why. Don't nag."
She frowned at him, her excitement fading. "I'm not nagging; I'm just saying that you could do it if you wished. Not only kill the Cotti King, your enemy, but also earn huge wealth and honours. All for the small risk of being arrested if the palace guards find out you're an assassin."
"Not to mention the far greater risk of being caught in Shandor's camp and eviscerated. That's what they do, you know. They stake you out on the sand and slice open your belly, then the crows peck out your eyes, and --"
"Enough, Blade!" She looked sick.
"It's true. Is that what you want to happen to me?"
"It won't. You're too good at what you do, and you know it."
"You don't know how I do what I do, so how do you know it will work in Cotti?"
Her brows rose. "Why wouldn't it? Sneaking about will work anywhere."
"Maybe. But I'm still not doing it. I have a good life here. Why would I want to ride all the way to Shandor's camp to kill him, then drag his undoubtedly annoying son back to Jondar? I don't like riding, and I like camping in forests even less."
"Wouldn't it be worth it, to kill the Cotti King? Don't you want vengeance for what they did to you?"
Blade glowered at her. Her words struck a raw nerve and sent a twinge of vengeful lust through him, stronger than he had experienced for many years. It was impossible, however, and he shook his head. "No matter how much I'd like to kill that bastard, it's impossible. Now leave it alone or I'll go back to my rooms."
Lilu sighed, but changed the subject. Blade listened to her prattle about the other whores and their problems with half an ear while he thought about the prospect of using his hated trade to finally exact vengeance upon the Cotti. It almost seemed as if fate had given him the chance to repay them for the atrocities they had committed upon him. Perhaps it was. He was almost at the age when assassins usually retired, and while he did not think his speed or agility had suffered yet, they probably would in the not too distant future, no matter how hard he trained. Then all he had to look forward to was empty years of teaching foolish youngsters and drowning his bitterness with wine. Even if he died in his attempt to kill the Cotti King, it was a worthy endeavour, and would guarantee his reputation in the Guild forever. If he succeeded, not only would he have his vengeance, he would gain unassailable fame in the Guild.
Then there was the reward the Queen offered, which was tempting, too. He would have more to do after his retirement if he had an estate to run, and he would have to teach fewer apprentices. The Guild required him to pass on his skills, but it did not specify how many boys he had to train. Most elders had no choice in the matter, since they needed the income the young assassins were obliged to give them. Mostly, however, the possibility of slaying the Cotti King, and probably a few soldiers, tempted him. Humiliating the Prince also had its attractions. Even if the Queen did not grant him an audience, he could go to Cotti and do the deed, or try, and if he returned with the Prince as his captive she would have to give him the reward. He did not require any help from her, although he did need a client. Then again, the fact that she wanted Shandor dead, and had offered to pay for it, meant that he could claim her as his client. It met all the Guild's requirements.
Blade sat back and sipped his wine, watching golden speckles of sunlight wander around the dirty floor as a breeze swayed the moth-eaten curtains. His existence remained tawdry, for all his deadly reputation and high standing in the Guild. The money he had amassed was enough to ensure a comfortable life, but he was not a wealthy man by any measure. There was simply not enough work, even in a big city like Jondar, and only the rich could afford his services now. Would the skills he had honed to such a high calibre over the years be enough to ensure his success? His eyes drifted to the darkest corner of the shabby room, where he suspected the ghost of a black cat sat, watching him. More than anything, he wanted revenge for Rivan's death.
The Cotti had made a lifelong enemy out of him on the day they had slit his familiar's throat, yet all his hatred was futile if he never put it into action. Perhaps this was his destiny. Perhaps everything he had suffered had been leading him along this path, to this juncture, where he must decide to make it all worthwhile and kill the king of the barbarians who had stolen his life from him. If he failed, his death was assured. There would be no wandering whores or elder assassins to save him in the desert. It would be a painful demise, though, and that gave him pause. If he went to Shandor's camp in a female disguise, however, his chances of being caught where slim.
The desert warriors scorned women, and treated them as servants or worse. He had witnessed their ill treatment of the whores in the Cotti camp when he had been their prisoner. Even though some soldiers would see a woman with the King just before he was killed, they would never believe she was capable of slaying a man, never mind their warrior King. They would probably blame Prince Kerrion for it, especially if he vanished afterwards. The thought almost made Blade smile. If the Queen tried to negotiate peace with Kerrion, and sent him back to his people afterwards, Blade was sure the Prince's brothers would accuse him of killing Shandor. That would make his triumph even sweeter. If he returned triumphant, he would not only add a king to his tally, but be instrumental in the downfall of a crown prince, too. The more he thought about it, the more appealing the idea became, although he was still unsure of whether or not he would do it.
Blade gazed up at the trees that overhung the palace wall. On the outside, a gnarled puffwood sent spindly limbs over the obstacle, on the inside, a fire tree's spreading branches mingled with the puffwood's. A tenday had passed since Lilu had told him about the failure of the Queen's men, and he had spent much of it considering her suggestion while he sipped wine in his gloomy corner. He had pondered many ways of gaining access to the Queen and discarded most.
A message would not reach her, and whoever read it would undoubtedly discard it. Disguising himself as a noble was fraught with pitfalls, since those who frequented the palace were well known, and a stranger would not be granted a private audience. Similarly, the palace servants were known to the guards, and most dwelt in the palace's vast servants' quarters. Lilu's idea of sneaking into the Queen's bedchamber was ridiculous, and would undoubtedly result in his death if she was left alive.
The only option that had any chance of success was for him to request an audience. He had little confidence that it would work, but, as Lilu had said, he would never know if he did not try. He had not told her that he was even considering it. In truth, he was still not sure he wanted to risk his life attempting to gain an audience with the Queen. The prospect of killing Shandor goaded him, however. That was something he wanted more than anything. The bonus of wealth and lands also tempted him. He could kill the Cotti King. Even if he was thrown into the palace dungeons or handed over to the Watch, he had to try to speak to Minna-Satu.
Attempting to gain entry through the front gate, however, was foolish. He would not get past the guards. If he reached the palace, he stood a better chance of being taken seriously, but that also had its pitfalls. His mind made up, he glanced around to ensure that no one was watching him, then jumped up and grabbed a branch, swinging himself up the puffwood tree. He was fresh from a hot bath and had donned clean clothes, just in case he did, by some miracle, gain an audience. It was more likely a junior advisor would see him, if anyone did.
Atop the wall, he paused to survey the vast expanse of manicured gardens on the other side, marvelling at their beauty and size, large enough to contain two small forests. Fish ponds and fountains nestled amongst the greenery; stone benches offered places to rest for those who wandered the paved pathways. Nobles strolled in the distance, and, closer at hand, a pair of dog soldiers patrolled. Entering the gardens would have been much easier at night, but then he would have no chance of seeing the Queen and a better chance of being killed.
Dusk crept across the land, sending questing fingers of shadow to stripe the velvet lawns, where hosts of flowering shrubs, plants and creepers put out sweet-scented blooms. The gathering gloom helped to hide him as he climbed down the fire tree and dropped to the ground, glancing around. The dog soldiers walked away, engrossed in a conversation, and they were downwind. He spent a few minutes finding somewhere to secret most of his daggers, stowing four in a tree hollow. That left only the two in his wrist sheaths. He did not want to appear too well-armed when the soldiers searched him, but he wanted to be fully armed on his way home afterwards.
Blade trotted towards the palace, using any available cover and sprinting across open areas. Arriving at the wall, he made his way along it to a side gate, possibly used by servants or soldiers, where two guards leant on their spears. He paused, loath to go against his training and instincts and reveal himself, but he had no choice. If he went any further without declaring himself, he would be seen as a threat. Straightening his jacket and brushing a bit of tree bark from his sleeve, he stepped away from the wall and strolled towards the guards.
They looked up at his approach, at first with mild curiosity, then growing suspicion when they failed to recognise him. They straightened and scowled, and one man stepped forward and lowered his spear. Blade stopped and spread his hands.
"Greetings."
"Who in Damnation are you?" the guard demanded.
"A petitioner. I request an audience with Queen Minna-Satu."
"Oh you do, do you?" The guard glanced at his cohort, who chuckled.
"He's a got a pair of brass ones."
Blade smiled. "I'm sure this seems outlandish, but it's important that I see the Queen. I'm here to offer my help, and she'll be glad of it."
"Will she now?" The belligerent guard sniggered. "She has enough consorts, methinks."
"That's not why I'm here."
"She won't see you."
"Oh, I think she will."
"Why?"
Blade shrugged. "She needs my help."
"With what?"
"I can't say."
"How did you get in here? The gate guards sure didn't let you in."
"No, they didn't. How I got in is why she needs my help. Let me see an advisor, at least."
The belligerent guard raised his spear and stepped closer. "Oh, someone will see you, but it won't be the Queen or one of her advisors. It'll be our captain, who'll doubtless have you arrested and handed over to the Watch."
"That would be a grave mistake."
"Would it now? Well, that's up to him, isn't it?"
The other guard opened the gate behind him and vanished through it, leaving his bellicose comrade to watch Blade. Several minutes later, four stern-faced soldiers appeared through a larger gate further down the wall. The sentry who accompanied them indicated Blade, and the men surrounded him. Two gripped his arms and steered him back towards big gate. Inside, they marched him along several echoing corridors and into a fair-sized office with banner-hung grey walls and a spear rack in one corner.
A middle-aged man looked up from the papers on his desk. His gold-trimmed, dark green uniform had a broad, peacock-blue stripe running down the right hand side of it. His sharp green eyes were set in a narrow, clever face topped with a shock of short red hair. A man of foxes, the assassin guessed. The officer's gaze flicked to the foremost of Blade's guards.
"Who is this?"
"An intruder, Captain. We found him outside the Gardeners' Gate."
"In the gardens?" The captain's brows rose. "How did he get in?"
"We don't know, sir."
The captain stood up and approached Blade. "How did you get into the palace gardens?"
"Over the wall."
"I see. And why are you here?"
"Your men brought me here," Blade replied.
"Why were you in the gardens?"
"Ah, well, I've come to request an audience with the Queen."
The captain's lips twitched. "Have you now? What for?"
"That's between the Queen and me."
"Oh, so it's a private audience you want?"
"It is."
"And what makes you think the Queen will grant you one, when the queens so rarely do, for commoners?"
Blade tried to free his arms, but the men tightened their grip. "I have something she needs."
"And what might that be?"
"I'll only tell her that."
"So she does not know she needs it, then?"
"Not yet."
The captain raised his brows. "But she will, when you tell her, I assume."
"I hope so."
"She won't grant an audience to a commoner without an excellent reason, and thus far you have not given me one."
Blade cocked his head. "And how often do commoners request an audience?"
"Hardly ever, because they know they won't get one."
"Yet some have."
"Only if they had an excellent reason."
The assassin smiled. "But I do. Shouldn't the Queen at least be asked if she wants to grant me an audience? Doesn't she have the right to choose?"
"Of course she does, but why would she want to?"
"It's important. The fate of her kingdom depends upon it."
The captain frowned. "How can you affect the fate of the kingdom?"
"That, I'll only tell the Queen."
"But you think you can."
"I know it."
"Do you have a name?"
"I do, but not one I'll tell you."
The captain snorted and returned to his chair, considering the assassin with hard eyes. He looked amused, but also intrigued, and his gaze held a hint of suspicion. After several minutes of contemplation, he addressed the guards.
"Take him to the audience chamber and inform the chief advisor of his request."
The soldiers marched Blade out of the captain's office and back down the corridor, then along a sumptuous passage that led into a vast, gold-plated room. Several torches made the walls glimmer and, at the far end, three shallow steps led up to a marble dais upon which a golden bench stood. Behind it, a massive, bright blue silk banner hung against the wall, a golden cat with emerald eyes embroidered upon it. Deep blue velvet curtains framed the dais, beyond which, two doors led off either side of it. Occasional silver designs that looked like leaves and flowers embellished the golden walls, and in other places lines of cursive writing were engraved on them. High above him, the arched ceiling appeared to be inlaid with alabaster, forming scenes of earthly and celestial battles.
The guards halted in the centre of the black marble floor, released his arms and grounded their spears, becoming motionless. Blade brushed his sleeves and clasped his hands behind his back, studying the opulence. Several minutes passed before quick, light footsteps came from behind him, and he sensed a new presence enter the room. As the footsteps drew near, he turned to face a young woman with bright chestnut hair and soft, dark grey eyes. Her youth and beauty surprised Blade, who had expected an elderly man. The sight of him seemed to startle her, and he wondered why. After a moment of hesitation, she glanced at the nearest guard.
"Who is this and why is he here?"
"He wants an audience with the Queen, Chief Advisor. He won't give his name."
"Does Captain Redgard think he deserves an audience?"
The soldier shrugged. "He sent him here and informed you, so I reckon he does."
"On what grounds, since he does not know his name or, I assume, what he wants?"
"I don't know, Chief Advisor."
Blade wondered how long she would act as if he was not there.
She turned to him. "What is your name?"
The assassin shook his head. "I will only tell the Queen that."
"Why should she grant an audience to a man who will not even give his name?"
"I will, to her."
"Why do you want an audience?"
He hesitated, lowering his gaze to the floor. "It is an important matter, but I will only discuss it with the Queen."
"I am hardly inclined to pass on your request if you will not even tell me the reason for it."
Blade looked up. "Only the Queen may judge whether or not she will grant me an audience, so my reasons for asking do not concern you."
She raised her chin. "I am her chief advisor."
"But you are not the Queen. Hence, you have no authority to deny my request. Only the Queen may do that."
"She will not see you without knowing the reason for it."
"You speak for her?"
She hesitated. "I know how she will react."
"Queen Minna-Satu took power only three moons ago; therefore you have not been her chief advisor for longer than that. That being the case, how can you know her mind so well?"
"Why would she grant you an audience without knowing the reason for it?"
"That is for her to decide, is it not?" He had slipped into the noble manner of speech without even thinking about it, he realised.
The chief advisor frowned and addressed the guards. "Lock him up."
They gripped his arms again and marched him out, leaving her gazing after him in a puzzled manner. He expected to be thrown into the dungeons, but instead, the soldiers took him to a room that appeared to be a chambermaid's lodgings and shoved him inside, locking the door. Blade paced the cramped room, which boasted only a hard narrow bed with a table beside it, a chair, a pitcher of water and a basin on another table in the corner, and barred window with a view of a puffwood tree. The situation disturbed him, and he wondered what was in store next.
After pacing the room for a couple of time-glasses, he settled on the bed and tried to relax. He thought about what he would say to the Queen if he was granted an audience. A manservant in a gravy spotted apron brought him a bowl of stew and a jug of cheap wine, and locked the door again when he left. Evidently strange commoners were not allowed to roam the palace, despite its overabundance of guards. A wise precaution, Blade mused, since some commoners were inclined to be dangerous, especially those dressed in black.
It struck him as odd that no one had realised the significance of his sable garb, which, while not exclusive to assassins, certainly should have raised some suspicions. He had considered purchasing other clothes for this venture, but, since he would have to reveal his trade to the Queen, should he be granted an audience, a disguise would only arouse more misgivings at that stage. Far better to be himself as far as possible, while not volunteering the information. He lay down and stared at the ceiling, wondering what the next day would bring. He had formulated a reasonably good, though somewhat brief explanation of what he intended to offer the Queen by the time he fell asleep.
The rattle of a key in the lock woke him, and he sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. Two guards marched in, gripped his arms and hauled him to his feet. Their newfound roughness surprised him only a little, although he wondered at the cause of it. One man undid Blade's jacket and pulled it open while the other watched with a hand on his sword hilt. The first soldier paused when he spotted the trademark at the base of the assassin's throat.
His scowl grew thunderous. "He's a god damned assassin," he told his cohort, whose scowl also blackened. "The Queen has agreed to meet a filthy, murdering night crawler."
The soldier punched Blade in the solar plexus, doubling him over with a grunt. The assassin straightened, amazed to learn that his request had been granted. The soldier hit him in the face, sending him staggering into the bed, and pain flamed from his nose and top lip. As he raised a hand to finger his throbbing nose, the soldier gripped his jacket and hauled him to his feet again, then punched him in the jaw. Blade sprawled across the bed a second time, wondering if the man intended to beat him senseless before dragging him to the Queen and dumping him at her feet. The soldier loomed over him, and he quelled his instinctive urge to lash out in defence. Instead, he allowed the guard to drag him upright once more, and his inaction seemed to incense the man, who punched him in the ribs.
"Stinking killer," the soldier said. "Take off your jacket." Blade shucked the garment, but the guard still glowered. "And the shirt."
The assassin removed his black shirt and dropped it on the bed beside the jacket, then stripped off his leather vest, knowing it would be next on the list. Apparently the Queen had ordered him stripped and searched, a sensible precaution. The soldier stepped closer to remove Blade's daggers from the wrist sheaths, but tugged to no avail until the assassin pressed the triggers that released them. The man passed them to his comrade and turned to glare at Blade again, then jerked his head at the door.
"Get going."
Blade headed for the doorway, and the guard who stood in it stepped aside while the other one picked up Blade's jacket. As the assassin exited the room, the guard gave him a shove that sent him staggering into the wall. The soldier moved past to lead the way down the passage, his cohort falling in behind Blade. He got the impression that they would have liked to beat him further, and refrained only because he was about to meet the Queen. Doubtless they would blame him for the abuse they had meted out, although it was worth a few bruises to speak to the Queen.
The corridors became more opulent as they made their way through the palace, going from dressed stone to grey-streaked white marble. They passed rooms furnished with gilt chairs and carved tables, the walls hung with vast paintings of battles, forests and queens. Servants hurried past on errands, and groups of gossiping men in rich robes gathered in a glass-roofed atrium filled with warm light and greenery.
As they drew closer to the Queen's chambers, they passed noblemen clad in velvet and satin and powdered ladies adorned with gold and jewels. Many of the nobles turned to stare at Blade with deep disapproval, some even wrinkling their noses in disgust, while the ladies whispered to their friends behind fans, and some giggled. Blade recognised two or three noblewomen who had propositioned him, and now turned away as he was escorted past. Except for the lack of chains, he might have been a prisoner.
The soldiers took Blade to a pair of tall, cream doors inlaid and trimmed with gold, where two white-plumed guards in golden armour stood, staring ahead with stern expressions. The chief advisor waited beside them, looking impatient, and turned with a frown when the assassin approached. Blade folded his arms, disliking his shirtless state. She raked him with a startled glance, clearly displeased about something.
"The Queen has agreed to meet you," she said. "That does not mean she will grant you an audience. First she wishes to see you, and then she will decide. You will enter behind me, and when I step aside you will make your prostration. You will not arise until she orders you to. You will not speak unless she addresses you, and you may not sit unless she invites you to do so. You will show her the utmost respect at all times, which means you will not raise your eyes to her face. Is that understood?"
"So I must address her feet?"
"Yes."
"I see. And am I to meet her without the benefit of clothing?"
The girl raised her chin. "The Queen ordered that you be stripped to the waist, to ensure that you carry no weapons." She glanced at his guards. "Did he have any?"
"Only these, Chief Advisor." The belligerent guard retrieved Blade's daggers from his cohort and held them out, hilt first.
The girl took them as if they were dipped in dung, her nose wrinkling.
"Careful," Blade murmured. "Those are sharp."
"I am not a buffoon."
He smiled. "I am so glad you cleared that up for me."
The girl glared at him, then snorted and swung away. As the gold-armoured guards pushed open the doors, Blade discovered that his mind had gone blank, and he had no idea what he was going to say. Then again, he mused, the chances were good that he would not be allowed to say anything, and the Queen merely wished to satisfy her curiosity about the impertinent commoner who had demanded an audience. Warm light flooded out of a room whose white marble floors gleamed and golden furnishings glinted. The chief advisor entered, and Blade followed.
\*\*\*
About the author
T. C. Southwell was born in Sri Lanka and her family moved to the Seychelles when she was a baby. She spent her formative years exploring the islands -- mostly alone. Naturally, her imagination flourished and she developed a keen love of other worlds. The family travelled through Europe and Africa and, after the death of her father, settled in South Africa. T. C. Southwell has written over forty novels and five screenplays. Her hobbies include motorcycling, horse riding and art, and she earns a living in the IT industry.
Cover design by the author.
Visit the Demon Lord blogspot: http://www.demonlord-book.blogspot.com
Contact the author at demonlord07@hotmail.com
Mike Baum and Janet Longman, former employers, for their support, encouragement, and help. My mother, without whose financial support I could not have dedicated myself to writing for ten years. Isabel Cooke, former agent, whose encouragement and enthusiasm led to many more books being written, including this one. Suzanne Stephan, former agent, who has helped me so much over the past six years, and Vanessa Finaughty, good friend and business partner, for her support, encouragement and editing skills.

