“He had the book?”
“He had something in his satchel, and he sure as hell didn’t want to share it. It might have been the book, might not.” I waggled the case in the air. “Either way, I’m betting this was his payoff.”
Degan looked at the case, then at me. “Well?”
I placed my hand on the hasp and brought it closer to my face. Degan leaned in beside me. The case was covered with filth and sewage, but I could make out traces of rosewood around the edges and a bit of ivory inlay in the cover.
“No,” I said suddenly, lowering the case and tucking it back behind me. “No, I think this should wait until we’re out of Ten Ways. They may still be looking for us, after all.”
Degan straightened and looked down at me. “This is because of the Oath, isn’t it? You’re getting me back for the Oath.”
I began walking away down the street, mainly so he couldn’t see my grin. “Never!”
“Uh-huh. Well, you’d just better hope we don’t meet another dozen Cutters.”
We headed out of Ten Ways, watching our blinds all the while. If anyone was looking for us, they didn’t find us. As for the local talent, I suspect our looking, and smelling, like a pair of Dredgers kept them from bothering us. No one rolls sewer crawlers.
By the time we were back in Nicco’s territory, we had discovered that not only did the Kin avoid us-Lighters and even the city watch quickly found someplace else to be when we came into range.
“That’s one way to avoid the Rags,” I said, indicating the retreating red sashes of another Watch patrol.
“Nah. Too easy to track you by smell.” Degan scratched absently at his pants leg. Like mine, his clothes were beginning to dry out, making them stiff and itchy.
“Moriarty’s?” he suggested.
“Do we have a choice?”
Degan chuckled. “I’ll meet you there.”
We parted company. I headed home to get a clean change of clothes to wear after the bathhouse did its work.
A long evening at Moriarty’s-the idea hung before me like an illicit fantasy as I turned onto Echelon Way. A hot bath to wash away the filth; a cold one to shock the system back to some semblance of normalcy; and then a warm tub to enjoy the feeling of being human again. And after that, maybe one of Moriarty’s girls…
Yes. Yes, that would work just fine. There would be time enough afterward to wade back into Ten Ways, to cross palms and crack heads. Time enough to gather rumors and run down Kin-including Larrios.
But right now, all I wanted was to get clean.
The apothecary’s shop was dark when I arrived, both above and below. I paused in the arch that led to the stairway, looking around the street and along the roofs. No one. Good. If I couldn’t see the people I paid to watch my place, no one with normal vision was going to spot them, either.
My laundry was still at the foot of the stairs. True to her word, Cosima had left it. I stuffed a stray shirtsleeve into the basket and crept softly up the stairs, avoiding the three steps I intentionally left squeaky.
In the end, it was the laundry that saved my life.
I was on the top step when the assassin came at me, slipping around the banister and thrusting hard before I could react. It was a good move; my back was to open space, my footing uneven, with no place for me to retreat. Plus, I had my hands full. All I could do was stare as he pushed the stiletto into my chest-or, rather, into the basket of laundry I was holding in front of my chest.
I heard the wicker of the basket crack and start to give way. I felt the weight of his body behind the blow, pushing the steel into the basket, the basket into me, me into the open air behind. The dispassion on his face told me he was a deep-file Blade-not hating, not caring, just killing.
He looked vaguely familiar.
As I tipped backward, my feet scrambling for ground that wasn’t there, a sweet, lingering scent came to me through the odor of sewage. Perfume-I knew that perfume!
And that face…
My sister’s messenger.
“Tamas,” I said as my laundry flew up in the air and I went down.
In the brief instant I was airborne, I had enough time to feel a dark, cold fury settle upon me. Christiana-again. Then I hit the steps, and anger was replaced by pain.
I half rolled, half slid down the stairs. Sharp edges, hollow thuds, bright bursts of agony. I think I went head over heels at least once. I know I yelled and tasted blood on the way down.
The ride ended with me in a heap at the bottom of the steps, Tamas still standing at the top. Clothing lay scattered on the stairs between us.
I saw the assassin put his foot on the first step.
Time to go, Drothe. I needed to get out of there-get onto the street and into the night where I could lose him.
I pushed myself up off the floor. The world tilted. A sharp throbbing singled itself out from the rest of my new aches; one of the steps had introduced itself to the back of my head on the way down.
I staggered out onto the street and let myself drift right. I needed to go right, I realized, but why? Something was there… something important.
There were voices coming from Eppyris’s now. Crying, yelling. A faint light flared behind the shutters. Oh no, Eppyris, don’t bring a light out here. I need to see to get away, damn it.
I put a hand on my rapier, drew it. The steel gleamed bloody gold in my eyes. I put the tip to the ground and used it as a feeble cane.
Despite the blood, my mouth felt dry. I tried to spit. I failed.
To the right. Keep going right.
More voices now. Thuds inside the building. Stay inside, apothecary! I opened my mouth to yell a warning, barely managed a thick squawk.
“You missed your appointment,” said a voice from the stairwell. Tamas. “That’s not polite, Nose.”
I blinked. Appointment? Oh, right-Christiana’s letter. I had forgotten her request to meet with me tonight. Nothing like getting a man to show up for his own assassination.
“Frankly, I didn’t expect you to put rolling in a dung heap before seeing a baroness,” said Tamas. “Still, I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”
He sounded close. No more running, then, if you could even call it that. I turned, straightened, and edged farther to what had been my right. I’d remembered why I wanted to go there now. I may not have gotten close enough, but this would have to do.
I extended my rapier on a line with him, held out straight, pointed at his eyes. The tip of the sword wavered more than I would have liked.
Tamas had just stepped out of the archway at the bottom of the stairs. His movements were fluid, his manner relaxed. All traces of the nervous, uncertain messenger were gone. The slightest hint of a sneer hung about his lips. He had a broad, double-edged blade, halfway between a long dagger and a short sword, in his left hand. In his right, he held a four-foot length of rope. The rope was broken up by a regular series of knots, and each knot looked to have a small piece of cloth or paper tied into it. He swung the rope in a lazy circle at his side.
I was in trouble.
He came on and I slid back, maintaining my guard before me. I could see better in the dark, but he hadn’t just fallen down a flight of stairs. I would have called us even for that, except for the piece of knotted magic he was swinging in his right hand.
I heard a door open in the shop, saw a light shine into the stairwell. Eppyris called my name.
“Back inside!” I yelled. “Lock the door!”
The light vanished as the door slammed.
Tamas flicked his eyes toward the shop, back to me. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve only been paid to clean you.”
I edged another step away, drew the dagger at my belt with my left hand. Getting close, now.
“She didn’t pay you enough,” I said.
Tamas smiled, then shrugged. The cord moved faster. Then he did, too.
He closed quickly, thrusting with his sword. I dropped my own point and turned my rapier through a downward arc, catching his blade and driving the attack off to my right. At the same time, I stepped forward with my left foot to fill the opening I had just created. With my body blocking his right arm and my rapier engaging his left, I was hoping to use my dagger to carve his guts at my leisure.