Uh-uh. The eyes went opaque in a way that said wrong guess.
"So it ain't the law out there, then. That means Gallandry folk. Or it means Gallandry's got troubles." She folded her arms and planted her bare feet on their floor. "You got a damnsight more if you don't fetch up my partner.**
"I think," said Man Two, "you'd better go upstairs with us."
"I ain't going nowhere. You bring 'im here—hey!" The man reached and she moved, one jerk at her belt and the barrelhook was in her hand, meaning business. "Don't you try it, man. You get him down here or I'll carve up your partner here—hook him good, I will. You get up those stairs and you get my partner down here."
It was standoff. Man One, by the door, showed no enthusiasm to be the one hooked. Man Two backed out of range.
"Get him." Altair said. "Get him down here."
"What's it matter?" Man One said. His voice was high with panic.
"This is ridiculous," Man Two said, made an advance and snatched his hand out of range in a hurry.
"I ain't particular which, really," Altair said, and backed and kept her eye on both of them. "Now, you Gallan-drys—I'm guessing you're Gallandrys—you ain't of the Trade, but you ain't hightown either; maybe you seen up close what one of these things can do. I can hook up a barrel full to the brim and put 'er where I want—just where you hook it and how you sling. Want to see? One of you might weigh about the same."
Man Two walked over the desk, walked further still, taking himself out of her line of sight. She drew her knife left-handed, right hand to jerk a man into range and left hand to slice or stab.
"On the other hand," she said, "you go and split up like that, I'm going to have to stick him so's I can watch you."
"Hale," Man One said earnestly, against the door. "Hale, get up those damn stairs and get him down here. We don't want to get somebody hurt. He might have hired some boatman. Let him answer it."
There was a profound silence. Altair kept both of them in sight; but Man Two, the one he called Hale, had stopped his stalking.
4'Let's be sensible," Hale said. "You put that sticker and that hook away and you can come upstairs."
*'Let's be better than that. Let's you get him down here. He'll come, right ready. Friend of mine. If he won't I'll know you done him some harm, won't I?"
"Get him," Man One said. "Dammit, Hale, get up there."
Hale thought about it. "All right, " he said. "All right. Jon, you stay in front of that door."
Jon thought about that one too. And there was a fine sweat on his face.
"That's all right," Altair said as Hale opened the door and headed up a stairwell, "Jonny-lad, I got no hurry. You just don't move and I'll wait on my partner."
And how much else, Jones? That Hale, he'll either get Mondragon or he'll get a great lot of men and them with swords, and what do you do then, Jones? You're going to die here, Mondragon's going to be real sorry, but this is business, and a tumble and a night out on Dead Harbor don't mean a thing in the world's scales. Way the world runs, Jones. Sorry, Jones. You're about to die here, make part of Gallandry's foundations, you will, or you'll just wash right on down to the boneheap in the bottom of the harbor. Feed the fishes. Real stupid, Jones. What are you doing here? Why ain't you back at your boat?
Mama, I'm sorry. You got any suggestions?
Don't be here.
I wish I wasn't.
Her heart hammered against her ribs now that the imminent threat was abated. Steps creaked across the floor above. Her knees felt like water. She could maybe scare this man out of the way and get that door open before he came at her back—
But there were the bridges to pass. There were either Gallandrys or some other kind of watchers out there and it was the devil's own choice.
She grinned at Jonny-lad, her most engaging let's-be-friends kind of grin. The man looked nervous. "Hey," she said, "you think your partner's got any ideas about bringing back a whole mess of people? I sure hope not."
"Who are you?"
"Ask my partner. Really, I ain't the sort that goes breaking into places. But those fellows out there on the bridges don't look real inviting. You want me to fall into their hands with all I know?"
Jonny looked worried at that thought.
"Uhhh. They ain't Gallandry, are they? Who? Who would they be?"
Jonny kept his mouth shut.
"Well, I'll bet you could guess," Altair said. She held the knife up and studied it, and carefully put it away into its sheath, at which Jonny-lad looked at first worried and then a great deal easier. The sweat stood in beads on his brow. And someone was walking upstairs again, a heavier squeaking of beams. The walking reached the landing and headed down at speed. More than one set of footsteps, like half a dozen, down the last steps to the door and the light.
Hale came out that door and something russet came behind him down the steps, ahead of others—Lord, Mondragon, all in velvet breeches and a red cost and his pale hair all damp—
—Another of his damned baths.
Beside her, Jonny moved, abandoning defense of the door to the men with drawn swords that poured out of the stairwell behind Mondragon and into the room and around the edges of it. Altair stared, not at them, but at Mondragon, at that lordly creature he had become; at the sight she had imagined suddenly standing there in front of her. Men poured all about her, swords to deal with one canaler and her hook and her knife—it was altogether too much. She stood still, not wanting to be skewered, and one of the long swords came up and batted her hook-hand aside— stand still, that meant plainly. She stood, while Jonny in a fit of bravery came up, grabbed the hook and took it away from her. Fool. If she had decided to die right then Jonny-lad would have gone on his own men's blades and with her foot where it hurt. She stared straight at Mondragon, never quit staring, though one of the Gallandrys came up and grabbed her by the arm, and a second did, hard, so it cut off the blood.
"I want my clothes back," she said. "Hear me, partner?"
His eyes met hers. He stood there staring.
"They going to break my arm?" she asked. And never used his name. "I tell you you got a lot of—" —people outside this place—she started to say; and then went cold inside.
Lord, maybe they're his! Maybe I just spilled something that puts him in a lot of trouble.
"Let her go," Mondragon said sternly. "Jones, you keep your hands from that knife. Hear me?"
He held out his hand, expecting to be obeyed. The men holding her arms let go and the swords angled away.
"Damn nonsense," she said, and advanced on Jonny-lad. "Give me that. Give me that here."
"Give it to her,'* Mondragon said, and she put out a hand for her barrelhook. To her humiliation that hand was shaking. Badly.
"Give it here, damn you." She held the hand steady as she could. "Or some night I'll hang your guts over the—*'
"Jones!" Mondragon said. "Gallandry, give it to her. She's not going to use it."
The big man held it out. She took it and stuck it in her belt, point down in the split place made for it; and dusted herself off and walked over toward Mondragon, who turned his back and walked off through the door and up the stairs.
She trod after him. Behind her Hale was saying something about bolting the door; and armed men followed them up.
Canal-bottom, Altair thought glumly, climbing the old board stairs at Mondragon's back. Bone-pile down at Det-mouth. Ancestor-fools, I've done it, I've done it good, old Del and his wife're going to have my boat and the Det's going to have me before all's said and done.