Dancer hid his own grin, while Wu pretended he hadn’t heard. He bustled across the floor, making for the stairs. ‘I’ll be in my office should I be needed.’
‘Needed?’ Surly murmured, leaning up against the counter, her arms crossed.
Following Wu, Dancer had just reached the stairs when the door smashed open and more people came charging in. He spun to see five men and one woman – and he recognized the woman. It was the diminutive, black-haired courier with the silver earrings.
She pointed straight at him, a blade in her gloved fist. ‘Told you it was a small island! Get ’im!’ Her men charged. Dancer whipped his knives from his baldrics and shifted to cover Wu.
In that instant all the Napans moved. Grinner, at the door, lashed out to punch the woman in the side of the head and Dancer saw her eyes roll white as she fell.
Three of the toughs came charging across the room. Two remained at the door. One thrust at Grinner but in such close quarters Grinner caught his arm with one hand, took hold of the man’s belt with the other, lifted him overhead and smashed him down on a table. The other slashed at Choss, who slipped the cut and rammed his elbow into the man’s throat: he fell, clutching his neck.
The lean Napan, Tocaras, swept up a chair and lobbed it at a scar-faced thug, dropping him. Shrift threw a heavy knife, pommel first, that bounced from the skull of another attacker, while Surly, leaping an entire table, struck the last in his side with one extended heel. Dancer heard the man’s ribs breaking as he fell unconscious.
He lowered his blades, blinking in the sudden silence. Damned impressive. Who are these Napans?
The door to the kitchen was thrown open and the gigantic cook, Urko, emerged holding an unconscious man under each arm. ‘What in Mael’s name is going on?’ he demanded.
Surly sent him a hand signal of some kind, said, ‘It’s handled.’
The man grunted, satisfied, then looked perplexed. ‘Well, what do I do with these two?’
From over Dancer’s shoulder, Wu supplied, ‘Just set them out with the rest of the trash.’
Dancer saw the man cast a glance to their hostess, Surly, for confirmation. The woman nodded, and he grunted his compliance. Dancer looked at Wu, but the mage seemed oblivious of the finer points of the exchange; the fellow made little shooing gestures with his hands, said, ‘I’ll leave you to clean up then, shall I, Surly?’
The wiry woman rolled her eyes in disgust. Wu waved Dancer up the stairs. ‘Let us discuss things.’
Dancer clenched his lips against saying anything there in front of everyone, sheathed his blades, and followed.
Inside the office he shut the door behind him and leaned against it. Wu was pacing back and forth tapping the tips of his fingers together, obviously very agitated.
‘Did you see that?’ Dancer demanded.
Wu turned on him, his tiny eyes glittering and bright. ‘Yes! Amazing! I have the best henchmen ever!’
Dancer looked to the ceiling and crossed his arms, sighing. ‘I don’t think they’re your henchmen.’
‘Whatever. Chain of command, Dancer. Chain of command. Now we can set to work.’
‘Work?’
‘Yes. Tackling Geffen, of course. We have the personnel.’
Dancer blew out a breath. This guy’s miles ahead of the cart, let alone the horse. ‘Let’s not rush over any cliff here…’
Looking vexed, Wu sat behind the desk. ‘Then what would you suggest?’
Dancer motioned back behind his shoulder. ‘I’ll have a word.’
Wu raised his brows. ‘Ah. Excellent idea. Take your time. I must think.’
‘About what?’
The little fellow rested his elbows on the desk and set his chin on his fingertips. His eyes almost closed. ‘About gates. And how to open them.’
Dancer pointed a warning. ‘Just don’t make any more trouble for us right now, okay?’
But the mage’s wizened and wrinkled face was already dreamy. Dancer was tempted to give him a cuff and ask whether he’d heard, but shook his head instead.
Noise to his right spun him round, blades whipping free. The shells of nuts lay there on the floor, and more fell as he watched. He raised his gaze to the rafters and there sat the damned nacht, Wu’s pet. He’d wondered where the blasted thing had got to lately.
As he eyed it, the little beast bared its sharp pale fangs at him then set to work gnawing on another walnut. He waved it off – eliciting an answering hiss – and left, pulling the door shut behind him.
Downstairs, all the attackers were gone and the mess was being cleaned up. He spotted Surly and deliberately crossed straight to her, pulled up a chair and sat backwards on it, crossing his arms on the back.
She peered down at him for a short moment then nodded and waved off the other Napans, who’d suddenly appeared to crowd close. She sat opposite him and crossed her arms.
‘Want a drink?’ she offered.
He nodded.
Without taking her eyes from him she called out, ‘Our best wine, Hawl. Two glasses.’
A moment later Hawl – burly and heavy-set where Surly was greyhound lean – set down two fine-stemmed glasses and a decanter of wine.
Surly poured, tasted the vintage, then set the glass down. She eyed him, her mouth set straight, thin, and hard. ‘So,’ she began, ‘you’re hijacking.’
‘You questioned the toughs, hey?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Where’re they now?’
‘Being thrown off a pier.’
‘What if they don’t swim?’
The woman raised a brow to say she didn’t give a damn. ‘You should’ve approached us,’ she said.
He snorted.
‘I don’t like you bringing trouble here.’
‘Shut up. I’m talking to you – not the reverse.’
The rage that flared in the woman’s eyes was informative. Not used to such a tone, this one.
It took her a while to unclench her teeth and control her breathing, and she remained quite flushed by the outrage that seethed within. She asked, terse, ‘Why then are we even talking?’
‘I have a proposal.’
Her gaze slid past his shoulder and he dared a glance over. Another of the Napan women, Amiss, young, wiry, and full of nervous energy, was peering out of the door. She nodded an all clear. He returned his gaze to Surly. ‘You have perimeter guards out already?’
She gave a brief nod of assent.
‘Good.’ His tone was casual, but again he was impressed. He sipped the wine and nodded to her – at least it was Untan, he could tell that much. ‘Where should I start? Captain, is it?’ She lifted her shoulders, neither assent nor denial. ‘So. A Napan raider crew. Wrecked on Malaz where no one would even cross the street to spit on you. Why not take passage to the mainland and return to Nap? Because you can’t. Wrong side of the recent transition in power, hey?’ Again the woman merely lifted her shoulders. She took a drink and he noted that this time she tossed back the entire glass. ‘The deal is a ship,’ he said.
The woman turned the glass in her hand. ‘We’ll get one,’ she said, her tone low and fierce.
This time he lifted his shoulders. ‘Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. We promise one.’
‘How can you possibly back up a promise like that?’
‘Because…’ and here he let out a long breath, as he was taking a huge gamble, ‘the owner of this establishment happens to be a damned scary warlock.’
The woman’s brows rose and she leaned forward, utterly incredulous. She raised a finger to point to the ceiling; mouthed silently, What? Him?
Dancer nodded.
She cocked her head, studying him, clearly trying to work out whether he was serious or insane. Finally, she broke out laughing aloud.
He allowed her to have her laugh, and after a time she cleared her throat and said, ‘Bullshit.’
He tilted his head as if to say, Have it your way. ‘What have you to lose? Give us a month and you’ll have a ship.’