If Wethes could have seen the expression on her face, he'd have died of fright on the spot.
* * * Tarma had been expecting Justin's "friend" to be a whore. Certainly she lived on a street where every other door housed one or more who practiced that trade -- and the other doors led to shops that catered to their needs or those of their customers. They stopped midway down the block to tap lightly at one of those portals that plainly led to a small apartment, and Tarma expected it to be opened by another of the painted, bright-eyed trollops who bestowed themselves on doorways and windows all up and down this thoroughfare. She was shivering at the sight of most of them, not from dislike, but from sympathy. She was half-frozen (as usual), and could not imagine for a moment how they managed to stay warm in the scarves and shreds of silk they wore for bodices and skirts.
She didn't hold them in low esteem for selling themselves to earn their bread. After all, wasn't that exactly what she and Keth were doing? It was too bad that they had no other commodity to offer, but that was what fate had dealt them.
But the dark-eyed creature who opened her door at Justin's coded knock was no whore, and was unlikely to ever be mistaken for one, no matter how murky the night or intoxicated the customer.
In some ways she was almost a caricature of Tarma herself; practically sexless. Nothing other than Justin's word showed she was female -- her sable hair cut so short it was hardly more than a smooth dark cap covering her skull; the thin, halfstarved-looking body of an acrobat. She wore midnight blue; the only relief of that color came from the dozens of knives she wore, gleaming in the light that streamed from the room behind her, the torches of the street, and the lantern over the door, which Tarma noticed belatedly was of blue glass, not red. Two bandoliers were strapped across her slim chest, and both housed at least eight or nine matched throwing daggers. More were in sheaths strapped to her arms and legs; two longer knives, almost short swords, resided on each hip. Her face was as hard as marble, with deeply etched lines of pain.
"Justin, it's late," she said in a soft voice, frowning a little. "I take my shift soon."
"Cat-child, I know," Justin replied; Tarma realized in that instant that the hard lines of the girl's face had deceived her; she couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen. "But we have a chance to get at Wethes Goldmarchant and -- "
The girl's face blazed with an unholy light. "When? How? I'll have somebody else sub for me; Gesta owes me a favor -- "
"Easy, girl," Ikan cautioned. "We're not sure what we're going to be doing yet, or how much we're going to be able to hurt him, if at all."
She gave Ikan a sidelong look, then fixed her attention again on Justin. "Him -- who?" she asked, shortly, jerking her head at Ikan.
"My shieldbrother; you've heard me talk about him often enough," he replied, interpreting the brief query, "And this swordlady is Tarma shena Tale'sedrin, Shin'a'in mercenary. Wethes has her oathsister, a sorceress -- it's rather too long a tale to go into, but we know he took her, he's got his reasons for wanting her and we know he won't be taking her to his house in the District."
"And you want to know if I know where his latest pleasure-house is. Oh, aye; I do that. But unless you swear to let me in on this, I won't tell you."
"Cat, you don't know what you're asking -- "
"Let her buy in,"" Tarma interrupted, and spoke to the girl directly. "I'm guessing you're one of Wethes' discards."
"You're not wrong. I hate his littlest nail-paring. I want a piece of him -- somehow, some way -- preferably the piece he prizes the most."
"That's a reasonable request, and one I'm inclined to give you a chance at. Just so long as you remember that our primary goal is the rescue of my oathsister, and you don't jeopardize getting Keth out in one piece."
"Let me roust out Gesta."
The girl darted between Tarma and Justin; ran up the staircase to the second floor to knock on another nondescript door. The ugliest man Tarma had ever seen in her life answered it; Cat whispered something inaudible. He grinned, pulled a savage-looking half-ax from somewhere just inside the door, and sauntered down the stairs with it, whistling tunefully. He gave all three of them a wink as he passed them, said shortly, "Good hunting," and passed out of sight around a corner. The girl returned with a thoughtful look in her eyes.
"Come on in. Let's sit and plan this over. Being too hasty to look before I acted got me into Wethes' hands."
"And you won't be making that mistake a second time, will you, my girl?" Justin finished for her.
They filed into the tiny room; it held a few cushions and a pallet, a small clothes chest, more knives mounted on the wall, and a lantern, nothing more.
"You say your friend's a sorceress? The old bastard probably has her under binding from his house mage," she mused as she dropped down cross-legged on the pallet, leaving them to choose cushions. "Think she could break herself free if we gave him something else to think about?"
"Probably; Keth's pretty good -- "
"The mage isn't all we have to worry about. Kavinestral's crowd is bound to be hanging around," Ikan interrupted.
"Damn -- there's only four of us, and that lot is nearly thirty strong." The girl swore under her breath. "Where in sheva are we going to get enough bodies to throw at them?"
Whatever had been in that drink Ikan had given her seemed to be making Tarma's mind work at high speed. " 'Find your enemy's enemy.' That's what my people would say."
Ikan stared at her, then began to grin.
* * * The last explosion from the sealed room below made the whole house rattle. Wethes turned to Kavin with stark panic in his face. "What have you gotten me into?" he choked hysterically, grabbing Kavin by the front of his tunic and shaking him. "What kind of monster has she become?"
Kavin struck the banker's hands away, a touch of panic in his own eyes. Kethry wasn't going to be any happier with him than she was with Wethes -- and if she got loose -- - "How was I to know? Magecraft doesn't breed true in my family! Mages don't show up oftener than one in every ten births in my House! She never gave any indication she had that much power when I was watching her! Can't your mage contain her?"
"Barely -- and then what do I do? She'll kill me if I try and let her go, and may the gods help us if Regyl has to contend with more than simply containing her."
He might have purposefully called the sounds of conflict from the yard beyond the house. Shouts and cries of pain, and the sound of steel on steel penetrated the door to the courtyard; mingled in those shouts was the rally cry of the Greens. That galvanized Kavin into action; he started for the door to the rear of the house and the only other exit, drawing his sword as he ran, obviously hoping to escape before the fracas penetrated into the building.
But he stopped dead in his tracks as the door burst inward, and narrowly missed being knocked off his feet by the force that blew it off its hinges. His blade dropped from numb fingers, clattering on the slate-paved floor. His eyes grew round, and he made a tiny sound as if he were choking. Behind him, Wethes was doing the same.