She preferred to wash herself anyway. The possibility of being temporarily blinded by accidental soap in the eye by a distracted attendant was too dangerous to risk in her line of work. Their line of work. Not that Bannon seemed to be worried. But then again why should he when she was?
Well, slaughter that. This was not-exactly her leave, too.
She had the kid for supper and roasted peppers and a sherbet made with ice brought down from the mountains at-if the price was any indication-great expense. Bannon grinned and saluted her with a raw oyster.
According to Governor Delat, the Ilagian had opened his carpet shop in the jumble of tiny streets close to the harbor. Painted a pale green, it was fifth in from the corner Fat Alley shared with the Street of Knives. Washed and fed, Vree and Bannon wandered toward it past market stalls and shops crammed full of items designed to separate tourists from their money. Everything that could have some variation of “I bought this in the South Reaches” stamped on it, did.
“Bannon, look at this.”
This was a knife-seller’s stall. This specifically was a dagger with a broad curved brass blade etched with a rough map of the South Reaches and the legend Don’t cut me out of your life.
“What’s that mean?” Bannon muttered as they stared at the blade.
Vree shrugged. “No idea.”
The tang and the pommel were also brass, suggesting that the dagger had been made from one piece of metal while the weight suggested otherwise. The grip had been wrapped in leather strips died a virulent orange-red, small shells danging from the half dozen tassels. The sheath was a slightly darker shade and a double row of the same shells had been glued along its length.
“Ah, yes, there is nothing like a beautiful woman who appreciates a good blade.” The stall’s owner bustled around and laid a pudgy arm around Vree’s shoulders. “That dagger is…” He paused. Swallowed. And started to sweat. “For a small woman, you have quite the grip.”
“I don’t like to be touched.”
His smile wobbled and he snatched his arm back. “I’ll remember that.”
“Probably.”
Bannon shook his head as they walked away, leaving the stall owner clutching his genitals and gasping like a landed fish. “I think you hurt his feelings.”
“At least I left them attached.”
Torches had been lit by the time they reached the carpet shop, but the narrow streets were still busy-probably because every second shop sold alcohol of some kind. Beer, wine, and the apparently popular something pink with a tiny spear stuck through a pineapple chunk. Although clothing ranged from kilts to sarongs to breeches, they were the only people in army blue.
“We may need to buy a change of clothes,” Bannon noted.
“Something in black wouldn’t hurt if we’re going to be climbing around at night,” Vree acknowledged.
“Do you see anyone in black?”
“That guard.”
Bannon leaned out and peered at the guard who was suddenly not looking their way. “Besides him?”
Up and down the street, the clothing was as bright as the buildings, many of the tunics printed with birds or flowers or cats. “There is no slaughtering way…”
“We could probably get something in silk.”
Silk. “Silk’s a good strong fabric,” Vree said slowly. “You can bend iron with it when it’s wet. Useful.”
Bannon grinned. “Very.”
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear. You’re looking for a silk carpet?”
They turned together to face the middle-aged woman standing on the other side of the pile of rugs that nearly filled the front of the shop. She was pleasantly plump with dark hair and pale brown eyes and skin a little lighter than theirs.
“We’re looking for Ilagian carpets,” Vree told her.
She smiled broadly and spread her hands. “Excellent. We specialize in Ilagian carpets.” Hands still spread, she beckoned them into the shop. “In fact, my employer, Hy Sa’lacvi, is Ilagian himself and imports only the most beautiful carpets from his homeland. Although he isn’t here tonight, he has taught me everything he knows. Now, this beauty…”
At first, Vree was impressed by the woman’s knowledge. As time passed and every attempt they made to leave was somehow twisted into another examination of another stack of carpet, she began to grow annoyed. Although a variety of merchants intent on separating soldiers from their money surrounded the barracks and most camps, assassins were usually left to choose as they pleased. This woman almost had them convinced they needed a carpet. Bannon had gone so far as to give her the measurements of the area beside his bunk. Vree had her hand on her dagger hilt and had planned her strike-up under the ribs, slice through the heart, wrap the body in a red wool rug-when customers obviously carrying more coin entered the shop and saved them.
“At least we found out Hy Sa’lacvi has the rooms upstairs.” Bannon picked up the pace as they reached the street.
“And that he isn’t in them right now.” Vree effortlessly slipped through a group of laughing matrons all dressed in shades of purple and fell into step with her brother. “Safer to search them when he’s home, though. A sorcerer would set up spells to protect his rooms when he’s not in them.” A man, sorcerer or not, could be avoided. Spells were a different matter.
“Tomorrow, then.”
He was thinking about full body massages, she could tell. “Tonight.”
“We should wait until we’re a little less obvious.”
“Until we’re less obvious?” Vree snorted as a pair of heavyset men in very short kilts, sleeveless tunics, and shell necklaces sauntered past. Fortunately, it was now full dark and the torchlight hid as much as it revealed. “Or were you referring to the guard watching us from over by the wineskin seller?” she sighed, trying not to listen to the fading sound of bare thighs slapping.
“That, too.”
“Think he’s going to follow us all night?”
“Seems likely.”
“People seem to be avoiding him,” she noted as they changed direction slightly. The pattern of the street eddied around the guard, even the very drunk maintaining a careful distance of more than an arm’s length.
“Almost looks like they’re scared of him,” Bannon agreed.
“Well, who isn’t afraid of a great big guy dressed all in black and carrying a sword? Even if he’s not likely to use it very well.”
A moment later they moved into the guard’s personal space, the pattern of the street now ebbing around them as well.
“You were on the gate when we arrived,” Ban-non said after sweeping a slow gaze up the guard’s body from sandals to helm. “Didn’t catch your name.”
“Keln.” He looked confused; prompted to answer by fear, unsure of what he should be afraid of.
“You were watching us, Keln,” Vree purred by his ear. By the time he turned to face her, she’d moved to the other ear and was asking, “Why?” He whirled around, but she was back beside Bannon when he stopped. “Why, Keln?” she repeated.
Keln jerked forward, then stopped when he realized they were suddenly flanking him. “Orin thinks you’re troublemakers,” he snarled.
“Us?” Bannon grinned. “We’re not troublemakers, Keln; we deal with troublemakers.”
“Not in this town.”
“Wherever we’re sent, Keln.”
“Stop saying my name!” The big man pushed past them, shoving the rack of wineskins out of the way as he plunged into the crowd. Someone cried out in pain, someone else swore, and Vree caught the rack before it fell.
“Can’t say we didn’t warn him,” Bannon sighed.
“It’s easier when they know we’re assassins.”
“People avoid us when they know we’re assassins.”
“And that’s easier.” She frowned at a wineskin. “There’s an image of a parrot burned onto this. Why would someone burn the image of a parrot into a wineskin?”