Looking around to orient herself, she found that they were on Tamarac Boulevard, one of the main thoroughfares that led to Bargainer's Square. The address she needed was just across the street.
Just as Bratach had told her, number Twenty-Seven Tamarac Boulevard seemed to be an archery shop. The sign dangling above its doors was carved with the image of a single arrow. It truly was a working place of business. But according to Bratach, the shop had a good deal more to offer her.
Without comment from its passenger, Bratach's carriage moved away. He had told her that they should never be seen together, other than in the confines of the shop. Should she need him, she could arrange to meet him through its auspices. In truth, she was glad to be rid of him. He was, she thought, little more than Wulfgar's endowed errand boy, and she disliked being told what to do by anyone, especially a subordinate. One corner of her mouth came up. Even if he can make ships disappear, she thought.
Glancing up and down the boulevard, she saw no one familiar. Keeping to the opposite side of the street, she dismounted and tied the gelding to a nearby rail.
She stepped onto the sidewalk, leaned up against an oil lamp pole, and cast her gaze across the street. There was no way to discern whether there were any customers inside the shop, so now seemed as good a time as any.
Slipping her hands beneath her cloak, she found the handles of her four daggers and gave them each a tug, loosening them in their sheaths.
She pushed off from the pole, removed the scarf from her face, and walked warily across the street. As she entered the shop, the little bell at the top of the door cheerfully announced her presence.
The place was spacious and airy, belying the impression of shoddiness it gave from the street. All manner of archery equipment-some quite finely crafted, even by Satine's high professional standards-lined the walls and littered the various tables. While looking over the goods with an expert eye, she surreptitiously studied the other end of the shop.
A man Satine took as the proprietor stood at the far end, behind a long wooden counter. Two patrons stood there, loudly arguing with him over the price of a dozen arrows. They were impoverished, greasy-looking men, and their manners matched their appearance. The proprietor was a short, balding man. Red garters held up the sleeves of his sweat-stained shirt. He was doing his best to keep control of the situation, but the rowdy customers were becoming ruder and more threatening with every passing second. Their speech was slurred; Satine guessed that they had been drinking.
Grabbing up a longbow from a nearby wall, Satine strode purposefully to the counter. As she approached, one of the men leered at her. Several of his teeth were missing, and she could smell the ale on his breath. Ignoring him, Satine held up the longbow.
"How much?" she asked.
"Wha-what?" the owner asked, as he turned away from the two men. He gave Satine an angry look, as though she were a nuisance rather than a paying customer.
This was getting her nowhere. It was time to let him know who she really was. Holding the bow higher, she pointed to its string.
"Is this catgut, or something else?" she asked. "I understand catgut is hard to come by these days."
As expected, she watched a surprised look come over the man's face.
"It's catgut," he answered. "Makes for the best strings, you know."
"So I've been told," she said. His coded reply had been exactly what Bratach had told her to expect. Now the only obstacles were the two miscreants standing by her side.
She placed the bow down on the countertop and slipped her hands beneath her cloak. As she did so, she sized up the situation. The man standing nearest her would have to be dealt with first. The other was a short distance down the length of the counter.
She usually only killed for money, but this was different. Not only had they both seen her here, they were unnecessary distractions. Her sanctions had to be protected, and these men were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. One corner of her mouth came up. This would be so easy that it almost wasn't worth doing.
The nearest man turned to look at her. His angry eyes were bloodshot.
"Someone ought to teach you some manners," he snarled. Still refusing to look at him, she remained motionless. When she didn't reply, his hand started moving toward her.
When his hand was close enough, with a single, smooth move Satine turned on one heel, grasped his hand in midair, and then turned it over. She heard the bones crack.
Then she grabbed one of her daggers and plunged the blade directly into his body. With a quick, upward thrust, she sliced him open from his groin to his breast. When she felt the knife strike bone she stopped, twisted the blade upward, and thrust its point into his heart. As he collapsed, she pushed him away with the sole of one boot.
The other one was coming for her. She raised the bloody dagger over her head and let it fly. It twirled end over end twice, and then buried itself into the man's throat. As the blood burbled from his mouth, he tried to reach out to her. Then the light went out of his eyes, and he collapsed facedown onto the floor.
Silence fell as Satine removed the black scarf from her cloak. She retrieved her dagger from the dead man. After wiping it clean, she replaced the blade in its sheath.
She looked calmly across the counter to the proprietor. His mouth was hanging open.
"But…you're a woman!" he breathed.
"So you noticed," she shot back. "Congratulations."
Saying nothing more, she walked toward the front of the shop. First she reached up and drew down the window shades. Then she opened the door and turned its sign around, so that it now read "Closed." After turning the lock she walked back to the counter, placed her palms on it, and looked the sweaty man directly in the eyes.
"Until I leave here and these two bodies have been disposed of, you're closed," she said. "You are the consul named Ivan, I presume? If you aren't, I've just killed two men for nothing."
Slowly regaining his composure, Bratach's consul pointed down at the two corpses. "Why did you do that, you fool?" he asked. "We need no undue attention drawn to this place!"
Satine's eyes hardened. "I kill whom I choose, when I choose," she answered. Then she shrugged. "I wouldn't worry. They don't exactly look like two of Eutracia's finest. Besides, there is an easy way to dispose of this refuse, right in plain sight."
Raising an eyebrow, Ivan nervously ran one finger around the inside of his sweaty shirt collar. "How?"
"You're a consul, are you not?" she asked. "Simply use the craft to scorch their clothing and bodies. Then, under the cover of night, toss them out into the street. Believe me, no one will notice two more out there." Satine crossed her arms over her breasts and looked hard at Ivan.
"Now then," she demanded. "Why am I here?"
"Bratach didn't tell you?" he asked skeptically.
"Not really," she answered. "All he said was that this shop serves as some form of refuge. It's apparent he didn't tell you that I would be a woman, either. He seems to like his little games, doesn't he?"
"Follow me," Ivan said.
He turned and walked toward the back of the shop, where he disappeared around one end of a hanging curtain. With one palm resting lightly upon a dagger hilt, Satine warily followed.
The area behind the curtain was dark and musty. The consul narrowed his eyes as he called on the craft to light an oil lamp sconce on the wall. He lifted the globe free and carried it to a door. Creaking on its hinges, the door opened slowly to reveal a wooden stairway leading downward.
The chamber below was simple and utilitarian. Ancient, multicolored bricks lined the walls. Brightly burning oil sconces illuminated the room. There was another door in the opposite wall. Several beds were stacked on the dirt floor in a far corner. Shelves were piled with dried foodstuffs and containers of water, while another area held a rudimentary wine cellar. A table sat in the center of the room, holding a half-full bottle of red wine, stained glasses, and a scattering of playing cards. The air in the room was fetid and musty.