Blade crouched atop a steep, brown-tiled roof that overlooked the house where the drover, Tromar, dwelt, watching the windows and doors. Its white-washed walls had not seen a fresh coat for decades, and soot streaked them. The grey slate roof sagged in places, and several window panes were cracked. Washing lines spanned the gap to its neighbour, an equally rundown brick house with a red-tiled roof. The street was cobbled, since this area was not part of the slums, and several houses on it boasted stables with skinny inmates. Late afternoon sunlight gilded the shabby neighbourhood, and birds sought roosts for the night.
A child's high-pitched wails echoed down the street, coming from within Tromar's house, and raised voices, a man shouting and a woman weeping, mingled with them. Apparently Tromar's son was causing trouble already. A crash of breaking pottery cut through the man's angry bellows, followed by a shriek of pain and the crack of leather on flesh. Blade wondered who Tromar was beating, his wife or his son. Probably the former, he mused, since he had only found his son a few time-glasses earlier. Dusk crept through the city on gloomy feet, filling the streets with shadow.
Lilu's habit of bearing her customers' children caused plenty of trouble, it seemed, and a part of Blade was glad he would never have that problem. He had resigned himself to it over the years, and, while the thought of a son had a great deal of appeal, he knew it would never be. Tromar was a vicious bully who did not deserve a son, and divesting him of his precious offspring would be satisfying. It did not fit into any of the compartments that Blade had created in his mind to justify his actions, however.
It was not his trade, nor was it vengeance, nor could he accept it as repayment for Lilu's aid. He had repaid that plenty already, and assassins were not supposed to have friends. She was not his friend, though, he told himself often, and now she knew too much. Her words had shocked him to the core, and he wanted to know how she knew. He returned his attention to the house as the shrieks rose to a crescendo, then died away to broken sobs. The child continued to scream, and a man emerged from the dilapidated dwelling, slammed the door behind him and stormed away up the street, probably heading for the closest taproom. Blade recognised Tromar from his swaggering gait and stocky build, and the big brown bear that shambled after him. He considered the house again, weighing his plan.
Tromar's exit had left the front door unlocked, but there was still a woman inside. Her weeping came from a room on the top floor, however, and the child's screams came from downstairs. Blade glanced up and down the street to assure himself of its emptiness, then slid from the roof to land on the cobbles with a soft thud. With silent strides he reached the door and yanked it open, the boy's shrieks assaulting his ears. They emanated from the lounge, where two shabby brown sofas faced an empty hearth. On one, a boy wrapped in a grey blanket sat and screamed, tears running down his cheeks and snot oozing from his nose. Blade went over to him and bent to press his fingertips to the child's soft throat, silencing him. Scooping up the limp boy, he left the house and trotted up the street.
Blade stopped in a dim alley to check the toddler, his nose wrinkling at the foul stench that came from the boy's nether regions. Disgusted, he loped towards the slums, where a frantic mother doubtless wept for her malodourous offspring. The Master of the Dance, reduced to child snatching. Lilu would owe him for this for the rest of her life, especially if it caused more trouble with Tromar. He considered stashing the child somewhere until Tromar had visited Lilu and discovered that she did not have his son, but the drover would, in all likelihood, kill her.
What was more, the boy would wake soon and resume his shrieks, drawing attention from far and wide. The thought of handing him over to Lilu, and thereby doing exactly what she had asked of him, rankled. He was not a pawn to be manipulated by tears, pleas or demands. Yet here he was, heading for his haunt with her smelly son. It would set a bad precedent, and she might think she could make similar demands in the future. He considered tossing the boy in the river, but that was an assassination and he had no client. Snatching the child had been easy; finding a way to give him back without appearing to do so was a far tougher problem.
By the time he arrived at the whorehouse, he had failed to come up with a solution, and the child was on the brink of waking. Banging into the whore's room, he marched over to the bed where a plump form huddled and kicked the frame.
“Lilu, wake up.”
The whore sat up, rubbing her eyes, and he thrust the child into her arms, swinging away when she gave a shriek of joy and clutched the boy to her breast. He slammed the door so hard on his way out that it almost bounced off its hinges. Angrily he sniffed his sleeves as he entered the taproom, ensuring that none of the child's stink had rubbed off on him. Banging on the counter to summon the barkeep, he demanded a bottle of wine and retreated to his shadowy corner with it, thoroughly fed up. When wails came from the back room, the brothel keeper looked around with a scowl. Children were not allowed in the whorehouse. The keeper headed for the whores' rooms, but Blade caught his eye and raised a finger, wagging it. Rendal returned to the bar, looking sour.
Within minutes, the wails faded, and Blade tried not to imagine how Lilu had stopped the boy's crying. After a time-glass of silence, during which he drained the bottle of dry red wine, curiosity got the better of him and he went to Lilu's room. It was empty, and he flopped down on the bed with a sigh, closing his eyes. His hip still ached sometimes, and the wine made him sleepy.
The creak of the door woke him, and he sat up in darkness. His keen eyes made out Lilu groping to the table to light a candle with the tinderbox. He squinted in the illumination, frowning. She spotted him and gasped, squealed and rushed at him. Blade raised his hands to ward her off, but she pounced on him, flattening him under her bulk. She stank of sweat and what he suspected was milk or something just as revolting.
“Get off me, Lilu!” He tried to push her away, but she wound her arms around his neck and hung on.
“I knew you'd get him back,” she mumbled into the side of his neck.
“Get off!”
“No.” She raised her head to gaze down at him, her eyes shimmering. “Thank you.”
He glared at her, his nose wrinkled. “You stink as bad as that damned brat.”
She giggled. “There's nothing you can say that will offend me now. I love you so much.”
“I almost tossed the bloody little shitter in the river.”
“No you didn't.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Liar.” She stroked his cheek, and he jerked his head to the side.
“Quit pawing me and get off.”
She smiled and kissed his cheek. “You're so soft. Now that I have you at my mercy, I think I'll enjoy it for a bit.”
“Oh, you think so?”
“I do.” She nodded. “I've wanted to get my hands on you for a long time, but you're usually as slippery as an eel. Did you have too much wine tonight?”
“It would seem so.”
“You're not blushing for a change, but apart from telling me to get off, you don't know what to say, do you?”
He turned his head to glower at her, immensely uncomfortable with her proximity and striving not to show it. “You stink.”
“Ah, that won't work either, I'm afraid. I probably do, but I don't care if it offends you.”
“This is the thanks I get?”
“Yes, actually, it is.” She hugged him, ignoring his shudder. “If you really wanted me gone,” she murmured, “I know you could do it.”
“I'd have to find a new haunt after killing a whore.”
“No you wouldn't. Rendal would be happy to be rid of me.”
He sighed. “I'm not enjoying this, Lilu.”
“But I am. I won't let you boss me around. I need a hug sometimes, you know, and I think you do too.”
“No I don't.”
She raised her head to study him again, tracing his lips with a finger. “Is Tromar dead?”
“No. I don't kill without a client.”
Her eyes filled with dread. “He'll come after me. He'll kill me to get Endel back.”
“Probably.”
“Will you let him?”
“If you don't get off me, I might.”
She smiled and shook her head. “It's a good thing I don't believe your lies any more. There was a time when I did, but I know you better now.”
“Not well enough to predict me.”
“Perhaps not, but I know I'm right about this. You need me. Where else will you go when you're hurt?”
He snorted, shifting. “Assassins have managed without helpful whores for centuries.”
“And yet, without me, you'd have died twice... no, three times already. You court death more than most, and one day it's going to take you.”
“Good.” He averted his eyes. “You're mistaken if you think I fear it.”
“And yet you seek me out when you're hurt. Why is that then?”
“It's painful.”
“Ah. So it's the pain you fear?”
“I'm not fond of it, no.”
Lilu gripped his chin and forced him to look at her. “Don't you dare throw your life away. It's more precious than you know, especially to me.”
“Because I've helped you a little in the past? Don't count on any more, it may not be forthcoming.”
“You hate anyone knowing that you're a good man, but I already do, so there's not need to try to hide it from me any longer.”
Blade raised a hand to take hers in a soft hold that made her glance down at it in surprise. His fingers tightened on her middle finger, and he yanked back on it. Lilu recoiled with a yelp, sliding off to land on the floor with a grunt. He sat up and frowned at her.
“Now my patience has ended. You should've let me go earlier, instead of forcing me to hurt you.”
She levered herself up, nursing her finger. “It's not a slit throat, though.”
He swung his legs off the bed. “You're not dead only because of my trade, not because I have any fondness for you.”
“Rubbish.” She quailed a little when he glared at her. “All right, have it your way. What about Tromar?”
“What about him?”
“You know he's going to come here and try to kill me.”
Blade yawned and stretched. “I hope he succeeds.”
She sighed and struggled to her feet, then sat beside him. “I know what you're going to do.”
“Do you now?”
“Yes. When he comes, you'll make him attack you, then you'll be able to kill him in self-defence.”
“If you annoy me any further, I'll let him give you a good beating first.”
Lilu smiled and tried to slip her arm through his, but he jumped up and headed for the taproom, slamming the door behind him.
The following night, Blade glanced up when a commotion started at the brothel's door, where a brawny man shoved patrons aside, his scarred face twisted in a murderous scowl. The assassin recognised Tromar's battered countenance and tensed, glancing at Lilu, who met his eyes with wide, frightened ones. He allowed a slight smile to curl his lips, raising his wine cup, as if to wish her luck. It would serve her right if she thought he would allow the drover to beat her to death. She was becoming far too impertinent.
Tromar's beady, bloodshot eyes roamed the room and came to rest on Lilu, who jumped up and headed for the back rooms. Blade sighed and shook his head at her stupidity. If she had stayed in the taproom, the brothel's bounder boys might have come to her rescue, but in the back room she was on her own unless she screamed loudly enough to force Rendal to do something. Tromar roared and stomped after her, shoving men and whores alike from his path. Lilu slipped through the curtain with a shriek of terror, the drover in hot pursuit.
Blade cocked his head and listened to the door slam, closely followed by a crash as it was kicked down. Many of the patrons turned to stare in the direction of the sounds, some glancing at Blade, who resented their obvious assumption that he would help the harlot. A muffled scream came from the back room, and Rendal turned his head to look at Blade. The assassin slugged back the last of his wine, rose to his feet and wandered towards the ruckus.
The door of Lilu's room lay on the floor, ripped from its hinges by the powerful kick that had left a boot-shaped impression in it. Blade shuddered to think what a kick like that could do to his ribs, or worse still, his face. He had no intention of tangling with the brute. Leaning on the frame, he watched the pair struggling on the bed. Tromar straddled Lilu, his hands gripping her throat, and her face was turning blue.
“Where ith he, you bitch? What have you done with my thon?” he bellowed, spittle flying from his lips.
“She can't tell you if she can't breathe,” Blade drawled when Tromar drew breath.
The drover glared at him. “Bugger off, you little dandy!”
Lilu clawed at Tromar's eyes, making him grunt and raise his head, tightening his grip. She coughed and writhed.
Blade raised a hand and inspected his fingernails. He would have to speed this up, or Tromar would strangle her. “Have you ever wondered who bashed your face in, Tromar?”
The drover turned to gape at him, and his grip loosened, allowing the whore to draw a wheezing breath. “Who?”
“You never saw me, did you?”
“You? You're a runt!”
“Ah well, even a runt can bring a big man down when armed with a sturdy plank.”
Tromar's eyes bulged, and Blade got the impression that the drover had been trying to find out who had smashed his face ever since it had happened. His lust for vengeance overcame his wish to find his son, which, Blade supposed, he thought he could still do once he had dealt with the assassin, and he released Lilu and climbed off the bed.
“I'm going to rip your armth off and thtomp your fathe into the street,” the drover rumbled, closing the gap.
Blade pushed himself away from the doorframe and headed for the back door, Tromar in pursuit. Out in the street, Blade turned to face his aggressor, noting the big brown bear that waited there for its friend, rooting in the garbage. Such a dangerous familiar made the situation more complicated, and he had no doubt the animal would outlive its friend. Blade wondered why the bear waited outside the back door when Tromar had come in the front, and deduced that it was probably because the drover had planned to kill Lilu once he had the information he wanted, and then leave through the back door. Tromar cracked his knuckles, a disgusting mannerism all bullies seemed to share, his face twisted with hatred. Blade circled away from his foe.
“You're no uglier now than you were before,” he said. “If anything, it's something of an improvement.”
“You're a dead man.”
“Am I now? That sounds like a threat.”
“It'th a promith.” Tromar lunged at him, fists swinging.
Blade skipped back out of reach. “It's not a good idea to threaten the Master of the Dance.”
Tromar paused, his eyes glinting. “Ith that what you are? I thought you were a bugger-boy from the brothel.”
“No such luck, I'm afraid.”
The drover raked him with a disparaging glance. “You may be good at thneaking into bedrooms and thlitting men'th throats while they thleep, but you've got no chanth againth me.”
“You think I'm going to fight you?”
“You have no choith, becauth I'm going to beat you to a bloody pulp, whether you do or not.” Tromar stepped towards him.
Blade retreated. He had hoped the drover would draw the ugly knife in his belt, but evidently he was not that stupid. Although there were no witnesses to the fracas, Blade had no intention of letting the big man lay a finger on him. He was tired of injuries and the pain that accompanied them. A glance at the door found Lilu in it, her face pale, her eyes fixed on him. She was not much of a witness, but she would have to do. He should have led Tromar through the common room, he realised, but it was too late now. The drover lunged at him, his beefy fists skimming past the assassin's chest as he jumped back, releasing the daggers from their wrist sheaths. They slid into his hands, warm and smooth, and he raised them. Tromar's eyes widened.
The first dagger hit him in the eye, the second impaled his throat. The drover stumbled to a halt, his mouth working, and his hands rose to grip the hilts. Blood ran down his chest, soaking his shirt in a crimson tide. He teetered, gurgling, and plucked the dagger from his eye. His knees buckled, and he sank onto them, making horrible gargling sounds. The bear swung around with a growl and charged. Blade sprinted for the nearest drainpipe, and Lilu stepped back, slamming the door. The assassin shinnied up the pipe with remarkable speed, even for him, which was not surprising considering the shaggy behemoth that raked the wall below him with six-inch claws.
Blade pulled himself onto the roof, which creaked ominously, and flattened himself on it to spread his weight. The bear growled and scrabbled at the wall, ripping the drainpipe off in its zeal. It gave the peculiar grunting roar that bears made, a sound filled with grief and rage. Blade peered over the edge when it fell silent. The animal shambled over to its friend and licked the drover's face. Tromar lay on his back and still shuddered and twitched, blood pooling under his neck. The bear snuffled and nudged him, moaning, then lay down beside him and rested a huge paw on his chest. Blade almost pitied the beast, but not quite. Tromar would be dead in a few more minutes, but it would be a while before the animal left, and until then Blade would not be able to retrieve his daggers.
The assassin crawled over the roof and dropped to the street in front of the brothel, pushing open the door to saunter inside. Many of the patrons turned to stare at him, probably wondering how he had got to the front door so fast when he had left through the back mere minutes ago. The brothel stood in a row of buildings that ran the length of the street, so there was no way to run around to the front door that quickly. Rendal eyed him, polishing a cup. Blade brushed dirt from his jacket and headed for the back room, sweeping aside the curtain.
Lilu sat on her bed, weeping, and looked up with swollen, red-rimmed eyes when he strolled in. She rose with a glad cry and came at him, her arms spread. Blade tried to evade her, cursing, but she flung her arms around him and clung to him.
“Bugger it, Lilu, let me go,” he said.
“That was horrible.”
“Did you expect it to be entertaining?”
“I... No, but gods, he stood no chance, did he?”
He snorted, trying to extricate his arms from her grip. “No.”
“Why didn't he use his knife?”
“Whose side were you on?”
“Yours, of course.” She looked up at him. “I just didn't think it would be so easy for you.”
“Oh, you thought I'd let him beat me up first?”
“I thought he might hurt you.”
“But that didn't stop you from asking me to kill him.”
“I didn't want you to be hurt,” she said. “If you had taken the silvers and assassinated him, you wouldn't have been, but you wouldn't. All because of your pride!”
Blade jerked his arms free and shoved her away. “You're an ungrateful trollop.”
“I only meant...” She held out her hands in a pleading gesture. “I don't want you to be hurt. I couldn't bear it.”
“I've earned the right to be proud of what I do.” He spread his arms. “You think becoming the Dance Master is easy? You think I should sell my services for a few damned silvers? That I gave you!” He kicked the chair across the room with a shriek of tortured wood. “I should change my haunt, and then we'll see what happens to you.”
“No, please. I just... I was afraid for you!”
“Killing is what I do, you stupid whore. It's my trade! Once I decided to kill him, he was a dead man, no matter how I did it. You don't understand that, do you?”
“You've been hurt before.”
“Only when set upon by a gang of louts in a dark alley when I was so drunk I could barely walk. And then, when I was cornered by a dozen armed men, most of whom I killed. One stupid drover was never a threat.”
“And the last time?”
“What last time? Oh, that.” He sank down on the bed, running a hand over his hair. “That was different.”
“How?” She sat on the chair, gazing at him.
“He was a rogue assassin, and I had to confront him in the street, since I didn't know his name or where he lived.”
“I'm glad you're all right.” She hesitated. “Will you have trouble with the Watch?”
“No. He attacked me. Many people saw him follow me outside, and what happened after that isn't hard to guess.” He flopped back, rubbing his face. “I would have gone out the front, but I thought the damned bear would be out there. Instead it was at the back, so he was planning to kill you whether or not you told him where his son was.”
She nodded, bowing her head. “I thought he would.”
“You'd better not birth any more bastards whose fathers I have to kill.”
Lilu turned and leant over him, reaching out to stroke his brow. “Thank you.”
Blade sighed and closed his eyes, tolerating her touch for a change. Her soft hand soothed his aching head, and, while he resented her assumption that she could paw him, he found that he did not mind so much anymore.