All heads turned his way. The woman emerged, having pushed her way through the crowd of street muscle. ‘You again,’ she sneered. ‘Look at you – standing there bold as brass all alone. Time you were taught a lesson.’ She snapped her fingers again to urge the hired thugs forward. The gang drew truncheons and other short clubs. Dancer counted twelve and he didn’t wait for them to sort themselves out; he waded in immediately.
He smacked knees then skulls as the owners of the knees sank. He pressed forward, attacking. Incoming blows were blocked and returned with counters to elbows, knees and heads. Anywhere to inflict maximum damage with least effort. The ruffians fell before him while the woman retreated between them, her eyes growing ever more huge. The sharp crack of hardwood on bone echoed in the narrow brick channel of the alley.
The last of the twelve fell from multiple blows to the knees, stomach and skull to sprawl unconscious at the woman’s feet. She stared now at Dancer in open disbelief. Behind him lay a carpet of thugs either out cold or clutching knees and heads and groaning in pain. ‘Why are you here?’ she breathed, awed despite herself. ‘Why is someone like you wasting your time on this wretched island?’
‘That’s my business. Now I suggest your employer catch the next ship out.’
She shook her head. ‘I know him. He won’t.’
‘Then we have a problem.’
Her hand strayed to the knife at her belt and he gave her a warning look; the hand slipped away. ‘Yes,’ she stammered, ‘yes, we do.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Lee.’
‘Lee? Really. Well, my name’s Dancer. And I’m calling your boss out. Either he abandons all claims to any territory here in the city, or I’ll come for him. Is that clear?’
She nodded, her jaws clenched tight.
‘Very good.’ He nodded that she could go. She backed away up a portion of the alley then turned and hurried away into the misting rain.
Dancer turned to the giant who still blocked the back door. ‘What’s your name?’
The man frowned down at him, looking puzzled, then announced, ‘No fighting in the bar.’
Dancer raised a brow; Right. He called loudly through the door, ‘The liquor’s all yours. I’m sure you have room for free casks.’ Then he picked his way between the fallen out on to the main street.
As he left the alley he heard the proprietor asking cautiously, ‘Is it safe?’
Amiss joined him on the street, grinning. ‘You were a big help,’ he complained.
‘They said you were good – but I didn’t know you were that good.’
‘Thanks … I think.’
‘Teach me?’
He eyed her sidelong. ‘Sure. But I don’t think we’ll have the time.’
‘Planning on going somewhere?’
He laughed. ‘I plan on all of us being damned busy.’
The girl was nearly skipping along over the puddles. ‘We’ll see. Maybe this Geffen fellow will finally get the message.’
Dancer had to shake his head. ‘No. I’m gonna have to beat him unconscious and throw him on to a ship.’
‘Why haven’t you yet?’
He wiped the cold mist from his face. ‘Because it’s his organization we have to beat. Otherwise one of his lieutenants will just step up and we’ll get nowhere.’
‘Ah. I see.’
They were nearing Smiley’s and he hurried his pace, pulling her along. If there was going to be an ambush, it would be here.
The door was thrown open and Shrift nodded them in. Dancer relaxed. He inclined his head in farewell to Amiss, then climbed the stairs.
He unlocked the door and checked within. Maybe … But the room was still empty. For a time he stood in the darkness regarding the desk. Wu shouldn’t have gone alone. The damned fool needed him to keep him alive. What could he possibly have been thinking?
He pulled a chair over to the wall next to the door and sat, leaned back on the two rear legs to rest against the wall, and set his hands on the cold hilts of the thin daggers hidden at his waist, which he always kept there – just in case. He sat in silence, regarding the dark room while the rain hissed against the shuttered window, then let out a long breath and closed his eyes.
*
Nedurian sat on a bench eating an apple; it was a sunny day and he was enjoying the warmth. The usual old dogs sat about, trading their tired old lies and generally watching what little corner of the world this square in the market quarter of Malaz City offered. He was only half listening – he’d heard all their stories and opinions on everything twenty times over – but when the talk suddenly died down he raised his gaze to see what had arrested their attention and choked on the mouthful of apple. Agayla stood before him, hands on hips. A rich brocaded silk scarf was thrown round her neck, and her long hair blew loose about her like its own black silk banner.
‘There you are!’ she announced as if he were some truant lad. ‘We’re late. Hurry!’ and she marched off, heading for the waterfront.
Quite bewildered, Nedurian rose, apple loose in his hand.
‘One widow not enough for ya, Ned?’ one of the old dogs offered.
Nedurian made a show of running a hand over his unkempt beard, and straightened his frayed collar. ‘Can’t help having what these gals want, boyo.’
The oldster shot a smirk to his companion. ‘Yeah … obedience.’ Both of them cackled, showing a remarkable lack of teeth.
Nedurian raised a warning finger. ‘Careful there. The fish might find you tasty.’
The old fellow waved him away. ‘Ach … they’ve had plenty a chances.’
Ned caught Agayla glaring at him from up the street. He hurried on.
The gallery of old dogs sent him off with hoots of laughter.
Pacing Agayla, he cast her a brief puzzled glance. What could be the trouble? He’d never spoken to her outside her shop – couldn’t even remember seeing her outside her shop. Her pace was quick, and her long straight black hair whipped in the offshore winds.
‘What’s up?’ he asked.
She ignored him and so he bit down on any further questions. She was leading the way to the crowded main docks where commercial vessels unloaded cargo and took on passengers for the day’s journey to the mainland.
Here she scanned the crowds, raising herself on the toes of her shoes, biting her lip. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost say she was anxious. And anything that would make this woman anxious was way out of his class.
‘I don’t see him,’ she muttered, frustrated. ‘He should be here by now.’
‘Who?’
‘Obo.’
He was rocked, though he managed to stop his mouth from hanging open. Obo! By all the gods and demons above and below. He’d only ever heard that name – and then only whispered by the most accomplished mages. They were going to meet him? Was that what this was about? Somehow he doubted it.
She waved him onward. ‘Well, can’t be helped. We’ll just have to meet her ourselves.’
Ah. A woman. ‘Who?’ he asked. Again she ignored him. He ground his teeth against his annoyance as he followed her to the foot of the pier where the most recent vessel had moored. She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them and pulled back her hair, knotting it through itself, before pushing up her sleeves and crossing her arms once more over her thin breast.
She really is nervous, he realized, rather appalled that anyone or anything could elicit such a reaction in this magus.
‘Who is it?’ he asked out of the side of his mouth.
‘Quiet. Keep your hands empty. And by all the gods, don’t raise your Warren.’