Sleep with men for money. If you’re wise, you’ll find a rich old husband before you lose your looks. Otherwise, save your gold.
‘Now, that’s all the advice I have to give and I think we’re about to be joined by an unwelcome visitor. You two get over by the bed and talk as if you’re still playing with a customer.’
Tal went to the door and cracked it open slightly, so he could see anyone coming down the hall. He waited patiently while the girls prattled, trying hard to sound festive while being frightened.
Nearly half an hour passed before a figure appeared at the top of the stairs. As Tal suspected, it was the man who had feigned sleep.
As the man neared the halfway point in the hall, Amafi appeared behind him. Although the old former assassin had lost his appetite for killing as a livelihood, he had not lost all his skills. He ducked behind a column an instant before the Nighthawk glanced behind to see if he was being followed, and Tal marvelled at the old killer’s ability. He had watched him move into the shadow of that column but he couldn’t see where he was now.
The Nighthawk was only a few feet from the door and Tal waved to the girls. The redhead forced a giggle and the dark-haired girl’s laugh sounded, but the Nighthawk didn’t appear to notice.
As he got close enough to notice that the door was slightly ajar, Amafi came out from his hiding place, and within two strides fell upon the Nighthawk.
The assassin must have sensed his approach for he turned at the last minute, a blade appearing in his hand as if by magic, and Amafi barely avoided being skewered.
Tal didn’t hesitate. He reached through the door and struck the man with the hilt of his sword behind the ear, and the Nighthawk went down in a heap. Tal caught him under the arms as Amafi grabbed his feet and they carried him into the room. The man groaned as they tossed him onto the bed, and Tal quickly administered the draught.
‘From what I’ve been told, these lads have a nasty habit of killing themselves,’ said Tal. ‘So, not only are we going to frustrate them tonight, let’s see if we can get this one back to where we might get some answers out of him.’
‘Doubtful,’ said Amafi, ‘but we can try. What of these?’ he said, inclining his head towards the girls.
‘Time to go, ladies,’ said Tal. ‘Now, if you wish to stay alive, do as I told you. You might increase your chances of survival if you invite some of those loud and annoying drunks to walk you back into the city.’
The girls nodded and left, saying nothing. ‘What now?’ said Amafi.
Tal reached up and pulled the window-sashes down. He ripped off the heavy cords that hemmed them and said, ‘We’ll tie him up and lower him to the ground below. If we can stay close to the side of the window the lookout at the other corner of the garden who is watching the stairs for his friend to come down, may not notice us.’
‘We can but try.’
They tied up the man, and Tal was first to climb out of the window. He hung by his hands and then let go, landing on his feet with a soft thud. He looked across the large opening into the main room and saw the lookout with his eyes trained inside, on the stairs.
He motioned for Amafi to lower the Nighthawk, and almost had the man dropped on his head. A moment later, Amafi landed hard on his backside next to Tal. ‘I’m not what I once was, Magnificence,’ he whispered.
‘Next time, you go first and I’ll drop him on you.’
‘As you say, Magnificence.’ Amafi and Tal dragged the unconscious man around the corner and down the path to the outside hedge. Amafi lowered the rope ladder and quickly climbed down. Tal threw the man over his shoulder and carefully negotiated his way to the bottom of the ladder. Then with one arm, he lowered the man to where Amafi could guide his fall.
Tal leapt onto the roof of the house and said, ‘Do we have a fast route away from this home, Amafi?’
Amafi pointed and helped Tal sling the Nighthawk over his shoulder, and they tiptoed across the roof of the house. Tal could hear tiles cracking under their boots and silently asked the owner of this fine home to forgive him when the next rains struck Kesh. He followed Amafi and prayed that they could reach the closest safe house without incident.
THE DOOR SWUNG OPEN.
Tad, Zane and Jommy all looked up from their dozing, fitful attempt at resting. A girl about the same age as the lads entered the room carrying a small kettle, a stack of bowls and under her arm, a wrapped bundle.
The three boys stood up and gave her access to the table. When she had put down her burdens, she unwrapped the bundle to display half a loaf of bread and a small wheel of cheese. ‘My father told me to bring these to you,’ she said in a low whisper. She was plump with a pretty smile, big brown eyes and long dark hair.
Jommy handed the utensils around. He shared out the soup and the girl went to look at Caleb. ‘He’s lost a lot of blood,’ she observed, ‘but his colour looks better than last night and he’s breathing well. If he wakes up, give him something to eat.’ She glanced into the kettle and said, ‘Which means leaving some of this for him, all right?’
Tad nodded and tried to talk with a mouth full of cheese. Zane said, ‘Thank you.’
Jommy said, ‘Miss, do you know what we’re supposed to do next?’
She glanced around the room and said, ‘Wait,’ then closed the door.
Kaspar hurried through the halls of the palace with Pasko at his heels. It was barely first light, yet the summons had come nearly a quarter hour earlier. He had dressed without the benefit of a bath or shave and had become very used to the Keshian practice of consuming large mugs of hot coffee in the morning with the meal and after.
He reached the office of Turgan Bey who waved him into a chair and motioned for Pasko to wait outside. The Conclave agent posing as a manservant, bowed and left the room, while Bey’s clerk closed the doors.
‘Coffee?’ asked Bey, indicating a large earthenware carafe sitting on the table next to two mugs.
Kaspar poured himself some of the hot, bitter, habit-forming drink and said, ‘Thank you. I’ve become accustomed to it in the mornings since I’ve been here.’
Bey smiled. ‘It may be even more addictive than some of the drugs you buy in the market.’ He motioned for Kaspar to follow him to the balcony overlooking the garden.
The night sky had given way to the soft grey light of dawn, with rose and silver hues foreshadowing the bright blue sky to come. It would be another hot day as the Empire approached the Midsummer festival of Banapis. Kaspar had come to expect the nights to be hot and the days to be hotter. If he didn’t think that he’d look ridiculous in Keshian garb, he would have already sent Pasko out for a linen kilt and a set of sandals.
Softly, Bey said, ‘There was some bloody work afoot last night, Kaspar.’
Kaspar said, ‘I’ve heard nothing.’
‘You’re hearing it now,’ said Bey.
‘Who died?’
‘For certain, Prince Nauka.’
Kaspar said, ‘The Emperor’s great-nephew?’
‘The same, and a staunch supporter of Sezioti.’ Bey shook his head and blew out a long breath as if he was trying to release his frustration. ‘Here’s the maddening part of it; I know that Dangai is behind this.’
‘You’re certain he’s not being used by others?’
‘When