“Just what the hell did you do that for?” I asked, advancing upon them.
“I saved your damn life,” the man growled.
“The hell you did! You might have just cost me it! I needed that man alive!”
Then the figure to his left spoke, and I recognized the voice. She placed her hand lightly upon the arm I did not even realize I had raised to strike the man again.
“He did it on my orders,” she said. “I feared for your life, and I did not understand that you wanted him prisoner.”
I stared at her pale proud features within the dark cloak’s raised cowl. It was Vinta Bayle, Caine’s lady, whom I had last seen at the funeral. She was also the third daughter of the Baron Bayle, to whom Amber owed many a bibulous night.
I realized that I was shaking slightly. I drew a deep breath and caught control of myself.
“I see,” I said at last. “Thank you.”
“I am sorry,” she told me.
I shook my head. “You didn’t know. What’s done is done. I’m grateful to anybody who tries to help me.”
“I can still help you,” she said. “I might have misread this one, but I believe you may still be in danger. Let’s get away from here.”
I nodded. “A moment, please.”
I went and retrieved Frakir from about the neck of the other dead man.
She disappeared quickly into my left sleeve. The blade I had been using fit my scabbard after a fashion, so I pushed it home and adjusted the belt, which had pulled around toward the rear.
“Let’s go,” I said to her.
The four of us strode back toward Harbor Street. Interested bystanders got out of our way quickly. Someone was probably already robbing the dead behind us. Things fall apart; the center cannot hold. But what the hell, it’s home.