“No tellin’ when Zip’11 turn up. Thet boy comes an’ goes as he pleases.”
Chenaya remained where she was as the old woman disappeared to fetch her wine.
She took a deep breath and let it out. Zip would turn up, she had no doubt.
She’d spread enough wealth to insure that; she’d killed his enemies, too. He’d come all right, if only out of curiosity.
She took another deep breath and held it. What was that odor? She glanced at the doorway Mama Becho had gone through. An old, worn blanket hung across it; a thin, tenuous smoke wafted around the edges.
Krrf smoke.
She wet her lips slyly and wondered how Gestus and Dismas were faring.
Two bitter cups of wine and one cup of water later, the man she had come to find mercifully walked in, leaving, by the sound of things, a couple of his cronies standing guard in the alleyway. Mama Becho made a discreet nod of greeting and headed for the back room.
“Don’t bother listening through the curtain or one of the cracks in the wall.
Mama,” Zip called and waved his hand to draw her back. “Up here-where I can keep an eye on you, too.” Mama Becho put on a look of wounded innocence and reached for another mug to polish.
Zip walked calmly up to Chenaya; his gaze ran unabashedly up and down her body.
“There’s a lot more swagger in your step than when we met in Ratfall,” she commented wryly.
His gaze met hers with unconcealed arrogance. “You’ve got a lot less muscle with you this time,” he answered bluntly. “What do you want, Chenaya? Did Tempus send you?”
She laughed. Her hand reached out to touch his shoulder, drifted down over his chest, then resumed its place at her belt. Hard, lean muscle beneath his clothing, she’d discovered, no fat. “Tempus Thales isn’t quite the puppeteer he thinks himself.”