“Without the Third Commando liaison, we’ve never been able to lay hands on Zip,”
Walegrin complained. “What makes you think that’s going to change? They’re like rats. And it’s not just Ratfall that they call home; the Maze and Downwind belong to them as well.”
Chenaya took another swallow of wine when it came her way again. “Any rat can be lured out of its hole with the right cheese,” she said. “I’ve already set the trap. I only need you to help spring it.”
Gestus emerged from the stables leading the Tros by the reins. The big creature seemed completely bewildered, still in the krrf’s embrace. Chenaya could almost swear the beast was grinning. She pointed to the parchment and the inkpot that
Rashan held. “Write for me, Priest, ” she instructed. “Use your finest calligraphy.”
Rashan looked over his shoulder, located the full moon, and positioned himself in the best light. He took the stylus from the inkpot and held himself poised for the first stroke.
“Write…” Chenaya paused, thoughtful. “Thanks for the stud service, lover.” She laughed then, remembering her garden encounter with the Riddler. “Sign my name in big letters.”
Rashan gave her a disapproving look, the kind Lowan Vigeles would have given her. She paid him as much attention, and he wrote. When he was done she took the parchment and gave it to Gestus. “Fix it to the saddle,” she instructed, “and let the Tros go.”
The gladiator looked shocked. He was, after all, a thief, and he thought he’d taken part in a very clever and daring theft. A good thief didn’t give back the booty. “Let go horse?” he mumbled.