‘We’ve got to be uncompromised.’
‘Oh,’ she said flaunting, ‘I shall be a-couching with His Highness! The
while, Hanse steals his Rod of Authority: the Savankh of Ranke, given him
personally by the Emperor as symbol of full authority here! Hanse will wish
to negotiate a private, quiet trade with Kittycat. Rod for a fat ransom, and
his safety. We will be busily seeing that word gets around. A thief broke into
the palace and stole the Savankh! And the Prince-Governor is the laughing stock
of the capital! He’ll either rot here – or, worse still, be recalled in
disgrace.’
The big man lounging so familiarly on her divan nodded slowly. ‘I do have to
point out that you may well rot here with him.’
‘Oh, no. You and I are promised reprieve from this midden-heap town. And …
Bourne … particularly if we heroically regain the Savankh for the honour of
the Empire. After its theft is just terribly well known, of course.’
‘Now, that’s good!’ Bourne’s brows tipped up and his lips pursed, a rather
obscene spectacle between the bushiness of brown moustache and beard. ‘And how
do we do that? You going to trade this Hanse another halter for it?’
She looked long at him. Coolly, brows arched above blue-lidded eyes. ‘What’s
that in your hand. Guardian; Hell Hound so loyal to His Highness?’
Bourne regarded the dagger in his big hairy hand, looked at Lirain, and began to
smile.
*
Though hardly beloved nor indeed particularly lovable, Hanse was a member of the
community. Though a paid ally, the customs inspector was not. Hanse heard from