glee.
‘Mungo?’ Jubal asked, knowing the answer.
He had been wounded often enough to recognize the growing numbness in his upper
back. A rasp of pain as he shifted his stance told the rest of the story. The
boy had planted his dagger in Jubal’s back, and there it remained. In his mind’s
eye, Jubal could see it protruding from his shoulder at an unnatural angle.
‘I told you we were close,’ Mungo taunted. ‘Maybe the big folk are afraid of
you, but we aren’t. You shouldn’t have ordered Gambi’s death.’
‘Gambi?’ Jubal frowned, weaving slightly. ‘Who is Gambi?’
For a moment, the boy froze in astonishment. Then his face contorted with rage
and he spat.
‘He was found this morning with his throat cut and a copper coin in his mouth.
Your trademark! Don’t you even know who you kill?’
The blind! Jubal cursed himself for not listening closer to Sali-man’s reports.
‘Gambi never sold you any information,’ Mungo shouted. ‘He hated you for what
your men did to his mother. You had no right to kill him as a false informer.’
‘And Hakiem?’ Jubal asked, stalling for time.
‘We guessed right about that, didn’t we – about Hakiem being one of your
informers?’ the boy crowed. ‘He’s on the big wharf sleeping off a drunk. We
pooled our money for the silver coin that drew you out from behind your guards.’
For some reason, this last taunt stung Jubal more than had the dagger thrust. He
drew himself erect, ignoring the warm liquid dripping down his back from the
knife wound, and glared down at the boy.
‘I need no guard against the likes of you!’ he boomed. ‘You think you know