killing? A street-rat who stabs overhand with a knife? The next time you try to
kill a man – if there is another time – thrust underhand. Go between the ribs,
not through them! And bring friends – one of you isn’t enough to kill a real
man.’
‘I brought friends!’ Mungo laughed, pointing. ‘Do you think they’ll be enough?’
Jubal risked a glance over his shoulder. The gutter-rats of Sanctuary were
descending on the courtyard. Scores of them! Scrabbling over the wooden cases or
swarming down from the roofs like spiders. Children in rags – none of them even
half Jubal’s height, but with knives, rocks, and sharp sticks.
Another man might have broken before those hate-filled eyes. He might have tried
to beg or bribe his way out of the trap, claiming ignorance of Gambi’s murder.
But this was Jubal, and his eyes were as cold as his sword as he faced his
tormentors.
‘You claim you’re doing this to avenge one death,’ he sneered. ‘How many will
die trying to pull me down?’
‘You feel free to kill us one at a time, for no reason,’ Mungo retorted,
circling wide to join the pack. ‘If some of us die killing you, then at least
the rest will be safe.’
‘Only if you kill me,’ Jubal corrected. Without taking his eyes from the pack,
he reached his left hand over his right shoulder, found the knife hilt, and
wrenched it free. ‘And for that, you’ll need your knife back!’
Mungo saw the knife coming as Jubal whipped his left hand down and across his
body, but he froze for a split second. In that split second, the knife took him