their hats respectfully, or stayed out of his way. Still, he was careful. There
were always strangers, often hot to prove themselves, or desperate for the price
of bread or wine; and although One-Thumb was a formidable opponent with or
without his rapier, he knew he looked rather like an overweight merchant whose
ugliness interfered with his trade.
He also knew evil well, from the yiside, which is why he dressed shabbily and
displayed no outward sign of wealth. Not to prevent violence, since he knew the
poor were more often victims than the rich, but to restrict the class of his
possible opponents to those who would kill for coppers. They generally lacked
skill.
On the way to the Unicorn, on Serpentine, a man with the conspicuously casual
air of a beginner pickpocket fell in behind him. One-Thumb knew that the alley
was coming up and would be in deep shadow, and it had a hiding-niche a few paces
inside. He turned into the alley and, drawing the dagger from his boot, slipped
into the niche and set the krrf between his feet.
The man did follow, proof enough, and when his steps faltered at the darkness,
One-Thumb spun out of the niche behind him, clamped a strong hand over his mouth
and nose, and methodically slammed the stiletto into his back, time and again,
aiming for kidneys. When the man’s knees buckled, One-Thumb let him down slowly,
slitting his throat for silence. He took the money-belt and a bag of coin from
the still-twitching body, cleaned and replaced his dagger, picked up the krrf,
and resumed his stroll down the Serpentine. There were a few bright spatters of