is Thales and I am not sensitive. I’ve been this bald for years.’
Hanse was staring at Tempus, blond Tempus. His hand opened. Athavul yanked his
arm back so fast he hit himself in his (nearly inexistent) stomach. He made no
pretence of grace; with a dark glance at Hanse, he betook himself elsewhere,
sullenly silent.
‘Nicely done,’ Tempus said, showing his teeth.
‘Don’t smile at me, stranger. What do you look like?’
‘Exactly what you see, Hanse. Exactly.’
‘And … what did he see?’ Hanse’s wave of his arm was as tight as he had become
inside. ‘What do they see here, talking with Hanse?’
‘He told you.’
‘Black beard, no hair.’
Blond, beardless Tempus nodded.
Neither had taken his gaze off the other’s eyes. ‘What else?’
‘Does it matter? I am in the employ of that person we both know. What you people
call a Hell Hound. I would not come here in that appearance! I doubt anyone else
would be in this room, if they saw me. I was here when you came in, remember?
Waiting for you. You were too cool to ask the obvious.’
‘They call me spawn of the shadows,’ Hanse said quietly, slowly, in a low tone.
He was leaning back as if to get a few more centimetres between him and the tall
man. ‘You’re just a damned shadow!’
‘It’s fitting. I need your help, Shadowspawn.’
Hanse said, enunciating distinctly, ‘Shit.’ And rising he added, ‘Sing for it.
Dance in the streets for it.’ And he turned away, then back to add, ‘You’re
paying of course, Baldy,’ and then he betook himself elsewhere.
Outside, he glanced up and down the vermiform ‘street’ called Serpentine, turned