‘The Vulgar Unicorn?’ Zalbar stammered, genuinely astonished. ‘Where my
assassination was planned. I can’t go in there.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well… if for no other reason than that I am a Hell Hound. It would do neither
of us any good to be seen together publicly, much less in the Vulgar Unicorn.’
‘You could wear my mask and cloak. That would hide your uniform and face. Then,
to any onlooker it would only appear that I was having a drink with one of my
men.’
For a moment Zalbar wavered in indecision, then the audacity of a Hell Hound in
a blue hawk-mask seized his fancy and he laughed aloud. ‘Why not?’ he agreed,
reaching for the offered disguise. ‘I’ve always wondered what the inside of that
place looked like.’
Zalbar had not realized how bright the moonlight was until he stepped through
the door of the Vulgar Unicorn. A few small oil lamps were the only illumination
and those were shielded towards the wall, leaving most of the interior in heavy
shadow. Though he could see figures huddled at several tables as he followed
Jubal into the main room, he could not make out any individual’s features.
There was one, however, whose face he did not need to see, the unmistakably
gaunt form of Hakiem the storyteller slouched at a central table. A small bowl
of wine sat before him, apparently forgotten, as the tale-spinner nodded in
near-slumber. Zalbar harboured a secret liking for the ancient character and
would have passed the table quietly, but Jubal caught the Hell Hound’s eye and
winked broadly. Withdrawing a coin from his sword-belt, the slaver tossed it in