little else at the moment that he could do, that he wanted to do, bruised as he
was and with his wits leaden weighted. He blinked in the interior light, stared
dully at the russet silks, at the clutter of objects separately beautiful, but
which lay disarrayed – like bones in a nest, he thought distantly, thinking of
something predatory; and he jerked at the sudden racket and nutter of
wings, a fluttering of the lamplight in the commotion of a great black bird
which sat on its perch over against the wall.
‘You can go,’ the woman said, and Hanse’s heart lifted for the instant. ‘You’ve
been paid. Come back tomorrow.’ And then he knew she spoke to Mradhon Vis.
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Then.’
‘Is that all there is? And leave this here?’ A jab at Hanse’s back. ‘I took a
knife, woman; I’ve got a hole in my arm and you keep this and turn me out in the
wet, do you?’
‘Out,’ she said, in a lower tone.
And to Hanse’s bewilderment the knife retreated. Hanse moved then, turned in the
instant, thinking of a quick stab from behind, his own hand to his wrist sheath
… and he had the blade out, facing Mradhon Vis – but somehow the rest of the
move failed him, and he watched dully as Mradhon Vis turned away and sulked his
way to the open door.
‘Close it behind you,’ the woman said, and Mradhon Vis did so, not slamming it.
Hanse blinked, and the amulet at his neck hurt more than any bruise he had
taken. It burned, and he had no sense left to get rid of it.
Ischade smiled abstractedly at her guest, left him so a moment, having greater