And more and more as he waited in this unlikely place, he gnawed on the thought
of his hoped-for patron … dead, it might be, victim along with Sjekso, lying
unfound as yet in some other alleyway. He had been mad to have gone off and left
a woman in the backways of the Maze; a cat among hounds, that piece… and gone,
snatched up, swallowed up – with friends, gods, more than likely money like that
had friends and enemies. His mind built more and grimmer fancies … of princes
and politics and clandestine meetings, this Sjekso perhaps more than he had
seemed, this woman casting about money to be rid of a witness too much for the
man she was with, an expedience –
He built such fancies, paced, stalked finally halfway up the creaking length of
the stairs and came back down in indecision – then up again, gathering his
courage and his resolve. He reached the swaying balcony, tried the door.
It swung inward, never locked or barred. That startled him. He slipped the knife
from his belt and pushed the door all the way open – smelled incense and spices,
perfumes. He walked in, pushed the door very gently shut again. A dim light came
from a milky parchmented casement, cast colour slantwise on a couch spread with
russet silk, on dusty draperies and stacks of cloth and oddments.
Wings snapped and rustled. He spun about into a crouch, found only a large black
bird chained to a perch against the wall in which the door was set. His heart
settled again. He straightened. He should have smelled the creature: no large