He walked out, into the sun.
4
It was one of those neighbourhoods less frequented by the inhabitants of the
Maze, and Hanse had a dislocated, uncomfortable feeling in this guide and this
place, creeping as they did through the cleaner, wider backways of Sanctuary at
large. It was not his territory or close to any of his known boltholes.
And in the shadows of an alley far along the track, his guide paused and shed an
inner and ragged cloak from beneath the outer one, proffering it. ‘Put it on.
You’ll not want to be noticed hereabouts for yourself.’
Hanse took it, not without distaste: it was grey and a mass of patches. He swung
it about his shoulders and it was long enough to hide him down to midcalf.
His guide held out a dingy bandage as well. ‘For your eyes. For your own safety.
The house has … protections. If I told you only to shut your eyes, you’d
forget at the worst moment. And my master wants you whole.’
Hanse stared at the offered rag, liking all of this less and less; and very
softly he drew the dagger from his arm sheath and extended the blade towards
the guide’s face.
Not a flinch or blink. That sent a prickling up his spine. He brought the point
of the blade very close to the blind eyes and, truth, the man did not react. He
flipped the blade into its sheath.
‘If you have doubts,’ the blind man said, ‘accept my master’s assurances. But
don’t under any account look from beneath the bandage once inside. My blindness
… has reasons.’
‘Huh.’ Hanse took the dirty bandage, feeling far from assured; but he had