hadn’t been seen since. “But I don’t want to spend my life in Sanctuary looking
after gutter-scum!” he snarled back at his would-be benefactor.
“Mark me-and let me finish. You’re fresh back. Things have changed. There’re no
more blue hawks to roam the streets. That’s not to say that them as wore the
masks are gone-not all of them, not yet. Only Jubal’s gone. Jubal’s men and
Jubal’s power are there for the taking. Even if he should return to this town,
he’ll be in no condition to raise his army of the night again. Let Temp us,
Zaibar-” Balustrus spat for emphasis, “and all their ilk fight for Ranke. With
them gone and your steel you could be master of this place for life-and give it
on to your children as well. Kittycat would surrender in a day.”
Walegrin didn’t answer. He didn’t remember sliding the bolts back before opening
the door, and perhaps he hadn’t. He was ambitious to gain glory, but he had no
real thoughts for the future. Balustrus had tempted him, but he’d frightened him
more.
The morning sun brought no warmth to the young man. He shivered beneath his
borrowed, monk’s cloak. There weren’t many people on the narrow streets and
those took pains to stay out of his path. His cloak billowed out to reveal the
leather harness of a soldier beneath it, but no-one stopped him to ask
questions.
The taverns were boarded up as the barkeeps and wenches alike caught a few hours
rest. Walegrin pounded past them, head erect, eyes hard. He reached the Wideway
without seeing a welcoming door. He headed for the wharves and the fishermen