held out before him like a wand or a warding charm.
That fast did he have her, too fast for Tempus to get between them, simply by
the mechanism of invoking her curse: for pay, she must give herself to any
comer. He watched them flicker out of being with his stomach rolling and an ache
in his throat. It was some little while before he saw anything external, and
then he saw Nikodemos showing off his gift-cuirass to Janni.
The two came up to him wondering why it was, when everyone else’s armaments had
been taken from them, Niko, who had arrived in shabby duty-gear, had been given
better than ever he could afford. Tempus drew slowly into his present, noting
Molin Torchholder’s over-gaudy figure nearby, and a kohl-eyed lady who might
easily be an infiltrator from the Mygdon-ian Alliance talking to Lastel.
He asked his Stepsons to make her acquaintance: “She might just be smuggling
drugs into Sanctuary with Lastel’s help, but do not arrest her for trifles. If
she is a spy, perhaps she will try to recruit a Stepson disaffected enough with
his lot. Either of you-a single agent or half a broken pair-could fit that
description.”
“At the least, we must plumb her body’s secrets, Stealth,” Janni rumbled to Niko
as the two strutted her way, looking virile and predatory.
With a scowl of concern for the Stepson to whom he was bound by ill-considered
words, he sought out Torchholder, recalling, as he slid with murmured greetings
and apologies through socialites and Hazard-class adepts, Niko’s blank and
steady eyes: the boy knew his danger, and trusted Tempus, as a Sacred Bander