wall. “So Jubal’s got troubles, and maybe he’s in the market. I work cheap-to
start. Room and board. Maybe your man can’t support anything more right now. But
times change. And I’m willing to ride through this-difficulty. Better days might
come. Mightn’t they? For all of us.”
The woman made a quiet move that took her to the side. She sat down on the cot,
and that put their hands on different levels, at different angles to his vision.
He recognized the stalking and the angle the man occupied between him and the
door, the curtain at his shoulder, so he moved again a couple of paces along the
wall, slipped his hands both into his belt (but the one not far from his knife)
and shrugged with a wry twist of his mouth.
“I tell you I work cheap,” he said, “to start.”
“There’s no hire,” the man said.
“Oh, there has to be,” Mradhon said softly, “otherwise you wouldn’t like my
leaving here at all, and I’ve walked in here in good faith. It’s your pick, you
understand, how it goes from here. An introduction to your man, a little earnest
coin-“
“He’s dead,” the woman said, and shook his faith in his own bluff. “The
hawkmasks are all like us-looking for employ.”
“Then you’ll find it. I’ll throw in with you- partners, you, me, the rest of
you.”
“Sure,” the man said, and scowled. “You’ve got the stink of hire about you
already. What coin? The prince’s?”
Mradhon forced a laugh and leaned back again. “Not likely. Not likely the Hell
Hounds or any of that ilk. My last hire turned sour, and a post in the guard-no.
Not with your complexion-or mine. Your man, now-So he and you are lying low a