scrutiny that they had given the symbol. As they vanished into the shop, the
watcher closed his eyes to evaluate the details of what he’d seen.
Three youths … well monied from the cut and newness of their clothes …
swords and daggers only … no armour … none of the habitual wariness of
warriors about them …
Satisfied that the facts were clear in his mind, the watcher opened his eyes,
turned, and made his way quickly down the street, suddenly aware of the
pressures of time in the performance of his duties.
There was a middle-aged couple in the shop, but the youths ignored them as
completely as they did the displays. Instead they moved to confront the
shopkeeper.
‘Can … may I show you gentlemen something?’ that notable inquired hesitantly.
‘We’d like to know more about the sign scratched on the post outside,’ Bantu
proclaimed bluntly.
‘Sign?’ the shopkeeper frowned. ‘There’s no sign on my posts. Perhaps the
children …’
‘Spare us your feigned innocence, old fool,’ the youth snapped, swaggering
forward. ‘Next you’ll be telling us you don’t even recognize Jubal’s mark.’
The shopkeeper paled at the mention of the ex-crimelord’s name, and shot a quick
glance at his other customers. The couple had drawn away from the disturbance
and were attempting to appear unaware that anything was amiss.
‘Tell us what that mark means,’ Bantu said. ‘Are you one of his killers or just
a spy? Are these goods you’re selling stolen or merely smuggled? How much blood
was paid for your stock?’
The other customers exchanged a few mumbled words and began edging towards the