when in proximity to magic.
“Vis, he’s got a weap-“
“Remember me, puds?” Niko said, halting all three in a practiced interception.
“Don’t move; I just want to talk.”
Vis’s hand was on his hip and a naked blade would surely follow; Niko let his
attention dwell on Vis, though Haught ought to have been his first concern.
And yet Haught didn’t push the beggar (moaning, “Whaddya mean, Haught, ‘s
nothin’ wrong with a little fresh air …”) at Niko or cast a spell, just said,
“Years ago-the northern fighter, isn’t it? Oh yes, I remember you. And so does
someone else, I’d bet-“
Vis-too taut, planning something-interrupted, “What is it, soldier? Money? We’ll
give you money. And work for an idle blade if … Remember you?” Vis took a step
forward and Niko felt, rather than saw, eyes narrow: “Right, that’s right. I
know who you are. We owe you one, is that it? For saving us from Tempus’s covert
actors downtown. Well, come on in. We’ll talk about it indoors.”
“If,” Haught put in on that silken tongue that made Niko wonder what he might be
walking into, “you’ll sheath that blade and treat our invitation as what it is
… a luxury. If you want to fight, we’ll not be using bronze or steel in any
case.”
Niko looked between the two, still holding up their beggar friend, and sheathed
his blade. “I don’t want your hospitality, just some information. I’m looking
for Roxane -and don’t tell me you don’t know who I mean.”
It was Haught’s laughter that made Niko know he’d found more than he’d bargained
for: It sent chills screeching up and down his spine, so self-assured it was and