A grunt of appreciation sounded from the lad behind as he seemed to recognize what she was doing. He rested his chin on her shoulder and whispered in her ear, ‘Now let’s see how good she really is.’
Damn stupid is what she is, Lee thought. Geffen was a ferocious knife-fighter; had climbed through the ranks of the freebooters on his skills. She didn’t think the woman stood a chance.
Geffen obviously thought so too, as he came on swirling and spinning, switching grips and slashing high and low. Yet somehow the woman managed to slip all attacks, blocking with hands and feet and counter-punching, driving him backwards to a wall where he rebounded, spat up a mouthful of blood, snarled and raised his razor-slim blades once more.
Cowl grunted. ‘Good…’
Geffen kicked a table at Surly that she somehow leapt, bringing a heel down on his shoulder. Even from the balcony Lee heard the snap of bone. Yet he slashed at her as she spun away and both staggered backwards, Geffen’s left arm hanging limp, his collarbone broken certainly, while the woman’s side was opened up in a long cut from shoulder blade to hip that now gushed blood down her leg, smearing her bare foot.
Yet she pressed forward, hands raised in loose fists. She left behind wet red footprints as she came.
Again Cowl grunted his approval.
The blade slipped from Geffen’s limp left hand. He turned sideways, facing her with his right, slashing in a blur of attacks. These the woman somehow blocked, her arms twisting until she suddenly had his good arm locked between hers. She bent it backwards until a snap resounded – his elbow – and he snarled his agony. Then one of her hands shot up under his chin and he stiffened, his eyes growing huge and wide.
She pulled backwards, releasing him, and he fell to his side, dead. She stood regarding his corpse for a time, then limped from the chamber, leaving a path of bright wet footprints behind.
Cowl whispered into Lee’s ear: ‘Still think you could’ve taken her?’
Lee grated through clenched teeth, ‘No.’
‘That’s right,’ Cowl affirmed, so damned smugly, his warm lips touching her ear, ‘and yet
At the top of the wide main staircase she set her fingers to her lips and let go a shriek of a whistle. All the gabbling halted below.
‘Geffen’s dead,’ she announced. ‘Mock left behind some hidden guards and they did for him.’
After a stunned silence, some smartass called back, ‘How do we know that?’
‘Go check for yourself,’ she invited. ‘He’s on the fourth floor.’
The fellow answered, ‘How do we know you didn’t do him?’
Lee hefted the crossbow and thought about skewering the fellow right then and there, but refrained. After all, there was a chance she might miss, and that would be it for her. She sighed, openly showing how little she really cared. ‘Well … I guess you don’t. We’re pulling out.’
Two-ton’s thick brows rose comically. ‘Pullin’ out? But we own the place.’
She cut a hand through the air. ‘No! Mock still owns this place. And even if he dies out at sea his captains will fight among themselves to claim it. There’s no way they’ll put up with us squatting in their way. So pack up.’
Two-ton peered round. ‘Pack up? Pack up what?’
She showed them all a big grin. ‘Everything not nailed down.’
* * *
Nedurian was sitting at his usual table in the dark, low-ceilinged bar that was Coop’s Hanged Man inn – something of a local hangout for ex-pats, refugees, and those otherwise wanting a low profile – when in came two of the Napan crew from Smiley’s and sat down in an empty booth. One was the giant hulking fellow, and he was supporting the other bar’s serving-woman, who was wrapped in a rain-darkened cloak.
Nedurian had been keeping a close eye on Smiley’s for some time now. He’d narrowed down the epicentre of the bizarre turbulence among the Warrens to its location and believed that the mage who’d bought the place was their practitioner of Meanas. He’d even managed to question old Durard on the sale of the
