The man understood loyalty, and he understood the demands of raw survival, and of course there was no contest between the two. He managed a nod and gasped, ‘Alley. He’s in the alley. There’s another man, other side of the street out front.’
‘And who are you all looking for?’
‘Any — uh — any one of you. No, wait. The assassin, the one with the two knives — the one who just killed Gorlas Vidikas.’
The man saw Coll’s broad, oddly puffy face twist into a frown, and the heavy weight pressing down on his chest — keeping him pinned on the countertop — eased back.
‘Meese, this one moves, kill him.’
The woman with the absurd two-handed mace stepped up, eyes flat and lifeless as they fixed on the thug. ‘Give me a reason,’ she said.
The thug simply shook his head and stayed right where he was, leaning now against the rail.
He watched as Coll shambled over to where stood the short, round man in the red waistcoat. They spoke for a time, in tones so low the man had no chance of overhearing their conversation. And then Coll went behind the bar and emerged a moment later with an antique broadsword that looked like a perfect fit in those huge hands. Trailed by the fat man, he marched out into the kitchen, presumably for the back door.
Well, Hanut Orr was an arrogant tyrant. So he got what he wanted and a whole lot more. Things like that happen.
The man suddenly recalled that he’d spilled nothing about the two men waiting outside Coll’s estate. Well, this could work out just fine, so long as he managed to get out of this damned inn before Coll got ambushed at his gate.
Damned noisy in the city tonight — ah, yes, the last night of Gedderone Fete. Of course it was noisy, and dammit, he wanted to be out there himself, partying, dancing, squeezing soft flesh, maybe picking a fight or two — but ones he could win, of course. Nothing like this crap-
All at once Coll and the fat man were back, both looking confused.
‘Sulty dear,’ sang out the fat man, and one of the serving wenches looked over — they all had themselves a quiet, nervous audience among the half-dozen others in the tavern, and so numerous sets of eyes watched as she headed over. She was just rounding the nearest table when the fat man said, ‘It would appear that Hanut Orr has met an untimely end — before we even arrived, alas for Coll’s sake. Best summon a guard-’
She made a face. ‘What? Out there? In the damned streets? Sounds like ten thousand wolves have been let loose out there, Kruppe!’
‘Sweet Sulty, Kruppe assures you no harm will come to you! Kruppe assures, yes, and will warmly comfort too upon your triumphant return!’
‘Oh now that’s incentive,’ and she turned round and headed for the front door. And the man was close enough to hear her add under her breath, ‘Incentive to throw myself into the jaws of the first wolf I see. .’
But out she went.
The guard with the loving family and the aching chest was at the intersection just on this side of the wall one street away from the Phoenix Inn — and hurrying with genuine alarm towards the sounds of destruction to the south (the other raging fire in the Estate District was not his jurisdiction) — when he heard someone shouting at him and so turned, lifting high his lantern.
A young woman was waving frantically.
He hesitated, and then flinched at a howl so loud and so close he expected to see a demon standing at his shoulder. He jogged towards the woman.
‘For Hood’s sake!’ he shouted. ‘Get yourself inside!’
He saw her spin round and scamper for the entrance to the Phoenix Inn. As he drew closer a flash of motion from a facing alley mouth almost drew him round, but when he shot the bull’s eye in that direction, he saw no one. He hurried on, breathing hard as he climbed the steps and went inside.
A short time and a tumble of words later, he followed Councillor Coll and Kruppe into the alley, where they gathered round the corpse of yet another coun shy;cillor. Hanut Orr, apparently.
Wincing at the tightness that was closing like a vice round his ribcage, the guard slowly squatted to examine the wounds. Only two blows — which didn’t sound like his man — but then, the look of those wounds ‘I think he’s killed another one,’ he muttered. ‘Not long ago either.’ He looked up. ‘And you two saw nothing?’
Coll shook his head.
Kruppe — a man the guard had always regarded askance, with considerable sus shy;picion, in fact — hesitated.
‘What? Speak, you damned thief.’
‘Thief? Aaii, such an insult! Kruppe was but observing with most sharp eye the nature of said wounds upon forehead and back of neck.’
‘That’s how I know it’s the same man as has been killing dozens over the last few months. Some kind of foreign weapon-’
‘Foreign? Not at all, Kruppe suggests. Not at all.’
‘Really? Do go on.’
‘Kruppe suggests, most vigilant and honourable guard, that ’twas hands alone did this damage. Knuckles and no more, no less.’
‘No, that’s wrong. I’ve seen the marks a fist makes-’
