Legana watched him, motionless for a moment before writing her reply. – Poor baby.

Doranei frowned at her. There was more than a spark of the old Legana left, that prickly, savage woman he'd met in Scree. As she wrote on the slate the strokes were quick, merciless slashes across the surface. – You are not broken.

He could see the anger radiating out from those emerald eyes, stripping away the scars on his soul. 'Gods, woman,' he muttered angrily, 'no wonder people think you're a pitiless bitch.' He stood,

hut as he started to walk away he remembering something. 'Business

then; how do I find Zhia?'

Legana didn't reply beyond closing her eyes but Doranei, now irritated, gave her a rough nudge on the leg, then another. The third time she opened her eyes again and glared at him, but he stood resolute until she reached for her slate.

– Coin, Rose Fountain Square, blue door.

'She's there?'

A shake of the head.

Doranei thought for a moment. 'She's expecting you to be there, with her vampire friend – what was his name, Mikiss? Did you kill him?'

A nod.

'So Zhia will probably be able to tell you're not there, which will make her suspicious. So I need to pay someone to watch the house and give her a message when she snatches them.'

Now he had an idea of what he was going to do next, Doranei felt some of the weight lift. He headed for the door. 'I'm off to check out this house first. You've got some strange sort of luck around your shoulders for us to run into you like we did, so maybe it'll rub off on me enough to last the evening. If you flutter your eyelashes at Sebe while I'm out, he'll probably take that message for you.'

As he closed the door behind him he heard something thud into it and turned to see the tip of a knife blade protruding through the wood. He grinned and went downstairs to fetch the other men.

Outside it was dark and quiet. The streets were close to empty, the night-time chill more than enough to drive most people inside. He checked his weapons out of instinct. There were enough armed men on the streets that he didn't think he'd look out of the ordinary to a patrol, and looking a soft target was almost as good an idea as borrowing the high priest's robe.

Overhead the clear sky was a dark blue, fading to black towards the western horizon where a spray of stars were visible. The Hunter's Moon was at its height ahead of him, its pale light inviting him on. Below that were the tiers of the city, the wealthier districts looking down on the rest from the mountain side while the concave cliff of Blackfang itself towered over all of them, a sheer black wall of jagged teeth. He touched the sword grip under his coat and hurried on.

He's visited the city before and found his way to the Rose Fountain without difficulty. Getting into the district hadn't proved a problem; fortunately Zhia, true to form, had chosen rooms in an unremarkable corner of the quarter, a good area but far from any likely excitement. As he'd passed the gates to Eight Towers, he had seen the guards there, Ruby Tower soldiers as well as the By or an Guard.

In Coin too the streets had an armed presence, but they were not restricting movement. Most were liveried private companies employed by the district's bankers, and their instructions were to make their presence known and to discourage any potential excitement. Doranei knew they'd be no trouble unless he started taking an interest in the wrong house.

Where the road widened to bulge around the Rose Fountain stood three tall stone-faced buildings: a pair of silversmiths and what he guessed was a lending house occupying the ground floors. On the other side were the more expensive homes, half-hidden by elms and eight-foot-high stone walls.

Doranei slowed his pace as he reached the fountain and fumbled for a copper coin – a house, they called them in Byora, but it looked like any other copper piece he'd ever used. There were two men watching idly, standing guard at the side of an open gate that led into a courtyard. Most importantly for Doranei's purposes, they stood like men who were bored, leaning on their halberds with glazed expressions. Rather than watch from the shadows, a risky idea when there were guards posted everywhere, he might as well hide in plain sight.

'Need all the luck I can get these days,' he called to the guards, gesturing towards the fountain.

'Din't you 'ear?' one replied. 'Luck's in short supply these days.' He was the younger of the two, the best part often winters younger than Doranei.

Doranei cocked his head. 'Hear what?'

'They say the Lady's no more,' the guard replied in a smug voice. 'Bloody Gods bin arguin' among thesselves and she got killed. That's luck fer you – bad luck, hey?'

'Shit, really?' Doranei took a step towards them, his face a picture of shock. The guard grinned, pleased to have had such a dramatic effect while his older comrade watched them in taciturn silence.

'Aye, that's what they're sayin'. Where you bin that you've not 'eard nuffin?'

'Riding on the slowest bloody wagon-train I ever seen,' Doranei sniffed. 'Haven't heard nothing 'cept mules and drivers farting for weeks.' He patted his coat theatrically. 'There were benefits though, I'll tell you.' He pulled out a battered leather case from a coat pocket. 'Convoy carried tobacco for the main part – you can be damn sure I'm gonna make friends with any man transporting a hundred boxes of cigars!'

Doranei gave a hopeful little look at the guards, then through the archway. 'Got a fire going anywhere?'

The younger guard's grin became wider. 'Got a spare coupla them cigars?'

'Hah, didn't say I wanted a smoke that bad,' Doranei replied good-naturedly, watching the older guard carefully. The man was scrutinising his every movement, he'd be suspicious of any excess generosity. 'These things cost half a day's work each.' He paused. 'Tell you what though, maybe you could do me a favour as trade.'

'You walk careful now,' the older guard rumbled suddenly. 'It's a cold night an' I'm in no mood to smack someone around, but we got a job to do here, so you want to watch what you say next.'

'Nothing like that; I'm no thief,' Doranei protested, holding his hands out. 'I was asked to do something by the wagon-master, but the man's a fucking criminal and I wouldn't trust him further than I could throw the grease-haired bastard. I never been to Byora before, don't know whether what he's asked is going to make me money or get my throat cut.'

Doranei could see the man weighing up the situation. He waited; the eagerness on the younger guard's face was plain, so he'd let the older one work it out for himself.

'Fine,' the guard said eventually, hefting his weapon to point it at Doranei. 'Yanai, you go get that daft girl to fetch you a taper from the kitchen.' He nodded to Doranei. 'You try anything stupid while he's gone and you'll get this right through you, understand?'

He smiled and nodded, ignoring the impulse to step back, out of range of the halberd, while Yanai scampered off.

'Name's Kirer,' he said conversationally. 'You?'

Sergeant Loris,' the older man replied.

Ah, one of those, Doranei thought. Insists on his rank even though he's just a fucking guard. And Loris? Good Litse name that one, but his looks don't back it up. The guard had a thick face and small features: thin lips and small hooded eyes. All cheeks and forehead, this one, like a child's head that got inflated.

'So, Sarge,' Doranei continued, maintaining a harmless grin, 'know the city well, d'you?'

'Well enough,' he grunted.

'So what would you say to this job I've been offered? I'm to buy two bags of Queen's Favour – whatever in Ghenna's name that is -from a house near here. I talked one of his drivers into a good deal and he reckoned I could do it twice.'