'So you wouldn't take fright.'

The girl checked behind her in case someone was creeping up on her, but she was still alone, other than the strange man now talking to her. She tensed, ready to run.

'What you want then?'

'One thing first,' he said, holding up a hand to stop her questions. 'My aim's good with stones, better with a knife.'

'So?'

'So,' he said, trying to sound as un-threatening as possible, 'I've got less friendly ways of stopping you in the street.' As he spoke he produced a knife from his sleeve and spun it in his fingers so it was ready to throw.

The girl froze, about to run, but Doranei knew she didn't want to turn her back on him. 'There's guards in the next street and they'll come runnin' if I scream.'

'Yeah, I've met them. One old, one young. Neither think much of you, and you better believe I can take them both.'

'What you want?' She was clearly confused. Doranei had threatened her, but he hadn't yet taken a step closer. He wasn't so close that he could be certain of hitting her, or catching her on foot, but she knew that'd be a dangerous gamble to take.

'To talk to someone.'

'Can't afford a whore?'

Doranei laughed. 'You remind me of a woman I know. Her mouth's got her in trouble all her life; if she weren't one of the toughest bitches I ever met she'd have died years back.' He sniffed. 'Point is, you keep talking like that and you better be trained to kill as well as her, get me?'

The girl hesitated, then gave a quick nod.

'I can't hear you.'

'Yes, sir,' she replied in a sullen voice.

'Good. Now just listen. I don't care about you, and you'll get in no trouble for talking to me. You were going to Rose Fountain Square to check one of the buildings there again – any movement, any lights showing, that sort of thing-just like you've been ordered to.'

A longer pause, then another nod.

'Good, least you're not lying to me. Now, I'm guessing you work for someone in Burn or Wheel, right? You'll be taking me back with you. I think they want to talk to me.'

'She won't like it,' the girl answered, 'she's gotta bad temper on her. Most likely she'll get Vasca to break our heads.'

'Who's Vasca?'

'Doorman.'

'Brothel? Tavern?'

'Both.'

Doranei put the knife away. 'He wouldn't get a punch in,' he said confidently, taking a step towards her.

'Now who got too big a mouth?' she demanded.

He shrugged. 'Doesn't matter if you believe me. He's no friend of mine and if I have to break his face to talk to whoever wants that door watched, that's fine by me.' He clapped his hands together with forced jollity and then pulled his cloak tight around his body. 'It's getting pretty cold out here though, so if you want to argue further let's do it walking in the right direction.'

'What's in it for me?' she demanded, holding her ground as he began to head towards her.

'You'll get a silver level for your trouble, how about that?'

'Up front.'

'Piss on you,' he snapped, stopping a sword-length away from her. 'You'll get a copper house if it'll stop you whining and nothing more till I meet your boss.'

She didn't argue the point. He could still hurt her if he wanted. 'Fine, this way,' she said sulkily.

He fell in beside her, one of his longer strides to two of her brisk little steps. After half a minute she cleared her throat and spat the phlegm on a doorstep. 'So where's that copper then?'

'Gods, your name isn't Legana, is it?'

She made a disgusted sound and skipped two paces ahead of him, forcing Doranei to catch her up. 'Gimme the coin and you find out.'

Doranei was surprised at the size of the tavern. It had clearly once been a warehouse, with staff quarters on one side and the owner's round the back. Fat pitch'blackened beams melted into the gloom of night, leaving panels of white-washed brick appearing to hover in the air. Silhouetted against a thin veil of moon-lit cloud were two stone gargoyles, hunched on the corners of the tavern front and peering down at the entrance.

There was a sudden break in the cramped streets past the tavern-the fissure the locals called Cambrey's Tongue. The smooth ripple of scorched black earth, the only undeveloped ground in Burn, extended a good hundred yards downslope. Doranei had only ever seen it in spring, when the seeds that drifted down from the mountain burst into rare and lovely wildflowers.

To Doranei's surprise the girl didn't break and run for the door, shouting for Vasca, but walked in, bold as brass, through the double-width oak door. She was pulling off her coat before she'd even crossed the threshold. Walking to the bar she cast a meaningful glance back at Doranei for the benefit of the fat man propping it up.

The mood in the room changed immediately as Vasca heaved himself up off his elbows and started forward. Doranei flexed the fingers of his left hand under his cloak and tightened them into a fist. He stepped forward to meet the big man as he unhooked a club from his belt.

Vasca wasted no time in swinging at Doranei's ear, hard enough to crack the Narkang man's skull, but Doranei checked his stride and jerked his head back just in time. After that, Vasca barely saw him move.

Grabbing the doorman's wrist, Doranei pulled him off-balance and swung a low punch up into the man's exposed ribs. When his steel-backed gloves connected Vasca gave a pig-like grunt of pain, but Doranei hadn't finished. He tugged Vasca round and smashed a knee into his kidneys. The doorman's legs turned to jelly but Doranei was already swinging back around and a loud crack rang around the tavern as his right forearm smashed across Vasca's nose. The man fell to the floor.

Doranei spun around on instinct, bringing his sword up, just in case anyone had slipped behind him, but everyone in the room was frozen to their seats, staring aghast. He lowered his sword a little. There was a table of soldiers by the left-hand side wall.

'A little dramatic, don't you think?' said a voice to his left. 'I don't recall you being much of a fan of the theatre.'

Doranei nearly dropped his sword when he saw who'd spoken: sitting at a table of his own in the corner, lounging like an idle young nobleman, was Prince Koezh Vukotic. The vampire was the only person not drinking out of a clay pot, and Doranei found himself hoping it was just red wine he could see though the cut-glass.

Koezh was dressed in anonymous grey travelling clothes, his only jewellery a gold signet ring on a chain around his neck. There was an indulgent smile on the vampire's lips, but Doranei had grown used to being mocked by members of that family. If Vorizh Vukotic had turned up and laughed at the state of his boots, Doranei was pretty sure he'd just sigh and shake his head, refusing to rise to the bait. Almost sure, anyway.

He sheathed his sword and stepped around the supine Vasca, who gave an involuntary snort as the blood began to run up his nose, then whined like a beaten dog at the pain. Doranei looked at his young guide, who flinched away when he pointed towards the kegs behind the bar, and walked to join the ruler of the Vukotic tribe. Koezh's eyes flickered momentarily around the room and their audience obediently turned their attention elsewhere. By the time Koezh invited him to sit, the conversations at every table had resumed.

Doranei pulled the chair out and sat, not bothering to remove his cloak. He doubted it would be long before Koezh dismissed him and he would have to leave like a dog with its tail between its legs. They sat facing each other in silence. After a half-dozen heartbeats a pewter tankard of beer was placed in front of Doranei. Divested of her outdoor clothes, Doranei saw his guide was a fragile-looking little thing with auburn curls and a thin face. Twelve winters, no more, he judged. In Koezh's presence her face was expressionless, her demeanour muted.