The girl's teeth chattered between blue lips. The pipe was freezing, but Caim didn't have anything to make a fire. This is where I'll die. He had been dealing in death for so long it held little mystery for him. He would close his eyes and drift away to the sound of the water. It was probably a better end than he deserved. With one hand on the girl's stomach, he listened to her breathe. She would live, at least. For some reason that made him feel better.

A voice intruded on his solace. He smiled as Kit descended through the ceiling. The violet glow of her tight smock illuminated the tunnel, showing ancient walls caked with mud and lichen. The grime of the sewer didn't touch her. Caim had often wished he could fly like her, just take off and leave the world behind. He could never understand why she hung around with him when she could be soaring among the clouds. Kit said it was because he needed her, that without her he would get into all sorts of trouble. It seemed she was right yet again.

"Caim, what have you done to yourself?" Kit asked in a choked voice as she alighted beside him. Strangely, she seemed more concerned about his foot, which throbbed on the periphery of his awareness.

Before he attacked the Sacred Brothers holding the girl, he had told Kit to keep an eye out for trouble, but she had flown off in a huff. That was Kit, always marching to the rhythm of her own song. She hadn't changed a dram in all the time he'd known her. His whole life. Now she would watch him die. The thought made him laugh, which turned into an excruciating grunt.

"I had a little help." His throat was dry and cracked. That struck him as funny with all the water lying around him, but he refrained from laughing. He put on a brave face for her. "It's not that bad."

"Yes, it is. We need to get you to a barber."

He ran the fingers of his left hand through his hair. "You think I need a trim?"

"Don't play games, Caim. This is serious."

"It'll all be over soon. We had a good run, Kit. No one can say we didn't."

She tsked at him. "It's not over yet."

"You going to carry me out of here, Kit? That would be something to see."

She turned to the girl. "She's stirring."

This time Caim couldn't hold back his laugh, but it came out in a hissing cough as coppery bile bubbled in the back of his throat. "You think she's going to help me, Kit? She couldn't weigh more than seven stone soaking wet. Even if she could, why would she? I'm the bad guy. Just let me be."

With a sigh, Kit rested her head against his chest. Soft sounds echoed in his ears-either sobs or chuckles, he couldn't tell which. It was getting hard to keep his eyes open. He closed them knowing they would never open again. The sweet escape of oblivion beckoned.

"So long, darling," he murmured as he drifted away.

Josey dreamed she was lounging up to her chin in a giant, warm raspberry pie floating in the midst of a gorgeous, starry sky. Surrounded by gelatinous filling, she watched the twinkling stars streak by. A feeling of utter tranquility filled her. All was well.

Opening her eyes was like a slap in the face. She lay on a slanted plane of cold, coarse stone. Her legs floated not in warm sugary goodness, but in foul, frigid water that lapped at her thighs like a gaggle of icy tongues. Wherever she was, it stank worse than anything she'd ever smelled before, a combination of garbage and night soil and blood. Every breath made her want to throw up.

With shaking hands, Josey pulled herself out of the water. Her whole body felt like one massive bruise. The last thing she remembered was being knocked off the pier and the black water swirling over her head. She must have washed up here, wherever this was. No sky stretched over her head. There was a breeze of sorts, but it was fetid and moist. Perhaps she had floated into an old cistern. No, not a cistern. By the smell, she was in some section of the sewers. The urge to retch came over her again.

Josey clamped her lips tight against the nausea and tried to crawl farther, but froze as a groan echoed beside her. Wild fancies of trolds and hobgobs flashed through her mind. Was she still dreaming? Water dripped in the distance, making her want to use the privy. She almost laughed. She was in a gigantic water closet. A little more urine wouldn't hurt the smell, but a lady didn't answer the call of nature out in the open.

She crawled until she was out of the water entirely. The groan rose again before drifting away. It was nearby. Josey sat up on her knees, trying not to think of the damage to her nightgown. She had a dozen of them at home. She would burn this one as soon as she escaped from this horrid place. Whatever was making the noise, it didn't sound dangerous. It reminded her of a wounded animal, like a squirrel, but bigger. A big rat. She started to shy away until a raspy cough echoed around her.

It's him.

Josey had almost forgotten the reason she was still alive and breathing. Her father's killer was here with her, and by the sounds he'd suffered for his efforts to save her. He sounded sick.

"Hello?" she whispered.

Her only answer was another wet cough. Inhaling through her mouth, Josey crawled in the direction of the sound. She found him slumped against a damp wall. He, too, was drenched in foul water and chilled to the touch. She thought he was dead until he coughed again and his chest moved beneath her hands. She searched him with timid hands and found a patch of warm wetness on his right side, a gaping hole plugged with a wooden shaft as thick as her thumb, right beneath his ribs. He mumbled something, but she couldn't make it out. She leaned closer.

"Go."

Josey sat back on her heels. Her first impulse was to follow his advice and leave, but to where? She couldn't go to the authorities. That much was clear. And now that her father was gone, she had no family. Friends? She had only one true friend in Othir, Anastasia, but as much as she loved the girl, Josey didn't believe 'Stasia could help her. For one thing, her father was elderly and infirm, and he hadn't been active in politics for a long time. Also, Josey didn't want to drag her friend into this nightmare.

She considered the man lying before her. She could leave him here to die. It was no better than he deserved. He had probably murdered a lot of people-people with families and friends who cared about them. He was the most despicable sort of man, one who killed for money. He had no honor, no couth, a sore on the flesh of humanity. Yet he had saved her life. Twice. And he claimed he hadn't killed her father, though he would have if someone else hadn't done it first. If that was true, then whoever really killed her father had escaped free and clear, and this assassin dying at her feet might be the only one who could find out who did it and why.

Josey made up her mind. She had to save him, tend to him until he was strong enough to protect her again. But how? She was a good swimmer, but she didn't think she could pull him through the water back to the pier. What if those men were waiting? No, she couldn't go back. That left only one direction. She stared into the darkness of the tunnel. Far in the distance a tiny light flashed, like the brief burst of a firefly, but it was enough to show her the way. What was it? Some fearsome creature of the deeps or an angel sent from Heaven? Either way, she was out of choices.

Josey stood up and hooked her arms under the assassin's armpits. She tugged as gently as she could until he rested flat on the ground. Then, she pulled. Her feet slipped on the slimy floor of the pipe and her muscles complained of the unaccustomed exertion, but she kept pulling toward the distant light.