"I'll never make it. I'm losing too much blood."

"But I don't know how to do that. I've never-"

He reached under his back and drew a knife. He held the blade up to the light. "This is a good time to learn."

She recoiled from the weapon. "No, I can't. We need help."

Caim hissed. The pain was spreading up his arm and through his chest. He flipped the knife and offered it to her, handle first.

"I'm running out of time. You can't make it any worse than it already is. Don't worry. I'll talk you through it."

She took the suete with both hands. "You've done this before?"

He peeled off his tunic, careful not to jar the shaft of the bolt, and rolled onto his left side to give her better access to the wound.

"Not exactly." As the apprehension returned to her eyes, he added, "But I've cut open enough people to know where the important parts are."

She looked at the knife in her hands, and for a moment he thought she would balk, but her brow came together in a determined frown.

"All right," she said. "I'll try."

Caim let out a long breath. "First thing, get that lantern down here. You'll need to be able to see what you're doing."

She did as he instructed and set the lantern on the floor beside him.

"Now open the shutter and hold the edge of the blade over the flame for a few seconds." When she looked askance at him, he said, "It cleanses the blade. The wound is probably going to get infected in any case, but no use in stacking the odds."

"Should we wash your side first?"

"Not with any water you'd find down here. And we'll need something to pack the wound afterward."

Josey set down the knife and reached under her skirt. Caim watched with amusement as she rocked and shimmied. A petticoat of delicate lace appeared, only slightly damp and shielded from the worst of the effluent by her nightgown.

"That will have to do," he said. "Now, it's time to start cutting."

"It's so deep." She peered into the hole in his side. A dewy sheen of perspiration beaded on her cheeks and upper lip.

"Don't think of it as flesh you're cutting. Think of it as a piece of meat."

She put a hand to her mouth. "I'm going to be sick."

He grabbed her wrist hard. The bones under her skin were thin and sharp. He forced his voice to remain calm.

"You can do this. Just start cutting until you can see the steel head."

She nodded and he released her. He clenched his jaws together. The first cut, when it came, didn't hurt as bad as he feared. The wound was already throbbing so terribly he hardly noticed. He tried to distract his mind while she worked. He thought about where they might be in the undercity, how they could find their way out, and where they should go if they did.

As he was considering how to get them both out of Othir, a wave of coolness fluttered over his injured foot. He glanced down to see Kit kneeling beside him, her brow furrowed as she ran her hands over his foot. He opened his mouth to ask what she was doing when a sharp pain stabbed his side. His hands curled into fists as he struggled to hold himself still. Josey gnawed her bottom lip as she worked with the knife point. Rivulets of blood ran down his stomach and formed tiny pools on the floor beneath him.

"I see it!" she said. "I see the head."

Caim let out a slow breath. "Do you see any barbs curving back to you?"

"No."

"That's good. All right. You'll need to make small cuts on either side, just enough to pull it free. Now grip the shaft near the head and…"

Calm's vision dimmed as Josey tugged on the bolt. He pressed his forehead against the floor and focused on staying conscious, but his exhaustion and the blood loss conspired against him. He was fading. As he tried to describe how to dress the wound, the rising darkness swept over his head and carried him away on its inexorable tide.

Ral turned away from the window's roseate glass panes. The morning light, usually so soothing, gave him a headache.

"Tell me again." He pressed a hand to his temple. "How did they escape from you and a dozen of your best men?"

Occupying the entire upper floor of the Golden Wheel, Ral's suite was decorated in a style more fitting to a fine manor house than a gambling hall. He had chosen the furnishings himself, everything from the brass fixtures and window treatments to the expensive carpets. The walls of the main living area were painted in terra-cotta murals. His favorite faced him across the room, a vivid rendition of the hero Dantos descending into the underworld to rescue his dead bride. It was an image Ral found inspiring. Sometimes he thought of himself as a tragic figure like Dantos, doomed to fight impossible forces to get what he justly deserved.

Markus stood at attention before him. A white bandage peeked over the collar of his uniform. Ral was beginning to wish Calm's blade had cut a little deeper. The prefect was incompetent. Worse than that, Ral still needed the man for his connections in the Sacred Brotherhood. But that need would evaporate as soon as Caim and the earl's daughter were found. Then, Second Prefect Arriston would meet with an unfortunate accident. Ral smiled at the prospect.

"He came out of the night like a demon from hell," Markus said in a raspy voice. One of his hands stole up to touch the bandage and dropped back to his side. "I swear the man is a wizard. Half my men were down before we even knew he was there."

"So much for the prowess of our city's vaunted defenders." But the words lacked fire. Ral knew he had been sending lambs to the slaughter when he instructed Markus to organize a citywide manhunt. Still, Ral had expected better than this debacle.

"Find your backbone, Markus. Caim is just one man. Don't tell me the Brotherhood can't deal with a single lowborn thug. What will I tell the archpriest?"

"One of the Brothers got off a shot as they went into the water," Markus said. "I think it hit him."

"You think?"

"It was damned dark out there."

Ral clasped his hands together to help resist the urge to bury a stiletto in the prefect's eye socket.

"And what are you doing now to find the fugitives?"

Markus shrugged and grimaced as the gesture jostled his throat wound. "I've got men dredging the bay, but its slow work. I need more manpower."

"Then get more men!"

"I'll need more money for that."

"I've already paid you more than your life is worth. Find the girl, Markus, or your men will be dredging the bay for you next."

Markus left the suite. Ral listened to the click of his boots descend the stairs to the hall below. If Markus didn't find Caim soon, he would have to take steps to improve the situation. He didn't like his options. Vassili wasn't a forgiving man, and Ral had burned too many bridges over these past few months to remain in Othir if their scheme failed. As much as it galled him, he might have to leave the city. Ral hummed a mournful ballad as he contemplated the mural of Dantos.

The tickle of a cool breeze on the back of his neck was his only warning. He stood perfectly still, every nerve quivering. The window had been shut a minute ago. He flexed the muscles of his right forearm to loosen the throwing blade strapped under his sleeve. He shifted his weight to his right foot in preparation for a quick spin-and-throw, but stood very still as a sharp point pressed against his spine, right between his kidneys.

"Sit," a voice whispered in his ear.

Ral took two slow steps and lowered himself into an antique, slatback chair. His unexpected visitor stepped to the center of the living area in plain view. The hood of a night-black robe concealed his features. For a moment Ral thought Caim had come for him, and an icy caress slid down his back. But the stranger was too tall and rather thin, though broad through the shoulders. His hands were tucked into the sleeves of the robe, lending him the semblance of a cloistered monk.