His gaze moved to Josey, seated once more in the ladder-back chair. Her proud features were out of place in the cheap room. He was missing something, some bit of vital information sitting right in front of him.

"Your father. You said he was a governor."

"The exarch of Navarre, but he retired when I was little and we moved to Othir."

"My contact told me he was a general responsible for ruthless massacres in Eregoth."

A look of horror crossed her features. "My father never harmed anyone."

"Sure," Kit murmured. "I bet her old man was a pussycat. Probably ate like a king while his people starved in the streets."

Caim shook his head. Kit pouted, but he didn't care. This wasn't the time for a debate on social injustice. He was onto something. He could feel it, like a fish wriggling on the end of a line.

"So he wasn't a military officer?"

"No, he was never in the army. He had a lame foot since childhood."

Caim considered that. Mathias wasn't one to make careless mistakes. He was purposely misled, and by someone he trusted.

"You think my father's death is connected to these other murders?"

"I don't believe in coincidence. The same person who set me up at your father's house is somehow involved."

"How does that help us? We can't go to the authorities. The Sacred Brotherhood is trying to kill me, and you're wanted for about a thousand crimes."

"When was the last time you saw your father alive?"

He instantly regretted his boorishness as bright spots of moisture formed in the corners of her eyes. To her credit, she didn't break down.

"Earlier that day in his study," she answered. "We had an argument."

"About what?"

"He wanted me to leave the city. He said it wasn't safe for me here. He wanted me to take a trip abroad. He said he would send for me when things got better."

Caim sat up and received a sharp reminder of his condition. He ignored it. He didn't have time to be hurt. "Did he say who he thought was such a threat?"

"No." A hint of gold sparkled under Josey's neckline as she ran a hand over her forehead. "I told you. My father was a well-loved man. We never had trouble like this before."

Caim wrapped the blanket around his waist and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He thought better on his feet. He exhaled slowly as tiny slivers of agony crawled under his skin. Josey started to get up, but he waved her away. Using the bedpost for support, he managed to stand up on his own. The first step was uncomfortable, but it got easier after that. Kit hovered at his side. Whatever she had done to his ankle, it felt a world better.

As Caim shuffled across the small room, he tried to think of other avenues of information he could pursue. When he reached the wall, he turned back. "Did your father have a mistress?"

"Of course not!"

He grimaced as another jolt of pain rippled through his side. "Forgive me. I'm trying to find loose ends."

"What?"

"People who may have been involved with your father. Associates, business partners, lovers. People who had a vested interest in his survival, or his death. Most assassinations are arranged by close relatives."

"That's atrocious!"

"That's human nature."

"Well, it's disgusting. I-" Josey looked at the floor.

Caim halted and watched the play of thoughts across her face. "What is it?"

"The day my father died he was talking with a man, someone I'd never seen before. I didn't think much about it at the time. My father had many well-wishers. But there was something odd about the conversation."

"What?"

Her shoulders fell as she leaned back in the chair. "I don't know. I just got the feeling they didn't want anyone to overhear what they were saying. My father was never a secretive man. He told me everything."

"Except that."

"Yes. It bothered me at the time, but I forgot about it in the heat of our argument. When I found you in his bedchamber that night, I was coming to convince him not to send me away."

He felt the urge to touch her, perhaps brush the strands of hair from her face, but he suppressed it. "Was there anything odd about this man? A feature you'd recognize again. The way that he spoke-"

"Keys." She looked up. "He had a pair of keys stitched on his breast, crossed like a pair of swords."

"Does that symbol mean anything to you?"

"No." She slumped back in the chair.

He scratched his bristly chin. "Me neither."

"This is pointless," Kit complained. "She doesn't know anything, Caim."

He shushed her and got an odd look from Josey. Then, a sudden inspiration made him smile. He headed toward the pile of his clothes on the dresser. "But I think I know someone who can help us."

"Wait a minute!" Kit jumped up to bar his way. When he passed right through her, she spun around and floated past his head. "Enough is enough, Caim. You've done your civic duty. You rescued the wench and gotten yourself shot in the process. Now let's do the smart thing and get out of this place. East, west, across the sea-I don't care which direction as long as it's away from here!"

"I can't," he replied.

"What?" Josey asked.

"Nothing. Listen, I'm going to go meet this person. I want you to stay here. And don't leave this room."

"You're crazy!" Kit said.

"I'm not staying here," Josey replied.

"Be quiet!" he shouted. To Josey, he said, "It isn't safe on the streets. You'll be better off here."

Kit crossed her arms across her chest. "Since when did you start caring about other people, Caim?"

He almost choked when Josey adopted an identical posture. "It's my life," she said. "You're not my father. You have no right to tell me what to do."

Caim sighed. This wasn't fair. No man should have to put up with this much harassment.

"Fine," he said. "But you can't go out like that."

Josey lifted the skirt of her borrowed dress. "What's wrong with this?"

"Oh, the dress is fine." He winked at Kit as he put on his pants and the figments of a plan coalesced in his head. "But the look's not complete yet."

Savoring the confusion on their faces, he hobbled over to the door and called for the lady of the house.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

tep, clack, slide.

Caim kept his head down as he shuffled through the door to the Blue Vine. A grimy, rust-colored robe covered his leathers, compliments of Madam Sanya, who had closets full of clothes left behind by old clients. The robe's deep hood concealed his face. A cane, gnarled and fireblackened, completed the ensemble.

Step, clack, slide.

He winced as he stepped into the wineshop's cool interior. His side pained him, but by leaning on the cane and dragging his right foot he could get around reasonably well, and the limp made his mendicant act all the more convincing. He just hoped he wouldn't have to leave in a hurry like last time.

The disguise had been his idea, but in truth he'd had little choice in the matter. Kit and Josey both agreed he shouldn't leave the brothel room without one. They argued that he wasn't up for fighting if it came to that, and he didn't disagree. Of course, his knives rested against his back under the heavy robe just in case.

His disguise, while serving admirably in the streets, was severely out of place in the Vine. As soon as Mistress Henninger noticed him, she rushed over with a look of alarm.

"Out you! There'll be no begging in here. Come round back later on and Cook will see if we have any scraps for you."

Caim winked from under the hood. "Relax, Mother. It's me."

She sucked in a deep breath, which threatened to burst her bodice. Thankfully, she kept her voice down. "Caim? You in trouble, sweetling?"

"Nothing I can't handle. Got a table for an old friend?"