Caim held up a hand. "Josey, I'll handle this. You're drawing attention."

Hubert looked between them. "Josey… Josephine." His eyes widened. "As in Lady Josephine of House Frenig?"

"One and the same," Caim said. "Now you see my problem."

Hubert sat back in his chair and scratched his forehead. "Maybe better than you do. You're frogged seven ways to Sun Day, my friend."

"Tell me something I don't know. Like this Parmian guy. Was the earl dealing with the prelacy?"

Josey stiffened in her seat, but Caim ignored her. He didn't have time for niceties. They could be found out at any moment. He had no illusions about what would happen if they were caught. He'd never make it to Castle DiVecci's infamous dungeons. A convenient accident would silence his involvement in this matter for good, and Josey might not survive much longer.

"That's the thing," Hubert said. "Frenig was well known to be an active opponent to the Church, one of the last loyalists to the old imperium. That's why he was recalled back to Othir."

"He retired!" Josey hissed under her breath, loud enough to make Mother jump as she passed by with a tray of drinks.

Hubert shook his head. "I beg your pardon, milady, but that's not how I heard it. The Reds didn't like some of the things he was saying and so they cancelled his commission. His choices were return to Othir where they could keep an eye on him or be branded an enemy of the people."

"It doesn't make any sense. Parmian is a bright star in the prelate's administration, but he wouldn't treat with someone like Frenig. It would be a death sentence if he was ever found out."

Calm's gaze wandered around the room. The place was filling up as people got off from their day's labors and sought solace in a wine cup. "We have to get hold of this guy. He knows something about the earl's death."

"I can help with that," Hubert said. "Let me contact a few friends and we'll set up a meeting."

"Is Mr. Parmian going to know about this meeting?"

Hubert tipped back the last of his wine and stood up with a flourish of his silk-lined cloak. "Not until it's too late."

"Good. You can send word to me at Madam Sanya's."

Caim nodded to Josey as he got up and shuffled toward the door. She followed him outside, where a crowd had gathered. People holding lit candles and sticks of burning incense marched down the street. Then, he saw the coffins: six boxes of raw pinewood.

Caim pulled down the hood of his shabby outfit and led Josey down a side street, away from the procession. His side ached something fierce. It put him in a foul mood. His palms itched for the handles of his knives. He almost wished to see a squadron of red uniforms converging on him.

The sky was clear, its cerulean perfection marred only by the smoke of the city's chimneys, but he could feel a storm coming. He searched every passing face and glanced down every alley in expectation of an ambush. Only the soft patter of Josey's boots at his back kept him from melting away into the dim recesses of the city. He continued his tottering, stumbling gait while the anxiety grew inside him.

By the time he sighted the gauzy festoons of the pleasure house, his nerves were scoured raw. And he had to admit, even though she annoyed him to distraction, he missed Kit. Wherever she was, he hoped she was all right.

He went around to the brothel's back entrance. As he made his way around puddles of mud and offal, Caim tugged his hood down a bit farther. The sun was dipping in the west. Suddenly the night didn't feel so friendly.

Step, clack, slide.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

aim rubbed his hands together in the dark alleyway and tried to 'ignore the cold. A frigid southerly had blown in from the bay, sending the inhabitants of the city's better neighborhoods home early for the evening. The windows of High Town's homes glowed cherry red around the edges of their lowered shades as families gathered indoors. Caim cursed them one and all for their comfort and wished he'd thought to bring a flask of something warm.

"It's freezing out here." Josey huddled next to him in a long wool coat, another loan from Madam Sanya. Underneath, her pretty dress had been replaced with a boy's tunic and breeches that didn't quite fit. A linen scarf hid her nose and mouth. Caim fought the urge to grin at her, the very image of a dainty little bandit.

Hubert breathed into his folded hands and nodded. He wore a mask, blue of course, smelling of whiskey.

"Nice and brisk. A good night for some fun."

Caim grunted. This wasn't his idea of fun. It was business, down and dirty. He meant to have some answers tonight, even if it meant exposing Josey to the rougher side of his trade. He didn't have time for civility. One way or the other, Ozmond Parmian would give him what he needed.

As Caim peeked out from the mouth of the alley, he wished for the hundredth time that he'd been more diplomatic with Kit. She would return, of course, in a day or a month, whenever she got bored of wandering the byways of the world. She always came back. Once he had remarked that she was too much in love with him to stay away for long. Now, he wasn't so sure. Recent events had put a strain on their relationship, and Josey's presence didn't help. Caim didn't understand why it should matter. It was like she was jealous, but Kit was immaterial, a ghost without the cares and troubles of the physical world. Yet sometimes she confused him every bit as much as a flesh-and-blood woman.

The streets below Sabine Hill were quiet, with only occasional revelers out to enjoy the evening air, but he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that had settled between his shoulder blades. Like he was being watched.

Hubert had brought along a few of his "friends." One skulked in a doorway on the other side of the boulevard. From time to time a ruddy glow illuminated the man's hiding spot, probably from a tinderbox brought to warm his hands. Caim exhaled a jet of white steam into the night air.

Amateurs.

"How dependable are these men?"

Hubert's answering shrug raised and lowered the stiff collar of his twill jacket. "They're all good men, handy with a cudgel or a knife in a scrap, but they won't stand up to armed soldiers."

"I don't think it will come to that."

"I thought you said we were just going to talk to this man," Josey said.

A sharp whistle saved Caim from the need to respond.

"That's the signal," Hubert said. "He's coming."

Caim reached under his cloak and eased his knives in their sheaths. He hoped Josey was right. He wanted answers, not more bodies, but anyone who didn't prepare for the worst was as good as dead in this city. She'd have to learn that sooner or later.

A gate stood at the end of the street, a remnant from Othir's younger days when the city was much smaller. Rough umber bricks composed a wide archway inset with bronze doors. A flicker of light emerged from the gate, followed by footsteps. As the glow came nearer, Caim made out two figures. A linkboy in a white tunic held a lantern on a pole for a narrow man wrapped in a long gray jacket. Their footsteps clacked on the cobblestones as they approached the intersection where Caim and Hubert had positioned their ambush.

Hubert started to move, but Caim grabbed him by the sleeve. "Not yet."

"Sorry," the young aristocrat replied. "I always get a bit jumpy before some action."

Caim glanced to Josey. "Is that him?"

She studied the figure coming toward them for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes. He's the one."

Caim waited until the target was directly between the alleys. He motioned for Hubert and Josey to stay behind him as he glided out from his hiding spot. The Church man never saw him coming. The linkboy looked up, but not until Caim was within arm's reach, too late to do more than give a tiny squeak before Caim threw his left arm around the target's throat. The point of his knife touched the man under his ear, firmly enough to get his attention, but not to draw blood. The linkboy stood like a statue, his eyes stretched wide open. They fluttered as a fist bashed into his cheek and sent him to the ground. The lantern smashed on the stones as Hubert, rapier drawn, loomed over the boy and delivered sharp kicks.