Well. It smelled like this beer.

Marcus pushed his mildewed wooden mug away a little and did his best to ignore the smell. Then he took the little furylamp from his pouch, murmured it to life, set it out on the rough table, and waited.

The washerwoman entered the nameless tavern and paused in the doorway before looking around. It was dark enough inside that his little lamp served as a beacon for her gaze, and she crossed the rough floor to sit down at the table with him.

"Good day," the disguised Lady Aquitaine said. She glanced around the tavern with a sniff. "I always knew you were a secret romantic."

Marcus nudged the mug toward her. "Thirsty?"

She glanced at the mug, turned a shade paler, and gave him a level look.

"Suit yourself," he said.

"Why here?" she asked him.

"No one will recognize me here."

"I almost didn't recognize you."

Marcus shrugged. "No armor. Different cloak. My hood is up. I look like everyone else."

"We could have met anywhere," she countered. "Why here?"

Marcus glanced up and met her eyes. "Maybe I wanted you to see it."

The washerwoman tilted her head slightly to one side. "See what?"

He moved his hand in an all-encompassing gesture. "The consequences."

She lifted both eyebrows sharply.

"A lot of times, people who make big choices never have to see what can happen. All of this… and worse than you see here, or what you saw on the way here-it's all the result of choices like that."

She stared at him without expression for a long moment. "This is supposed to horrify me?"

"This? This is nothing," Marcus replied. "This is what happens when there's a polite disagreement, which is more or less what we've had with the Canim so far. This is what happens when everyone has to tighten their belts a little, but there's still enough to go around. It's worse, in the south. Rampant disease. Starvation. Brigands, looting, mercenaries. Men taking more liberties. Men seeking vengeance for the same." He nodded at the tavern. Outside the damp, stinking canvas, someone with a wet cough was wheezing for breath between fits of hacking spasms. "This is sunshine and sweetbread compared to what could happen."

Lady Aquitaine narrowed her eyes. "If my husband and I continue in our designs, you mean."

"I'd have to know them all," Marcus replied. "And I'm sure that I don't. So it's for you to say."

"One of the things I have always admired about you is your professionalism. This isn't like you."

Marcus shrugged. "It's a secure enough meeting space. I had something to say to you. I said it. What you do with it is up to you."

Lady Aquitaine frowned. She glanced around the shabby tavern for a few seconds. Then she shook her head briskly, took the mug, and emptied its contents onto the floor. She put the mug firmly back on the table. "Keep your focus on the task at hand."

"I would-if he could be bothered to arrive on time."

She shrugged. "He's used to being the most important person around. Important people are always late to meetings."

"Why tolerate it?" Marcus asked.

"I need him," she said simply.

"What happens when you don't?"

She gave him a little smile. "He'll have the opportunity to learn better working habits."

Just then, the tavern's entrance cloth swung to one side again, and half a dozen people entered, cloaked, all of them obviously together and too well dressed for the neighborhood. Marcus sighed. The worst thing about his departure from the Cursors had been the lack of competent professional associates.

One of the cloaked figures turned to the surly-looking man behind the cheap wooden table that passed for a bar. She lifted her hands to her hood and lowered it, revealing her features. Marcus tensed slightly as he recognized Phry-giar Navaris.

Navaris flung a small leather pouch. It struck the barman in the chest, bounced off, and landed on the grimy bar. She fixed the man with a flat grey stare, and said, "Get out."

Marcus could have made the same threat, the same way-but the man would have counted the money first. Marcus didn't blame the barman for taking the purse and departing without bothering to so much as glance inside.

The shortest of the figures looked around for a moment, then hurried to the table and sat down opposite Lady Aquitaine. He sat on his cloak, pulling the hood tight, and he muttered in irritation, glancing around the tent before he flung it back. "There's discretion," Senator Arnos muttered, "and then there's senseless paranoia. Did we have to meet in this sty?"

"Now, now, be nice, Arnos," Lady Aquitaine said. "It smells just as bad on this side of the table, I assure you."

Marcus watched the Senator's singulares. Navaris remained by the entrance, looking at nothing, and displaying all the emotion of frozen granite. The other four fanned out around the room, dividing their attention between the easily opened canvas walls and the people sitting at the table. Marcus noted the weapons belted at one man's hip, and the bow one of the others bore in a slender hand. Then he focused on Arnos again.

The Senator was, in turn, staring hard at Marcus.

"Take your hood off," Arnos snapped.

"I think not," Marcus said.

Arnos smiled. It reminded Marcus of a snarling jackal. "Take it off now."

"No."

"Navaris," Arnos said. "If he does not remove his head from the hood, you are to take both from his shoulders."

"Yes, sir," Navaris said. She never moved her feet or looked toward Marcus. But her hand had drifted to the hilt of her sword.

Lady Aquitaine made an impatient sound and flicked a hand. The air suddenly took on the tight, somewhat muffled feeling of a windcrafting meant to prevent any eavesdroppers from listening to a conversation. "Arnos, restrain yourself. His hood stays where it is."

"Why?"

"Because you're a brilliant politician, Senator," Marcus replied. "But you're a novice conspirator. I am currently in a position of extreme value. If you are allowed to know who I am, your incompetence will undoubtedly send the entire plan to the crows."

Arnos's mouth dropped open and hung there for a moment.

Marcus took the opportunity to savor the look on the fool's face.

"Indelicately put," Lady Aquitaine said, giving Marcus an arch glance. "But essentially accurate." She held up a mollifying hand. "You're a politician and strategist, Arnos. Not a spy. If we were all equally skilled at everything, there'd be no need for alliances, would there?"

The Senator's face flushed dark crimson. "And this one? What skills does he bring to the table?"

"I know things, Senator."

Arnos lifted his chin. "Such as?"

"That you have a talent for finding capable employees, for one," Marcus said. He nodded at one of the hooded men on guard. "Aresius Flavis. Twice champion of the Wintersend Arms Tournament in Alera Imperia. The man who killed the current High Lord of Rhodes's elder brother in a fair duel on the lawn outside the Grey Tower.

"The young woman watching the door is, I believe, Iris the Hawk. She was quite famous for her archery along the Shieldwall, and happened to slay half a dozen of Lord Kalarus's Immortal assassins while protecting Lady Voria on the Night of the Red Stars. Lady Voria was the only survivor of the attack on her guesthouse."

The cloaked figure by the door turned to stare at Fidelias. Then she nodded briefly. He nodded back to her. "The man at the rear wall is called Tandus. He's a mute. He's served in half a dozen different Legions as both a Knight Ferrous and Knight Terra. He's famous for single-handedly storming the gates of Lord Gardus's stronghold, when Gardus abducted some freeman's daughter. He killed thirty men taking her back."

Lady Aquitaine's gaze never left the Senator's face, but her quiet smile slowly grew.