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.
Ral palmed the throwing blade. It would be an easy toss from this close, and his sword leaned against the armoire if he missed. He started the motion when his gaze rose to the shadowed depths of the stranger's cowl. A weird sensation rolled over him as he tried to penetrate the darkness inside the hood, like looking up at the night sky, into a darkness that went on forever and forever. The icy feeling returned. He lowered the weapon. He had seen this man before, in the shadowed chambers of the palace. Vassili's pet sorcerer. A cold dread washed over him.
"You work for the archpriest."
"I am Levictus."
Ral shifted in the chair and forced his lips to form a small smile. Many men had trembled to see that smile just moments before their deaths.
"Tell your master I am doing everything I can. We'll find Caim and the girl. Don't wor-"
"I come on my own behalf. With an offer."
What was this? Ral sat up.
"For many years," the sorcerer continued, "I have worked tirelessly in the archpriest's service, but in recent days I have come to discover that his aims no longer reflect my own."
That was interesting. Yes, very interesting indeed. "You mentioned an offer."
"I seek a new partner, one whose goals are more closely aligned with my own."
"So what brings you to me?"
The cowl dipped slightly. "You are ambitious. You chafe under the yoke of servitude, just as I do. Separate we are formidable, but together ... there would be nothing to stop us."
"There's Vassili and the Church. And the Sacred Brotherhood. Even without a grand master, they aren't going to sit idle and let us take over."
Levictus drew up straighter and the room suddenly felt too small for the both of them. Ral squeezed himself farther into the chair.
"The Church is not as unified as it appears," the sorcerer said. "The prelate's gaze is turned across the sea. The electors are divided by their lusts. As for the Brotherhood, you already possess the leverage you need."
"Markus."
Ral worked his tongue around his mouth to drum up some moisture. He didn't like feeling small. He hated it, in fact, worse than anything else he could think of.