climbed. Caim had never had that problem.
The back stairs were unlit. As he started up, Caim heard the whisper of leather glide over wood a moment before a shape appeared above him. An image flashed through his mind: clinging to the walls of Duke Reinard's keep, gazing up at a mysterious black figure crawling along the battlements. A twinge quivered in his chest. Both suete knives were out in an instant, held low and pressed against his thighs to hide their shine. His knees flexed, ready to leap back or lunge ahead.
Two white circles appeared in the gloom above him, a pair of hands held open. "Peace," said a low voice. "Good evening, Caim."
"Ral." Caim slipped the knives back into their homes, but he left an inch of each blade free. "If you've got business with Mathias, I'll wait below."
Ral descended a step. The faint glow from the common room highlighted his features. Bright blue eyes peered from beneath coiffed spikes of stark blond hair. Dressed all in black leather, he melded with the shadows of the stairway. The intricate silver cross-guard of a cut-and-thrust sword jutted from his belt. Glints of steel at his wrists, waist, and boots hinted at other weapons; Ral was notorious for all the hardware he carried.
"No, we are concluded." His lazy way of talking reminded Caim of a dozing cat, always a moment from showing his claws. "I heard you did quite well up north. Reinard and his bodyguards slain in front of a hun dred witnesses, but not a single person could identify the killer afterward. Not bad."
Caim chewed on his tongue. He didn't like discussing his business, especially where idle ears could overhear. He leaned against the wall of the stairwell, trying to appear casual.
"It's done. That's all that matters."
Ral came down another step. "Exactly, but you should be careful. There's been a citywide crackdown these past couple days."
"I saw the display in the square."
Ral chuckled. Despite his butter-smooth voice, it wasn't a pleasant sound. "A gang of roof-crawlers got pinched robbing a vicar's home. All involved were caught and hanged, but not before they tortured his entire family for the location of a cache of jewels. Word says they even cut off the youngest boy's fingers and toes."
A leader of the True Faith, supposedly sworn to vows of poverty and chastity, keeps a house in High Town with a wife and children, and no one cares to comment. But why should they? Large sins are easily forgotten. It's the little ones that gnaw at your soul in the lonely hours of the night.
"Of course," Ral said, "the fops up on Celestial Hill are terrified out of their wigs that it's another movement toward rebellion."
Caim nodded, uncomfortably reminded of young Lord Robert. "If you'll excuse me, I have business of my own with Mathias."
"I've no time for palaver myself. I'm heading out of town."
They passed each other on the stairs and Ral turned. "You know, Caim. It's not fair."
Caim paused with a foot on the top step. "What isn't?"
Ral opened his hand and a slender throwing blade appeared, too fast for the eye to follow. Caim tensed.
"Here we are," Ral said. "Two of the deadliest men in the city. We should be running things, lording it up in the palace. It's all wasted on those powdered fools whose only claim is their family name." His eyes lit up as he spoke.
Caim looked down at the other man without a shred of empathy. According to the rumors, Ral was a son of privilege who had enjoyed many a night rutting in Low Town until his inheritance ran out. Then, broke and desperate, he had weaseled his way into the assassination trade. He must have found the taste to his liking, because he came back again and again between benders on Silk Street. Knifings in the merchant district in broad daylight, pregnant mistresses found floating in the harbor-those were Ral's stock in trade.
What does that make you? A vigilante with bad dreams or a thug just smart enough to stay one step ahead of the law?
Searching for a way to end the conversation without giving insult, Caim decided on brevity. "It is what it is."
"I suppose so. Farewell, Caim. I'm off to a warmer clime to take care of some business. We'll talk another time."
Not if he had any choice in the matter, Caim thought as he climbed the last step. He was tired. He just wanted to get his money and go home.