“No, it didn’t,” I shot back. “It warranted more.”

“Jack, Enger, apologize to the lady immediately.”

Words weren’t coming easily to either one of them, but they managed to make some contrite noises.

“Release my men,” Cradock told us. “You can keep your weapons for the duration of our talk.”

Mychael laughed, a short bark. “And for the duration of our exit and trip back to our rooms.”

Cradock smiled with a slow baring of teeth. “Never miss a loophole, do you?”

“It’s healthier that way.”

“Agreed. Now, if you please, release my men.”

I gladly complied. There was only so long I wanted to twist the nuts of a complete stranger, wearing gloves or not.

My man groaned and dropped to his knees. Mychael’s man decided to stay on his knees and cradle his arm. Our path to the front door of the tavern was now gratifyingly clear, and Mychael and I, glamoured as a pair of human kidnappers, strolled right on in.

The place was empty. Almost.

The only other person in the room was a man standing behind the bar who obviously was not a bartender. I’d trust him to mix ingredients for explosives or whip up a tasty poison—but not to serve me anything in a glass. I also noticed that one of his hands stayed suspiciously under the counter. He was smiling at me. I really hoped his hand was playing with a crossbow trigger.

“Privacy,” Mychael noted. “I like it.”

“I thought you’d approve,” Cradock said.

Mychael pulled out a chair and made himself at home; his back to the wall and facing anything that remotely looked like it was, or could be, a door. I took up a post at his right shoulder. I didn’t even want to try sitting down in that skirt.

“Did you forget to tell your men that we’re all on the same side?” Mychael asked.

Cradock laughed. “You’re on the same side you’re always on—whatever side pays you the most.”

“That was supposed to be you. But your welcoming committee out there makes me think that you’d rather get someone else for your smash and grab.”

Cradock’s hand went over his heart. “Your lack of trust wounds me.”

“Not half as much as you’ll hurt if you try to screw us over.”

“Would I do that?”

“In a beat of your black heart,” Mychael said.

“You understand that sometimes it’s safer to talk business without unsightly weapons around.”

“You mean without us having unsightly weapons.” I negligently toyed with a throwing star near my cleavage. “And I don’t find them unsightly in the least.”

Cradock laughed, an ugly, hollow sound. “Vincent, get our guests some drinks. What will you have?” he asked Mychael.

“I’m not thirsty.”

“What about the lady?” He said “lady” with a suggestive leer. “We can be most accommodating.”

“The lady’s blade would like something hot and red.” I felt my lips slip naturally into a chilling smile. Orla must have used that one a lot. “Still willing to accommodate me?”

Mychael glanced around. “All this peace and quiet must have cost you. Beckett doesn’t like losing business.”

Cradock shrugged. “I’m not footing the bill.”

“That would be the same person and the same money who is footing our bill,” Mychael reminded him. “I do hope you left enough to cover our expenses.”

“I wouldn’t insult you by offering you any less than we agreed. Five hundred kugarats of imperial goblin gold, fresh off a ship from Regor.”

I had to stifle an impressed whistle. Not only was imperial goblin gold the purest there was and worth twice the same amount of any other gold; it was attainable only by a member of the goblin court. Tam wasn’t a member, at least not anymore. Janos Ghalfari was. Though no doubt Balmorlan could claim that Tam could get his hands on anything he wanted to from court.

“Five hundred kugarats up front.” Mychael paused. “Plus expenses.”

Cradock slowly sat up in his chair. “Expenses?”

“Horses, lookouts, distractions, bribes.”

“Bribes? You’re kidnappers, not politicians.”

“You should have paid a few people around town to keep their mouths shut; it would have been a good investment. You and your boys snatched that elf general. It was easy enough to find out. You passed on this job; I want to know why.”

Cradock held up his hands. “An elf general turned up dead in the whore district; I had nothing to do with that. I’m only the middleman between the talent and a client who knows how to pay for what he wants.”

“Your man outside—the one my partner tried to geld—was seen leaving the White Street stables after hiring four horses for a certain black carriage night before last. The horses were brought to a town house off Park Street. You and two of your men arrived soon after. They hitched up the horses, one man played coachman, the other got in the carriage with you. You went to the house where the general was having drinks with the Count of Rina.” Mychael leisurely leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking in the sudden silence. “Is your memory sufficiently refreshed, or shall I continue?”

Anger flickered across Cradock’s face. “No need.”

The man behind the bar shifted. My fingers flicked a pair of throwing stars out of their leather slots.

“Hands on the bar,” I told him. “Now!” Maire Orla was no spellsinger, but her voice cracked like a whip.

Bar boy’s hands stayed right where they were. Oh yeah, he definitely had a crossbow under there. One big enough to splinter the front of the bar before it splintered me. Karl Cradock didn’t want either one of us dead, at least not until we’d finished the job. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to let his bar boy have his fun. Cradock was finished playing games, and he wanted to be sure we knew it.

I had news for him. I wasn’t in a playful mood, either. Maire Orla was a hypnotist, so I let her voice and eyes do their thing.

“Let’s see your hands, bar boy,” I whispered.

After a moment, the man’s mouth went slack and his hands came out of hiding.

“Good,” I purred. “Now put them on the bar and keep them there.”

The man slowly put his hands on the bar, fingers spread.

That was entirely too easy. I kept my eyes on bar boy, while Mychael continued the negotiations.

Mychael’s voice was as cold as bare steel. “You didn’t want to touch this job. I want to know why and I want to know who I’m working for.”

“Neither have anything to do with you.”

“If I still accept it. Maire and I have the next job, so it has everything to do with us. If we’re dead, we can’t spend all that goblin gold you’re about to pay us—plus a hundred extra to keep some mouths shut, or the deal’s off.”

“We had an agreement.”

“An agreement that didn’t involve us taking a stroll to the executioner’s block because you were cheap.”

Cradock shrugged. “The goblin wouldn’t give me his name, not even a fake one, but his gold is the real thing, imperial pure. He came in on the same ship as that gold.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Why do you need to know?”

In my peripheral vision, Mychael stopped just short of rolling his eyes. “We’re doing a job for him; chances are we’ll see each other at the exchange. I want to be sure I’m handing over the merchandise to the man who paid for it.”

“He’s a goblin,” Cradock said. “Gray-skins all look alike; you can’t tell the bastards’ ages.”

“Guess for me.”

“I don’t know; fifty, maybe sixty. He had streaks of white in his hair.”

That sure as hell wasn’t Tam. It had to be Uncle Janos.

“Why does he want us?” Mychael asked.

“You’re not elves. No one suspects humans in this town. Besides, you two have a reputation for good, clean work. My client needs the same attention to detail with this job.”

“Our target is an elf?” I kept my voice level and business-like. Piaras was an elf; so was Mychael; so was my whole family.

“Yeah, he’s an elf.”