“I am Lukas Fehrwight, servant to the House of bel Auster, of the Canton of Emberlain and the Kingdom of the Seven Marrows. I am entirely at your service and grateful beyond words for what you have done for me today.”

“I am Lorenzo, Don Salvara, and this is my man Conté, and it is we who are entirely at your service, without obligation.” The don bowed at exactly the correct angle, with his right hand held out as an invitation to shake. “I am in a sense responsible for Camorr’s hospitality, and what befell you here was not hospitality. It was upon my honor to come to your aid.”

Fehrwight grasped the don’s proffered arm just above the wrist and shook. If Fehrwight’s grasp was weak, the don was willing to charitably ascribe it to his near strangling. Fehrwight then lowered his own forehead until it gently touched the back of the don’s hand, and their physical courtesies were settled. “I beg to differ; you have here a sworn man, quite competent by his looks. You could have satisfied honor by sending him to our aid, yet you came yourself, ready to fight. From where I stood, it seemed he ran to keep up with you. And I assure you, my viewpoint for this affair was uncomfortable but excellent.”

The don waved his hand gently as though words could be swatted out of the air. “I’m just sorry they got away, Master Fehrwight. It is unlikely that I can give you true justice. For that, Camorr again apologizes.”

Fehrwight knelt down beside Graumann and brushed the big man’s sweat-slick dark hair back from his forehead. “Justice? I am lucky to be alive. I was blessed with a safe journey here and with your aid. I am alive to continue my mission, and that is justice enough.” The slender man looked up at Salvara again. “Are you not Don Salvara of the Nacozza Vineyards? Is not the Doña Sofia, the famous botanical alchemist, your wife?”

“I have that honor, and I have that pleasure,” said the don. “And do you not serve the House of bel Auster? Do you not deal with the, ah…”

“Yes, oh yes, I serve that House of bel Auster; my business is the sale and transport of the substance you’re thinking of. It is curious, so very curious. The Marrows toy with me; the Hands Beneath must wish me to drop dead of sheer wonder. That you should save my life here, that you should speak Vadran, that we should share a common business interest…It is uncanny.”

“I, too, find it extraordinary, but hardly displeasing.” Don Salvara gazed around the alley thoughtfully. “My mother was Vadran, which is why I speak the language enthusiastically, if poorly. Were you followed here? That rope over the wall bespeaks preparation, and the Temple District…Well, it’s usually as safe as the duke’s own reading room.”

“We arrived this morning,” said Fehrwight. “After we secured our rooms-at the Inn of the Tumblehome, you know of it, I’m sure-we came straight here to give thanks and drown the offerings for our safe passage from Emberlain. I did not see where those men came from.” Fehrwight mused for a moment. “Though I believe that one of them threw that rope over the wall after knocking Graumann down. They were cautious, but not waiting in ambush for us.”

Salvara grunted, and turned his attention to the blank stare of the Gentled horse. “Curious. Do you always bring horses and goods to the temple to make your offerings? If those packs are as full as they look, I can see why thugs might have been tempted.”

“Ordinarily, such things would be under lock and key at our inn.” Fehrwight gave Graumann two friendly pats on the shoulder and rose again. “But for this cargo, and for this mission, I must keep them with me at all times. And I fear that must have made us a tempting target. It is a conundrum.” Fehrwight scratched his chin slowly, several times. “I am in your debt already, Don Lorenzo, and hesitant to ask aid of you once again. Yet this relates to the mission I am charged with, for my time in Camorr. As you are a don, do you know of a certain Don Jacobo?”

Don Salvara’s eyes fixed firmly on Fehrwight; one corner of his mouth turned infinitesimally downward. “Yes,” he said, and nothing more, after the silence had stretched a few moments.

“This Don Jacobo…It is said that he is a man of wealth. Extreme wealth, even for a don.”

“That is…true.”

“It is said that he is adventurous. Bold, even. That he has-how do you say it?-an eye for strange opportunities. A toleration of risk.”

“That is one way of describing his character, perhaps.”

Fehrwight licked his lips. “Don Lorenzo…it is important…if these things are true-would you, could you, through your status as a peer of Camorr…assist me in securing an appointment with Don Jacobo? I am ashamed to ask, but I would be more ashamed to forswear my mission for the House of bel Auster.”

Don Salvara smiled without the slightest hint of humor, and turned his head for several seconds, as though to gaze down at Graumann, lying quietly in the muck. Conté had stood up and was staring directly at his don, eyes wide.

“Master Fehrwight,” said the don at last, “are you not aware that Paleri Jacobo is perhaps my greatest living enemy? That the two of us have fought to the blood, twice, and only on the orders of Duke Nicovante himself do we not settle our affair for all time?”

“Oh,” said Fehrwight, with the tone and facial expression of a man who has just dropped a torch in a hogshead cask of lamp oil. “How awkward. How stupid of me. I have done business in Camorr several times, but I did not…I have insulted you. I have asked too much.”

“Hardly.” Salvara’s tone grew warm again; he began to drum the fingers of his right hand against the hilt of his rapier. “But you’re here on a mission for the House of bel Auster. You carry a cargo that you refuse to let out of your sight. You clearly have your plan fixed upon Don Jacobo in some fashion…though you still need to gain a formal audience with him. So, to be clear, he doesn’t know you’re here, or that you plan on seeking him out, does he?”

“I…that is…I fear to say too much of my business…”

“Yet your business here is plain,” said Don Salvara, now positively cheerful, “and have you not repeatedly stated that you are indebted to me, Master Fehrwight? Despite my assurances to the contrary, have you not refused those assurances? Do you withdraw your promise of obligation now?”

“I…with the best will in the world, my lord…damn.” Fehrwight sighed and clenched his fists. “I am ashamed, Don Lorenzo. I must now either forswear my obligation to the man who saved my life or forswear my promise to the House of bel Auster to keep its business as private as possible.”

“You must do neither,” said the Don. “And perhaps I can aid you directly in the pursuit of your master’s business. Do you not see? If Don Jacobo does not know of your presence here, what obligation do you have to him? Clearly, you are set here upon business. A plan, a scheme, a proposal of some sort. You’re here to initiate something, or else you’d have your connections already in place. Don’t be angry with yourself; this is all plain logic. Is it not true?”

Fehrwight looked down and nodded reluctantly.

“Then here it is! Although I am not as wealthy as Don Jacobo, I am a man of substantial means; and we are in complementary lines of business, are we not? Attend me tomorrow, on my barge, at the Shifting Revel. Make your proposal to me; let us discuss it thoroughly.” There was a wicked gleam in Don Salvara’s eyes; it could be seen despite the brightness of the sun overhead. “As you are indebted to me, repay this obligation by agreeing only to attend. Then, free of obligation, let us discuss business to our mutual advantage. Do you not see that I have a vested interest in taking whatever opportunity you present away from Jacobo, even if he never learns of it? Especially if he never learns of it! And am I not bold enough for your tastes? I swear your face grows longer as though by sorcery. What’s wrong?”