"Sirs," said Scholar Almaldi as Locke and Jean moved past her. She wiped Locke's stiletto clean on the sleeve of her already-ruined coat and passed it back to him. He nodded as he took it. "Scholar," he said, "you were superb."

"And yet completely inadequate," she said, running her bloodstained fingers carelessly through her hair. "I'll see someone dead for this."

Us, if we linger here much longer, thought Jean. He had a nasty suspicion that the hands of the city watch would offer no safety if he and Locke vanished into them.

Further arguments were erupting throughout the room by the time Jean finally managed to use his bulk to knock a path for him and Locke to the tavern's rear entrance. It led to an unlit alley, running away in either direction. Clouds had settled across the black sky, blotting out the moons, and Jean slipped a hatchet reflexively into his right hand before he'd taken three steps into the night. His trained ears told him the watch-whistles were about a block to the west and moving fast.

"Freyald," said Locke as they moved through the darkness together. "That rat-bastard barkeep. That ale was aimed at us, sure as a crossbow quarrel."

"That was my conclusion," said Jean. He led Locke across a narrow street, over a rough stone wall and into a silent courtyard that appeared to border on warehouses. Jean crouched behind a partially shattered crate, and his adjusting eyes saw the black shape of Locke flatten against a nearby barrel.

"Things are worse," said Locke. "Worse than we thought. What are the odds that half a dozen city watch wouldn't know which bars were safe for off-duty hours? What are the odds that they would come to the wrong fucking neighbourhood}"

"Or drop that much pay on drinks for a bar full of the Archon's people? They were just cover. Probably they didn't even know what they were covering for."

"It still means," whispered Locke, "that whoever's after us can pull strings in the city watch." "It means Priori," said Jean. "Them or someone close to them. But why?"

There was the sudden scuff of leather on stone behind them; Locke and Jean fell silent in unison. Jean turned in time to see a large, dark shape hop the wall behind them, and the slap of heels on cobbles told him that a man of some weight had just landed.

In one smooth motion, Jean slipped out of his coat, swung it in a high arc and brought it down over the man's upper body. While the shadowy shape struggled with the coat, Jean leapt up and cracked the top of his opponent's head with the blunt end of his hatchet. He followed this with a punch to the solar plexus, folding the man in half. It was child's play after that to guide the man face-first to the ground with a shove on the back.

Locke shook a tiny alchemical lamp, little more than a thumb-sized vial, to life. He shielded the wan glow against his body and let the light fall in only one direction, on the man Jean had subdued. Jean obligingly took back his coat, revealing a tall, well-muscled fellow with a shaven head. He was dressed nondescriptly in the fashion of a coachman or servant, and he threw a gloved hand across his face as he moaned in pain. Jean set the blade of his hatchet just beneath the man's jaw.

"M-master de… de Ferra, no, please," the man whispered. "Sweet gods. I'm with Merrain. I'm to… look after you."

Locke seized the man's left hand and peeled his leather glove off. By the pale lamplight, Jean saw a tattoo on the back of the stranger's hand, an open eye in the centre of a rose. Locke sighed and whispered, "He's an Eye."

"He's a bloody fool," said Jean, glancing around them before setting his hatchet down quietly. He rolled the man onto his back. "Easy, friend. I pulled the blow to your head, but not to your stomach. Just lay there and breathe for a few minutes."

"I" ve been hit before," huffed the stranger, and Jean could see that tears of pain gleamed on his cheeks. "Gods. I marvel at the thought that you need protecting at all."

"We clearly do," said Locke. "I saw you in the Thousand Days, didn't I?"

"Yes. And I saw you give up your glasses of ale to that poor woman. Oh, fuck, my stomach is like to burst."

"It will pass," said Jean. "Did you see where that missing barkeep went?"

"I saw him enter the kitchen, and I never looked for him to come back. Didn't have any reason to at the time."

"Shit." Locke scowled. "Knowing Merrain, does she have soldiers nearby against need?"

"Four in an old warehouse just a block south." The Eye gasped several times before continuing. "I was to take you there in case of trouble."

"This qualifies," said Locke. "When you can move, take us to them. We need to reach the Sword Marina in one piece. And then I'll need you to carry a message to her. Can you reach her tonight?"

"Within the hour," the man said, rubbing his stomach and staring up at the starless sky.

"Tell her we wish to take her up on her earlier offer of… room and board." Jean rubbed his beard thoughtfully, then nodded.

Til send a note to Requin," said Locke. "I'll tell him we're leaving in a day or two. We won't be around much longer than that, in truth. I'm no longer confident we can walk the streets. We can demand an escort to fetch our things from the Villa Candessa tomorrow, close our suite, put most of our clothes into storage. Then we'll hide in the Sword Marina." "We have orders to guard your lives," said the Eye.

T know," said Locke. "About the only thing we're sure of is that for the time being, your master means to use us, not kill us. So we'll rely on his hospitality" Locke passed the soldier's glove back to him. "For now."

Two carriages of Eyes, dressed in plain fashion, accompanied Locke and Jean when they packed their personal effects at the Villa Candessa the next morning.

"We're heartily sorry to see you go," said the chief steward as Locke scratched Leocanto Kosta's signature onto a last few scraps of parchment. "You" ve been superb guests; we hope that you'll consider us again the next time you visit Tal Verrar."

Locke had no doubt the inn had been glad of their business; at five silvers a day for a year and a half, plus the price of additional services, he and Jean had left behind a pile of solari large enough to purchase a decent-sized house of their own, and hire capable staff.

"Pressing matters compel our presence elsewhere," muttered Locke coldly. He rebuked himself in his thoughts a moment later — it wasn't the steward's fault they were being chased from comfort by Stragos, Bondsmagi and bloody mysterious assassins. "Here," he said, fishing three solari out of his coat and setting them down on the desk. "See that this is split evenly and passed out to everyone on staff." He turned his palm up and with a minor bit of legerdemain conjured another gold coin. "And this for yourself, to express our compliments for your hospitality." "Return any time," said the steward, bowing deeply.

"We shall," said Locke. "Before we go, I'd like to arrange to have some of our wardrobe stored indefinitely. You can be certain we'll be back to claim it."

While the steward happily scrawled the necessary orders on a parchment, Locke borrowed a square of the Villa Candessa's pale-blue formal stationery. On this he wrote: I depart immediately by the means previously discussed. Rely upon my return. I remain deeply grateful for the forbearance you have shown me.

Locke watched the steward seal it with the house's black wax and said: "See that this is delivered without fail to the Master of the Sinspire. If not personally, then only to his major-domo, Selendri. They will want it immediately."

Locke suppressed a smile at the slight widening of the steward's eyes. The suggestion that Requin had a vested personal interest in the contents of the note would do much to speed it safely on its way. Nonetheless, Locke still planned to send another copy later through one of Stragos's agents. No sense in taking chances.