The assassin's gaze darkened. «Vorcan.»
Her head tilted in a fraction of a nod.
«Ocelot was a fool,» Rallick snapped. «If Orr's contract was sanctioned by the Guild, I await punishment.»
She did not reply.
Rallick waited calmly.
«You're a man of few words, Rallick Nom.»
His answer was silence.
Vorcan laughed softly. «You say you await punishment, as if already resigned to your own death.» Her gaze shifted from him towards the crowded terrace. «Councilman Turban Orr possessed protective magic, yet, it availed him naught. Curious.» She seemed to be considering something, then she nodded. «Your skills are required, Rallick Nom. Accompany me. He blinked, then, as she strode towards the garden at the rear of the house, he followed.
Crokus held one hand over Challice's mouth as he lay atop her. With his other he removed his thief's mask. Her eyes widened in recognition. «If you scream,» Crokus warned in a harsh voice, «you'll regret it.»
He'd managed to drag her perhaps ten yards into the undergrowth before she tripped him. They'd thrashed about, but he'd won the battle.
«I just want to talk to you,» Crokus said. «I won't hurt you, Challice, I swear it. Unless you try something, of course. Now, I'm going to remove my hand. Please don't scream.» He tried to read the expression in her eyes, but all he saw was fear. Ashamed, he raised his hand.
She didn't scream, and a moment later Crokus found himself wishing she had. «Damn you, thief! When my father catches you he'll have you skinned alive! That's if Gorlas doesn't find you first. You try anything with me and he'll have you boiled, slowly-»
Crokus jammed his hand over her mouth again. Skinned? Boiled?
«Who's Gorlas?» he demanded, glaring. «Some amateur chef? So you did betray me!»
She stared up at him.
He lifted his hand again.
«I didn't betray you,» she said. «What are you talking about?»
«That murdered house guard. I never did it, but-»
«Of course you didn't. Father hired a Seer. A woman killed that guard, a servant of the Rope's. The Seer was terrified and didn't even stay to be paid! Now get off me, thief.»
He let her go and sat back on the ground. He stared into the trees.
«You didn't betray me? What about Meese? The guards at Uncle Mammot's? The big hunt?»
Challice climbed to her feet and brushed dead leaves from her hide cloak. «What are you babbling about? I have to get back. Gorlas will be looking for me. He's the first son of House Tholius, in training to be a master duellist. If he sees you with me, there'll be real trouble.»
He looked up at her blankly. «Wait!» He sprang to his feet. «Listen, Challice! Forget this Gorlas idiot. Within the year my uncle will introduce us formally. Mammot is a famous writer.»
Challice rolled her eyes. «Get your feet back on the ground. A writer? Some old man with ink-stained hands who walks into walls-has his house power? Influence? House Tholius has power, influence, everything required. Besides, Gorlas loves me.»
«But I-» He stopped, looking away. Did he? No. Did that matter though? What did he want from her, anyway?
«What do you want from me, anyway?» Challice demanded.
He studied his feet. Then he met her eyes. «Company?» he asked, diffidently. «Friendship? What am I saying? I'm a thief! I rob women like you.»
«That's right,» she snapped. «So why pretend otherwise?» Her expression softened. «Crokus, I won't betray you. It will be our secret.» For the briefest of moments he felt like a child being stroked and consoled by a kindly matron, and he found himself enjoying it.
«Before you,» she added, smiling, «I'd never met a real thief from the His enjoyment ended in a surge of anger. «Hood's Breath, no,» he sneered. «Real? You don't know what's real, Challice. You've never had blood on your hands. You've never seen a man die. But that's the way it should be, isn't it? Leave the dirt to us, we're used to it.»
«I saw a man die tonight,» Challice said quietly. «I never want to again. If that's what «real» means, then I don't want it. It's all yours, Crokus.»
Crokus stared at her back, her braided hair, as her words rang in his. Suddenly exhausted, he turned to the garden. He hoped Apsalar had remained where he'd left her. The last thing he wanted now was to have to track her down. He slipped into the shadows.
Mallet recoiled with his first step into the glade. Paran gripped his arm.
The healer shook his head. «I'll not approach any closer, sir. Whatever lives there is anathema to my Denul Warren. And it: it senses me: with hunger.» He wiped sweat from his brow, drew a shaky breath. «Best bring the girl to me here.»
Paran released his arm and darted into the clearing. The block of wood was now the size of a table, veined in thick, twisting roots and pocked on its sides with rough squared holes. The earth around it looked soaked in blood. «Corporal,» he whispered, chilled. «Send the girl over to
Kalam laid a hand on her shoulder. «It's all right, lass,» he said, in the tone of a kindly uncle, «you go on, now. We'll join you shortly.»
«Yes,» she smiled and moved to where the healer stood at the glade's
Kalam rubbed his bristly jaw, eyes following her. «Never seen Sorry smile before,» he said, as Paran arrived. «And that's a shame.»
They stood and watched as Mallet spoke quietly to the girl, then stepped forward and laid a hand on her forehead.
Paran cocked his head. «The storm's stopped,» he said «Yeah. Hope it means what we'd like it to mean.»
«Someone's stopped it. I share your hope, Corporal.» For the captain however, it was a small hope. Something was building. He sighed. «It's not even the twelfth bell yet. Hard to believe.»
«Long night ahead of us,» the assassin said, making it clear that he, too, found himself sorely lacking in optimism. He grunted. Mallet had voiced an amazed cry that reached them. The healer drew back his hand and waved at Paran and Kalam. «You go,» the assassin said.
The captain frowned at the black man, confused. Then he went over to where the healer and Sorry waited. The girl's eyes were closed, and she seemed in a trance.
Mallet was direct. «The possession's gone,» he said.
«Guessed as much,» Paran replied, eyeing the girl.
«There's more to it, though,» the healer continued. «She's got someone else inside her, sir.»
Paran's brows rose.
«Someone who was there all along. How it survived the Rope's presence is beyond me. And now I've got a choice.»
«Explain.»
Mallet crouched, found a twig and began to scratch aimless patterns in the dirt. «That someone's been protecting the girl's mind, acting like an alchemist's filter. In the last two years, Sorry's done things that would drive her insane if she'd remembered any of it. That presence is fighting those memories right now, but it needs help, because it isn't as strong as it once was. It's dying.»
Paran squatted beside the man. «You're thinking of offering that help, then?»
«Not sure. You see, sir, I don't know its plans. Don't know what it's up to, can't read the pattern it's trying to make. So let's say I help it, only what it wants is absolute control? Then the girl's possessed all over again."
«So you think the presence was protecting Sorry from the Rope, only so it could now jump in and take over?»
«Put it that way,» Mallet said, «and it doesn't make sense. What gets me, though, is why else would that presence commit itself so thoroughly? Its body, its flesh is gone. If it lets go of the girl it's got nowhere to go, sir. Now, maybe it's a loved one, a relative or something like that. A person who was willing to sacrifice herself absolutely. That's a possibility.»