The dagger leaped back and forth between his hands. She sensed that he wanted her to attack at that instant when the blade was in flight, and refused to respond to the invitation. After a few seconds, he suddenly abandoned the ploy and lunged to stab her in the chest.
She attempted an evasive movement of her own, pivoting on her front leg to avoid his point while thrusting at his throat. His initial attack missed, but he blocked with his left arm and took her weapon out of line as well. To her surprise, he sprang closer, seizing her with his unweaponed hand and lifting his knife arm high.
With his black-bearded features only inches from her own, blocking out everything else, she couldn't see his right hand performing its next manipulation, but she didn't have to. She understood very well what it must be doing. Spinning the knife, reversing his grip so he could drive the point into her spine.
Her own weapon was passe and out of position for an instantaneous stab at his back, nor did she think she could break free of his hold in the split second remaining. So she butted him in the face.
His nose broke with a crack, his body jerked, and, thanks be to Mask, his dagger didn't slam down into her flesh. She instantly followed up with a second head butt, a stomp to the foot, and a knee to the groin.
His grip slackened. Shoving him back, she tore herself free, gave him a snap kick to the knee, and, seeing that he was staggering, too hurt and dazed for the moment to wield his dagger, stepped in and slammed the pommel of her own weapon against his forehead.
The bravo fell, and she grinned in satisfaction. Many would say she'd been lucky to defeat such an opponent, but she preferred to think that while he had been the better dagger fighter, she was the stronger combatant in general, and that was what had yielded her the victory. "Ho!"
Shamur turned. Thamalon was standing aboard a catboat at the edge of the floating city. He had his buckler in his left hand and his throwing knife in his right, and although the watermen who inhabited the craft were regarding him sourly, they weren't making any hostile moves.
"By the time the ruffian reached this part of the cluster," Thamalon said, "it was obvious he didn't intend to make for the docks. So I followed after you."
"Good," she replied. "Bide there a moment."
Shamur scrutinized the bravo. Whimpering, he seemed to be conscious, but incapacitated nonetheless. She dropped his dagger and short swords over the side, and, keeping a wary eye on him, found a sweep and rowed the sloop up to the catboat. The two hulls banged together, and one of the watermen cursed.
"Sorry," she told him, then turned to Thamalon. "Climb aboard. We might as well chat with our friend here privately, without any other misguided boaters attempting to interfere with us."
"Good idea." Thamalon stepped onto the sloop, and she pushed off with the oar.
Once she was sure they were drifting away, Shamur glanced around to catch Thamalon staring at her with a strange expression on her face, and for some reason, his regard made her feel self-conscious. "What?" she demanded.
The nobleman blinked. "Nothing." He stooped to examine the waterman from whom the bravo had attempted to steal the sloop. "This fellow should be all right. It looks as if our friend just knocked him out."
"He's lucky the bastard didn't stick a knife in him," said Shamur. "Perhaps he had qualms about killing a fellow boater. Anyway, let's talk to him." She nudged the captive with the toe of her boot. "We know you're awake. Let's chat."
The captive warily opened his eyes. "What do you want with me?" he croaked. "You talk like I'm some sort of ruffian, but I haven't done anything wrong."
"You bolted as soon as you heard that two strangers were seeking you, ostensibly to give you a reward,"
Thamalon said. "Is that the act of an innocent man? To me, it seems more like the jumpiness of a blackguard who took part in the assassination of two nobles less than twenty-four hours ago."
The bravo swallowed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You're lying," Shamur said, "and there's no chance of you convincing us otherwise. It was dark when you saw us last, and we've changed our appearances since, but look at my face. Look closely."
The bully did as she'd bade him, then blanched and cringed. "You people are dead!"
"No," said Shamur, "just very annoyed. We can vent our spleen on you, or you can tell us who hired you and your fellow toughs."
"I don't know. I was just a member of a crew," the waterman said, "just doing as I was told. I never heard the wizard's name, nor saw him without the moon mask."
"Then tell us how you wound up working for him," she said.
He hesitated. "I can't. If I turn nose, the others will kill me."
"Do you think we won't?" she replied. "Husband, I believe this fool needs to be convinced that we're in earnest." She hefted her dagger. "What shall we take, a thumb?"
"An eye," said Thamalon with a lightness that served well to reinforce the bluff. "It always gets a man's attention when you pop an eye."
"Very well."
They flung themselves onto the bravo, who screamed and flailed wildly, but who, spent and battered as he was, could do little to keep them from pinning him to the deck.
"Try to avoid any further struggling," Thamalon advised the rogue. "If you thrash about, the blade could plunge too far down, all the way into your brain."
"No!" the bravo shrieked. "Get off me! I'll tell! I'll tell!"
"Drat," said Shamur, "I never get to have any fun. All right, then, spill it."
"The thing is, I belong to the Quippers," the ruffian said.
The nobles exchanged glances. Named for a species of savage freshwater fish that, traveling in schools, posed a threat to even the largest animal, the Quippers were a notorious outlaw fraternity operating chiefly on the waterfront, where their crimes often involved smuggling, theft, and extortion. The gang had been in existence for a long while; Shamur had had dealings with them in her youth, and in recent years Thamalon had occasionally tried to suppress them and so eliminate a threat to honest merchants.
'Then was the murder scheme a reprisal against me?" Thamalon asked.
"No," the bravo said. "We were hired, just as you first supposed, but I swear, I don't know by whom."
"Then we'll have to ask some of your cohorts," Shamur said. "Where do the Quippers have their stronghold these days?"
"In the Scab," the ruffian said.
Thamalon frowned. "That's unfortunate, but never mind. Let's discuss your future. You've already said yourself that your cronies will kill you for informing on them, and I personally will make sure that the Scepters start hunting you tomorrow. If you want to live, I'd advise you to flee Selgaunt this very night."
"How?" the bravo rasped. "The way your woman beat me, I can hardly walk."
"I'm sure you'll manage," Shamur said. "Meanwhile, you're a waterman, so make yourself useful. Bring this boat back around to link up with the others."
Groaning and grunting the while, the bravo obeyed. When the sloop floated next to the catboat once again, Thamalon waved his hand, bidding the man with the ring in his lip begone. Perhaps fearing that his captors would change their minds, the ruffian limped quickly away.
"I hope he doesn't run and warn his gang," Shamur said.
"I doubt he will," Thamalon replied. "He meant it when he whined that they routinely kill informers. In any event, we couldn't very well maintain the pretense that we're dead and turn him over to the Scepters, also.
Nor could we drag a prisoner around with us. So unless you had the stomach to kill him in cold blood…"
"No," she said. "Anyway, I assume our next stop is the Scab."