“By whom?” Seren asked. “Why won’t you tell me who we work for?”
“Knowledge and security are very rare companions in this line of work, Seren,” Jamus said. “I can’t tell you, for your own good and for our employer’s. You just have to trust me, Seren.”
“You say trust is born from mutual benefit,” Seren said. “I have mercenaries following me through the streets already. How does this benefit me, Jamus?”
“Seren,” Jamus said plaintively, but before he could say anything more he was interrupted by the protesting squeals of the wooden steps. He looked past Seren, his expression sharp and focused.
“They’re early,” Seren whispered.
Jamus remained silent, his expression worried.
“That’s good, isn’t it?” she asked.
“No, it’s not,” Jamus said, rising from his chair. “Early is never good.”
“So let’s get out of here,” Seren said. She knelt and flipped a recessed latch on the floor. A small trap door in the floor led to a series of crawlspaces through which they could access any of the other rooms in the inn and make their way back to the street.
“Wait,” Jamus said.
Seren looked up at him curiously.
“There’s more to this, Seren, a great deal more,” he said, settling back into his seat and watching the door. “Remember when I said the most difficult part still remained? Well, this is it. Run if you must, Seren. I’ll understand, but I would prefer if you stood with me.”
The doorknob turned. Seren stood quickly, but left the trap door unlatched. Two gruff-looking soldiers in light armor stepped inside. One held a lantern high, eyes searching the room for any sign of a hidden ambush. Seren could see the crest on his breastplate, a golden crown on a field of green. The soldier’s eyes fixed on Seren for a brief instant, then moved on, disregarding her as a threat. Downstairs, she could hear more heavy footsteps. Who were they?
Seren stood, slipping her shoes back on and moving to the edge of the shadows behind Jamus. One hand moved into her cloak, resting easily on the hilt of the dagger tucked in the back of her belt. Jamus was as uneasy as she had ever seen him, though she doubted a stranger would see the signs, a faint uneasiness around the eyes. To see her normally unflappable teacher so nervous gave Seren an incredible sense of dread. Yet she said nothing, only stood beside her teacher. If they hadn’t attacked yet, then this was to be a negotiation. A focused front was required for all negotiations. Disagreement would make a client nervous. Doubt would convince them they had the advantage. Confidence was everything.
“Clear,” the man grumbled. “Only two of them, Captain.”
“Just as promised,” said an elegantly deep voice. “You are a man of your word, Jamus Roland. At least thus far.”
A tall, whisper-thin man slid through the door. A cloak, so deep purple it was almost black, hung from his shoulders so that he seemed little more than a shroud topped by a floating head. His hair and eyes were ghostly white. His face was smooth, pale gray, nearly featureless save for the raw pink burn scars that covered his left cheek. Seren flinched when she saw him.
“Does my appearance upset your associate?” the man asked, looking at Seren with a crooked smile.
“Seren means no offense, Captain Marth,” Jamus said.
“I understand,” he said. “No doubt she simply has never seen a changeling honest enough to wear his true face? A lie may put her more at ease.” The man’s features blurred. His face was now lean and handsome, with rich black hair spilling out of his hood around his shoulders. “Is this more pleasing, Seren?”
Seren nodded politely. Marth ignored her and moved to the table, cloak parting to produce a pale white hand with long, almost skeletal fingers. His fingertips brushed the table near the muddy sack. “This is what I seek?”
“It is, Captain,” Jamus said.
“Excellent,” Marth said, gesturing at one of his soldiers.
The man produced a thick pouch and spilled its contents on the table. The white gleam of five platinum coins, each stamped with the image of a dragon, reflected the candlelight. Seren’s eyes widened. She had never dreamed of seeing so much money in one place.
“Is that enough?” Marth asked.
“The money isn’t the part of the reward that interests me,” Jamus answered. He pushed the muddy bag back across the table.
Marth smiled and reached out again. His eyes met Seren’s, and she was taken aback by the strange intensity of his milky white eyes. He smiled, only faintly, and then slid the book from its container. His other hand appeared, producing a strange jeweled hand lens of frosted purple glass. Marth held it over one eye as he scanned through the pages.
After nearly a minute of study, his shoulders slumped and he released a deep sigh. He opened the book carefully on the table, tucking the lens into his pocket. Before Seren could even react, one of the soldiers lunged forward and seized her arm, twisting it behind her back painfully, away from her weapon. She cried out and stomped hard on the man’s foot with her heel. The bodyguard did not react, but only drew a short sword and held it to her waist. Jamus rose halfway from his seat, but Marth held out a cautioning hand.
“Please, Master Roland, there have been enough mistakes here tonight,” Marth said in a calm, almost friendly voice. “A stomach wound is not a misery I would gladly inflict on one so young, but I will illustrate my sincerity if I must.”
Jamus sat back down, though he turned so that he could watch Marth and his bodyguard simultaneously. Marth took the seat across from Jamus and regarded him quietly. The other soldier stepped forward and started scooping the coins off the table with a bored expression.
“You have failed, Master Roland,” Marth said. “What I wish to know now is-did you intentionally seek to offer me a forgery, or is Dalan d’Cannith responsible for this? If the latter was the case, I would not hold you at fault. I would even offer you half the agreed pay for your discretion, though naturally our professional relationship would be permanently concluded. But the former …” He trailed off and was silent a long time. He drummed his long fingers on the book. “I fear I know too much of magic. I know enough to realize that there is no certain way to find truth. Deceit is a powerful force. There is always a way to lie. I cannot think of a way to judge with any degree of certainty that you have not betrayed me, Master Roland. What I am sure you will find even more unfortunate is that I also cannot imagine any particularly dire consequences for me if I were to err on the side of caution.”
Jamus opened his mouth to reply, but Marth held up a silencing hand with a vague smile.
“Before you seek to lecture me on honor between thieves, contractual obligations, a warning that you have powerful friends, or other such foolishness, consider this. I am no fool. I suspected that this lead might come to nothing. That is why I hired an expendable freelancer rather than risk one of my own loyal servants. However, know that I take no joy in the prospect of killing you. If you must speak, make it a convincing plea of your innocence-nothing more.”
The sound of a pained shout and a heavy object smashing into something wooden sounded outside. Marth glanced at his guards in annoyance. Jamus stood, moving with the fluid speed of a man one-third his age. He flipped the table over in Marth’s face and drew two daggers from his sleeves, hurling one over his shoulder at the man that held Seren. Seren’s eyes widened and she twisted aside, but the knife’s path was true. The weapon lodged in her captor’s throat.
The other soldier charged Jamus, but the old thief slashed the air at eye level. The man shrieked and staggered away, bloody hands clutched over his face. Jamus held the weapon high and leapt at the changeling. Marth rolled aside deftly, drawing a twisted amethyst wand from his cloak and aiming it at Jamus. It vomited an explosive cone of green fire, consuming Jamus and painting the ceiling in flame. The fire vanished in an instant, leaving only the smell of charred meat behind. Jamus Roland’s unrecognizable corpse collapsed with a sickly thud.