Assassin's Quest

I had a strip of dried meat in my pocket. I lay on the roof and fed it to my fellow assassin. I would have persuaded him to come with me if I could, but I sensed he could no more change his mind than I could refuse to go to Verity. It was all he had left of Big Ferret. Pain, and a dream of revenge. "Hide-hide. Go with, go with the One-Eye. Smell the Old' Blood Hater. Wait until he sleeps. Then snip, snip. Drink his blood like a coney's."

Yes yes. My hunt. Trap, trap Fitz-Wolf Go away, go away.

I took his advice. Someone had given much to send me this courier. I did not wish to face Will in any case. Much as I wanted to kill him, I knew now I was not his equal in the Skill. Nor did I wish to spoil Small Ferret's chance. There is honor among assassins, of a kind. It warmed my heart to know I was not Regal's only enemy. Soundless as the dark, I made my way over the inn roof and then down to the street by the stable.

I returned to my dilapidated inn, paid my copper and took a place at a plank table beside two other men. We ate the inn's potato-and-onion mainstay. When a hand fell on my shoulder, I did not startle so much as flinch. I had known there was someone behind me; I had not expected him to touch me. My hand went to my belt knife stealthily as I turned on my bench to face him. My tablemates went on eating, one noisily. No man in this inn professed an interest in any business save his own.

I looked up at Starling's smiling face and my guts turned over inside me. "Tom!" she greeted me jovially, and claimed a seat at the table beside me. The man next to me gave over the space without a word, scraping his bowl along with himself over the stained table plank. After a moment I took my hand from my knife and put it back on the table's edge. Starling gave a small nod to that gesture. She wore a black cloak of good thick wool, trimmed with yellow embroidery. Small silver rings graced her ears now. She was entirely too pleased with herself to suit me. I said nothing, but only looked at her. She made a small gesture toward my bowl.

"Please, go on eating. I didn't mean to disturb your meal. You look as if you could use it. Short rations lately?"

"A bit," I said softly. When she said no more, I finished the soup, wiping out the wooden bowl with the last two bites of coarse bread that had come with it. By then Starling had attracted the attention of a serving girl, who brought us two mugs of ale. She took a long draw from hers, made a face, and then set it back on the table. I sipped at mine and found it no worse to the palate than the lake water that was the alternative.

"Well?" I said at last when she still had not spoken. "What do you want?"

She smiled affably, toying with the handle of her mug. "You know what I want. I want a song, one that will live after me." She glanced about us, especially at the man who was still noisily sucking down his soup. "Have you a room?" she asked me.

I shook my head. "I've a pallet in the loft. And I've no songs for you, Starling."

She shrugged her shoulders, a tiny movement. "I've no songs for you right now, but I've got tidings that would interest you. And I've a room. At an inn some way from here. Walk there with me, and then we shall talk. There was a fine shoulder of pork roasting on the hearth fire when I left. It would likely be cooked by the time we got there."

Every sense I had pricked up at the mention of meat. I could smell it, I could almost taste it. "I couldn't afford it," I told her bluntly.

"I could," she offered blandly. "Get your things. I'll share my room as well."

"And if I decline?" I asked quietly.

Again she made the tiny shrugging motion. "It's your choice." She returned my gaze levelly. I could not decide if there was a threat in her small smile or not.

After a time I rose and went to the loft. When I returned, I had my things. Starling was waiting for me by the base of the ladder.

"Nice cloak," she observed wryly. "Haven't I seen it somewhere before?"

"Perhaps you have," I said quietly. "Would you like to see the knife that goes with it?"

Starling only smiled more broadly and made a small warding gesture with her hands. She turned and walked away, not looking back to see if I followed. Again, there was that curious mixture of trusting me and challenging me. I walked behind her.

Outside it was evening. The sharp wind that blew through the streets was full of lake damp. Even though it was not raining, I felt the moisture beading on my clothes and skin. My shoulder began to ache immediately. There were no street torches still burning; what little light there was escaped from shutters and doorsills. But Starling walked with sureness and confidence, and I followed, my eyes swiftly adjusting to the darkness.