Skif felt as if he'd been struck by lightning. Bloody 'ell! This's where Jass gets 'is stuff about th' highborns!
“I don't pay for what I don't require,” the voice countered. “Just remember that. And remember that when I do pay for silence, I expect it. Don't disappoint me, Jass. You'll find I'm a different man when I've been disappointed.”
A shiver ran down Skif's back at the deadly menace of that voice, and he was astonished that Jass didn't seem to hear it himself. Jass was either oblivious or arrogant, and neither suggested he'd be enjoying life for very much longer unless he realized he was treading on perilous ground. “Th' job,” he simply prompted impatiently, quite as if he was the one in charge and not his client.
“Simple enough,” the smooth, cultured voice replied. “Another fire, like the one I commissioned last winter. But this time, I don't want any cleverness on your part. No earth tar, no pine tar, no oil or mineral spirits; nothing to encourage the blaze. The warehouse will be left open for you, so start it from the inside.”
Skif froze; he couldn't have moved to save his life. There it was — everything he'd been looking for. Except that he couldn't see who Jass was talking to, and he'd never heard that voice before.
Jass growled. “Ain't gonna burn good,” he complained. “Might even save it, if — ,”
“Nonsense,” the voice replied firmly. “In this heat and as dry as it's been? It'll go up like chaff. People were suspicious the last time, Jass. There were enquiries. I had a great deal of covering up to do. It was exceedingly inconvenient for me, a considerable amount of totally unexpected work. What's more, some of that work went to saving your neck. Some of the tenants didn't get out — and if the fire had been traced back to you, they'd have hanged you for murder.”
Jass actually laughed, but it had a nasty sound to it. “Well, they didn't, did they? Tha's cuz there weren't no witnesses. I seen t' that. Tha's why people didn' all get out. 'Cause I quieted 'em.”
Skif's heart turned to ice.
“And that is supposed to show me how clever you are?” The man snorted. “You're very good at what you do, Jass, and my lord Orthallen gave you high recommendations, but you've become arrogant and careless. Stick to what you're told to do. Don't try to be clever. And if you get caught, I'll wash my hands of you, don't think I won't.”
“Jest gimme th' job,” Jass growled, and the voice related details and instructions.
Jass thinks if 'e's caught, 'e kin turn 'is coat an' tell on milord, there, savin' 'is own neck. But Skif was listening, as Jass was not, and he knew that if Jass was ever caught, his life wasn't worth a bent pin. If there was even the chance that the Watch was on to Jass, his employer would ensure his silence in the most effective way possible.
It wouldn't take much — just another interview in an out-of-the-way place like this one. Only Jass would not be meeting “milord,” and there would be an extra corpse in the cemetery.
There was a metallic chink as money passed from one hand to another, and Jass counted it.
“Remember what I said,” the voice warned. One set of footsteps marked the owner's transit to the door of the chapel, and Jass got up to follow. “Don't get creative. Just set the fire, and get out.”
“Awright, awright,” Jass sneered. “My lord.”;
The light vanished; the candle must have been put out. The door swung quietly open on well-oiled hinges, with only a faint sigh of displaced air to mark it opening. Then it shut again with a hollow sound, and the key rattled in the lock.
'E's gettin' away! I dunno 'oo 'e is, an 'e's gettin' away!
Skif practically flew up the stairs, no longer caring if he was discovered, so long as he could see who that voice belonged to!
Too late. Not only were they gone, he couldn't even hear footsteps. He flung himself at the windows — hopeless; not only was it dark outside, but the windows didn't open and they were made of colored glass as well. There was no way he could see anything through them — except for one single blob of light, a lantern, perhaps, receding into the darkness. He returned to the door, but you couldn't just open it from within once you got inside, it had to be unlocked from the inside as well as from the outside. Cursing under his breath, he got out his lock picks again, knowing that this would cost him yet more time, in the dark and fumbling in his hurry.
He cursed his clumsy fingers and the lock picks that suddenly turned traitor on him; at last he heard the click of the tumblers and wrenched the wretched door open.
There wasn't a single light to be seen within the four walls of the cemetery. They'd gotten far enough away that they were out of sight among the tombs, and by now Jass and his employer would have gone their separate ways, with nothing to show the connection between them, nothing to prove that “milord” wasn't just paying a sentimental or pious visit on the anniversary of someone's death.
