No! Skif wasn't going to give up that easily.
From here there was only a single path winding among the chapels, crypts, and trees, and Skif tore up it. There were only two entrances, and he thought he knew which one “milord” would take. He had to catch the man before he left the cemetery — he had to! He had to know —
With his heart pounding and his eyes burning with rage, he abandoned everything but the chase. At a point where two private chapels faced one another across the path, where he might have slowed, just in case there was someone lurking in the shadows, he only sped up.
And at the last moment as he passed between them, too late to avoid the ambush, he sprung a trap on himself.
A trap that took the form of a cord stretched at knee-height along the path.
Skif hit it, and went flying face-first into the turf. The impact knocked the breath out of him and left him stunned just long enough for the ambusher to get on top of him and pin him down.
He fought — but his opponent was twice his size and had probably forgotten more dirty tricks than Skif knew. Ruthless, methodical, he made short work of one young boy. Before he could catch the breath that had been knocked out of him by the fall, Skif found himself gagged, his hands tied behind his back, pulled to his feet, and shoved into one of those two chapels.
The door shut with an ominous brazen clang. Skif's feet were kicked out from beneath him before he could lash out at his captor, and he went to the floor like a sack of meal.
There was a rattle of metal, and the shutter of a dark lantern opened. Skif blinked, eyes watering at the light, as the craggy sell-sword who had bought so much information from Jass peered down at him
“Well, well. A trap for a fox I set, and I catch a rabbit,” the man said, looking down at Skif with no humor in his face whatsoever. He wasn't talking like one of the denizens of Haven's rough streets anymore; he had an accent that Skif couldn't place. “Now, why is it, I wonder, that wherever I find Jass, also you I find?”
Skif glared at him over the gag, daring him to try something. Not that he had the slightest idea of what he was going to do if the man made a move…
But the man only stooped swiftly, and seized one of Skif's ankles. Kick as hard as he could, Skif could do nothing against the man's greater strength; at the cost of a bump on the head that made him see stars, he gained nothing and found himself with both ankles trussed and tied to his wrists, which were in turn tied behind his back. Only then did the man take off the gag, taking care not to let his hands get within range to be bitten.
He squatted easily beside Skif, sitting on his heels. “I believe it's time speech we have, you and I,” he said, frowning. “And it is that I hope for your sake that you aren't Jass' errand boy.”
He stared hard at Skif for a long time; Skif worked his jaw silently, and continued to glare at him, although he was beginning to feel a little — odd. As if there was something messing about inside his head.
So if 'e wants ter talk, why don't 'eget on wi' it? he thought furiously. And at that exact moment, the man smiled grimly, and nodded to himself.
“What were you doing here?” the sell-sword asked as soon as Skif's mouth was clear of the threads the cloth had left on his tongue.
“Sleepin'!” Skif spat, and snarled in impotent fury. If it hadn't been for this bastard, he'd have found out who Jass' employer was! He made up his mind not to tell the man one word more than he had to.
“In a cemetery?” The man raised one eyebrow.
Skif found angry words tumbling out of his mouth, despite his resolution not to talk. “Wha's it matter t’you? Or them? They's not gonna care — an' it's a damn sight cooler an' quieter here than anywheres else! Them highborns is all playin' out i'country, they ain't gonna know 'f I wuz here!”
“You have a point,” the man conceded, then his face hardened again. “But why is it that you just happen sleeping to be in the same place where Jass goes to have a little chat?”
“How shud I know?” Skif all but wailed. “I drops off, next thing I knows, he's up there yappin' t' summun an' I wanta know who!”
If he'd had his hands free, he'd have clapped both of them over his mouth in horror. His tongue didn't seem to be under his control — what was happening to him?
“Oh, really?” The man's other eyebrow arched toward his hairline. “And why is that?”
“Becuz Jass' the bastid what set th' big fire an' burned me out — an' the mun whut was with 'im wuz th' mun what paid 'im t' do it!” Skif heard himself saying frantically. “I know'd it, cuz I 'eerd 'im say so! 'Is boss set 'im
