“All right,” she said. “Let’s go find you a sword, and find me mine.”
They stood and hesitated a moment as Tycho realized that he must take the lead, but then he set out and the ladies followed. The sky was quite dark now, salted with a few bright stars and scarred with long thin clouds discolored in dark red hues. Candles flickered in every window and torches blazed on every street corner. Fiery cinders fluttered up from the brands amidst the smoke.
The small Hellan walked as quickly as he could, but Qhora grit her teeth and tried to will him to move faster. Night had already fallen and there was so much still to be done.
After weaving through the thin crowds and occasionally hiding in a shadowed doorway to avoid a particularly unpleasant group of men, they arrived at the restaurant. The windows were dark and there were no people loitering near the entrance. Tycho waved at the writing over the doors and said, “The Cat’s Eye.”
“You can read Eranian? And speak it too?” Qhora asked.
“Yes. Constantia is a city of many languages. And besides, if you want to interrogate the enemy or intercept their messages, you need to know their speech.” There was a quiet dryness to the young Hellan’s voice, as though his body and mind were simply going through the motions and doing what needed to be done without any feeling or passion or desire.
I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.
Qhora walked up to the doors and knocked. After a moment, the door opened and a stern-faced woman in a conservative black dress stepped out.
“Do you speak Espani?” Qhora asked.
“We’re closed for the evening,” the woman said in a labored Eranian accent.
“I can see that. But I’m trying to find someone and I think you might be able to help me.”
“I said we’re closed. You can come back in the morning.”
Qhora tried to smile. “I would, but we’re in a bit of rush and we’re hoping to find our friend tonight.”
The woman did not smile back. “No one comes to The Cat’s Eye looking for friends.”
Qhora placed her hands on her hips, pushing back the tailored sides of her husband’s old army jacket to reveal the handle of one of her dirks. “Of course you’re right. We’re looking for one of the men in the green robes, from the Temple of Osiris. A young man who just returned from Marrakesh.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re looking for Aker?”
“Aker?” The man who killed my Enzo is named Aker.
“Aker El Deeb.” The woman nodded. “He’s here. He’s with my mistress.”
Aker El Deeb. Qhora swallowed and exhaled. “Can I see him?”
“Do you mean to kill him?” the woman asked sharply.
Qhora nodded. “Yes.”
“Then yes, please come in.” The woman stepped back inside.
Qhora and the others followed. “Is there some reason why you’re being so helpful?”
The woman paused. They were standing in the center of a large dining room, a darkened hall full of empty chairs and empty tables. “My mistress is a complicated woman. At her best, she is quite impressive. Intelligent. Cunning. Dangerous. Powerful. For the last year, business has been good. Very good. Then Aker returned.”
“They have a history. Aker and your mistress?” Qhora asked.
“They were lovers once. And judging from the noises coming from upstairs, they are again at this very moment. And that is a problem.” The woman sighed. “When they are together, she’s different. She drinks. She talks like an empty-headed child. She stops caring about anything but playing with her little toy, and that is very bad for business.”
Qhora nodded. “I take it you care about business.”
“I’m only a clerk now. But my mistress’s star is rising and I intend to rise with it. And that means no more Aker. I was beginning to think I would need to kill him myself, but if you would like the honor, I am happy to arrange an introduction. On one condition.”
“Which is?”
“You will wait until they are apart, and then kill him alone. And you will leave no evidence that connects you to me.”
“Agreed.” Qhora gestured across the room.
The woman led the way to a rear stair and they climbed to the second floor. They entered a small room on the right and the woman said, “Wait here. They’re just next door. When she leaves to use the powder room, I’ll knock twice on the door here. Wait a moment for me to leave, and then do your business. Be quick and be quiet, and then leave the way you came in.”
Qhora nodded and the woman left.
They stood together in the dark, she and Mirari and Tycho. After a moment she drew her knife and took a deep breath.
Now. This is the moment. In a few seconds I’ll go in there. He’ll be lying in bed, unsuspecting. Just like we were. I’ll burst in on him, just like he did. I’ll kill him quickly, before he can even speak. And then I’ll take the sword. I have to remember the sword.
Two soft knocks fell on the door outside and Qhora held her breath as she listened to the footsteps trailing away down the hall.
Now.
“I don’t like it, my lady.” Mirari stepped closer to the door. She spoke so softly Qhora could barely hear her. “It was too easy.”
“Sometimes life gives you exactly what you want when you want it,” Qhora said. “It’s best not to question fate.”
“But to meet exactly the right person at exactly the right time?”
Qhora paused with her hand on the door knob. “This is a city of liars and killers. It was only a matter of time before we met someone who wanted to kill the same person that we do. Be grateful. And be quiet.”
Qhora turned the knob and silently opened the door. As the gap widened to reveal the hall, she caught a glimpse of the man outside and the gun in his hand. “No!” She slammed the door as the gun barked once, twice, three times. The bullets thumped against the heavy door but did not break through. Then a heavy boot kicked the door so hard the jamb cracked.
Mirari and Tycho threw themselves against the door beside her, and Qhora found herself face to face with the masked woman. “Don’t say it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, my lady.”
Qhora glanced over her shoulder at the room. It was furnished only with a small bed meant for a single person, a small writing table, and a thin-legged chair. Through the glass of the window she could see the lights of some distant quarter of the city. “The window?”
Mirari nodded and raced across the room. She shoved the window open and looked down. “A sheer drop to the street. But we can try to jump to the roof of the next building. It’s close. Sort of.”
Qhora shared a look with Tycho that told her the small man was even less enthusiastic about the idea than she was. “Fine. You go first!”
As the heavy boot crashed against the door again and the jamb cracked apart a bit more, Mirari climbed out the window and vanished from view. A moment later her voice echoed up from the darkness, “It’s safe! Hurry!”
“Go!” Qhora yelled.
Tycho nodded and dashed to the window, catching the flimsy chair as he ran and he used it to climb out onto the sill. And then he vanished.
The boot smashed into the door a third time and the jamb splintered apart, swinging the door inward a few inches before Qhora could shove it back closed. And then she ran for the window, partly climbing and partly diving to shove her body outside onto a very narrow ledge. The door crashed open and the gun fired again. With a sudden stinging plume of burning pain in her arm, Qhora leapt away from the ledge toward Mirari’s outstretched arms. The alley between the two buildings was very narrow, so narrow that only one or two people might squeeze down it at the street level. Qhora sailed across the gap easily but in the darkness she couldn’t tell the exact moment when she would land on the roof and her feet struck down an instant before she was ready.
She crashed drunkenly into Mirari and the two women fell, nearly knocking down Tycho as they toppled over.
