belly.
Dondon's expression soured. 'You know why I am in here,' he remarked quietly, all the bounce having left his tone.
'I know why you came in here … to hide. . and I agree with that decision,' Entreri replied. 'But why?' Again he let the halfling follow his gaze to all the excess, plate by plate, whore by whore. 'Why this?'
'I choose to enjoy. .' Dondon started, but Entreri would hear none of that.
'If I could offer you back your old life, would you take it?' the assassin asked.
Dondon stared at him blankly.
'If I could change the word on the street so that Dondon could walk free of the Copper Ante, would Dondon be pleased?' Entreri pressed. 'Or is Dondon pleased with the excuse?'
'You speak in riddles.'
'I speak the truth,' Entreri shot back, trying to look the halfling in the eye, though the sight of those drooping, sleepy lids surely revolted him. He could hardly believe his own level of anger in looking at Dondon. A part of him wanted to draw out his dagger and cut the wretch's heart out.
But Artemis Entreri did not kill for passion, and he held that part in check.
'Would you go back?' he asked slowly, emphasizing every word.
Dondon didn't reply, didn't blink, but in the nonresponse, Entreri had his answer, the one he had feared the most.
The room's door swung open, and Dwahvel entered. 'Is there a problem in here, Master Entreri?' she asked sweetly.
Entreri climbed to his feet and moved for the open door. 'None for me,' he replied, moving past.
Dwahvel caught him by the arm-a dangerous move indeed! Fortunately for her, Entreri was too absorbed in his contemplation of Dondon to take affront.
'About our deal,' the female halfling remarked. 'I may have need of your services.'
Entreri spent a long while considering those words, wondering why, for some reason, they so assaulted him. He had enough to think about already without having Dwahvel pressing her ridiculous needs upon him. 'And what did you give to me in exchange for these services you so desire?' he asked.
'Information,' the halfling replied. 'As we agreed.' 'You told me of the kelp-enwalling, hardly something I could not have discerned on my own,' Entreri replied. 'Other than that, Dwahvel was of little use to me, and that measure I surely can repay.'
The halfling's mouth opened as if she meant to protest, but Entreri just turned away and walked across the common room.
'You may find my doors closed to you,' Dwahvel called after him.
In truth, Entreri hardly cared, for he didn't expect that he would desire to see wretched Dondon again. Still, more for effect than any practical gain, he did turn back to let his dangerous gaze settle over the halfling. 'That would not be
wise,' was all he offered before sweeping out of the room and back onto the dark street, then back to the solitude of the rooftops.
Up there, after many minutes of concentration, he came to understand why he so hated Dondon. Because he saw himself. No, he would never allow himself to become so bloated, for gluttony had never been one of his weaknesses, but what he saw was a creature beaten by the weight of life itself, a creature that had surrendered to despair. In Dondon's case it had been simple fear that had defeated him, that had locked him in a room and buried him in lust and gluttony.
In Entreri's case, would it be simple apathy?
He stayed on the roof all the night, but he did not find his answers.
The knock came in the correct sequence, two raps, then three, then two again, so he knew even as he dragged himself out of his bed that it was the Basadoni Guild come calling. Normally Entreri would have taken precautions anyway-normally he would not have slept through half the day-but he did nothing now, didn't even retrieve his dagger. He just went to the door and, without even asking, pulled it open.
He didn't recognize the man standing there, a young and nervous fellow with woolly black hair cut tight to his head, and dark, darting eyes.
'From Kadran Gordeon,' the man explained, handing Entreri a rolled parchment.
'Hold!' Entreri said as the nervous young man turned and started away. The man's head spun back to regard the assassin, and Entreri noted one hand slipping under the folds of his light-colored robes, reaching for a weapon no doubt.
'Where is Gordeon?' Entreri asked. 'And why did he not deliver this to me personally?'
'Please, good sir,' the young man said in his thick Calimshite accent, bowing repeatedly. 'I was only told to give that to you.'
'By Kadran Gordeon?' Entreri asked.
'Yes,' the man said, nodding wildly.
Entreri shut his door, then heard the running footsteps of the relieved man outside retreating down the hall and then the stairs at full speed.
He stood there, considering the parchment and the delivery. Gordeon hadn't even come to him personally, and he understood why. To do so would have been too much an open show of respect. The lieutenants of the guild feared him-not that he would kill them, but more that he would ascend to a rank above them. Now, by using this inconsequential messenger, Gordeon was trying to show Entreri the true pecking order, one that had him just above the bottom rung.
With a resigned shake of his head, a helpless acceptance of the stupidity of it all, the assassin pulled the tie from the parchment and unrolled it. The orders were simple enough, giving a man's name and last known address, with instructions that he should be killed as soon as it could be arranged. That very night, if possible, the next day at the latest.
At the bottom was a last notation that the targeted man had no known guild affiliation, nor was he in particularly good standing with city or merchant guardsmen, nor did he
have any known powerful friends or relatives.
Entreri considered that bit of news carefully. Either he was being set up against a very dangerous opponent, or, more likely, Gordeon had given him this pitifully easy hit to demean him, to lessen his credentials. In his former days in Calimport, Entreri's talents had been reserved for the killing of guildmasters or wizards, noblemen, and captains of the guard. Of course, if Gordeon and the other two lieutenants gave him any such difficult tasks and he proved successful, his standing would grow among the community and they would fear his quick ascension through the ranks.
No matter, he decided.
He took one last look at the listed address-a region of Calimport that he knew well-and went to retrieve his tools.
He heard the children crying nearby, for the hovel had only two rooms, and those separated by only a thick drapery. A very homely young woman-Entreri noted as he spied on her from around the edge of the drapery- tended to the children. She begged them to settle down and be quiet, threatening that their father would soon be home.
She came out of the back room a moment later, oblivious to the assassin as he crouched behind another curtain under a side window. Entreri cut a small hole in the drape and watched her movements as she went about her work. Everything was brisk and efficient; she was on edge, he knew.
The door, yet another drape, pushed aside and a young, skinny man entered, his face appearing haggard, eyes sunken back in his skull, several days of beard on his chin and cheeks.
'Did you find it?' the woman asked sharply.
The man shook his head, and it seemed to Entreri that his eyes drooped just a bit more.
'I begged you not to work with them!' the woman scolded. 'I knew that no good-'
She stopped short as his eyes widened in horror. He saw, looking over her shoulder, the assassin emerging from behind the draperies. He turned as if to flee, but the woman looked back and cried out.
The man froze in place; he would not leave her.
Entreri watched it all calmly. Had the man continued his retreat, the assassin would have cut him down with
