rose the unfinished towers of the new cathedral. Fires burned at the zenith of every overlook, proclaiming the supremacy of the True Church for all to see.
Caim crouched behind the weathered statue of a dead civic hero festooned with pigeon droppings as a patrol of night watchmen marched along the thoroughfare. Their spear butts struck the ancient cobbles like the hooves of a forty-legged beast. When they passed from sight, he darted across, just another gray shadow in the twilight. A six-foot wall ran along the other side of the street, intended to keep out the riffraff, but it was broken by so many gates and posterns, most of them unguarded, as to make for no barrier at all. Once on the other side, he was inside High Town.
Caim kept to the smaller avenues and avoided the wider boulevards that crisscrossed the burg like the warp and weft of a weaver's loom. Glass lamps lit the tree-lined streets. Mansions of stone and timber stood silent behind tall gates. Caim passed a party of nobles attended by linkmen and bodyguards at an intersection, but they paid him no mind. With his stooped shoulders and quick steps, he was just another servant attending to his master's business.
'Where are we going, anyways?' Kit stopped to tickle the whiskers of a stray tomcat. The animal followed her, which meant it trailed behind Caim like a lost child. He resisted the urge to boot it over a fence.
'Esquiline Hill.' He indulged her, hoping some conversation might make her forget about the stupid cat.
Instead, she blew in its tufted ears, which made the animal yowl like a wounded groundhog.
'You're coming up in the world, Caim. I hope you were smart enough to demand a bushel of money. Hey! Maybe we could stay in the house for a couple days after the job. It would be nice to hang out someplace livable instead of that shack you call a home.'
'I'm not sticking around afterward,' he replied.
'Spoken like a true man, gone as soon as the deed is done. Why not stay? I doubt the owner will protest after you cut his throat. If you're squeamish, we could just avoid the room with the body. We'd have plenty of space-'
'You're a nut. You know that?'
'It was just a suggestion.'
As they started up the long incline of Esquiline Hill, the homes became larger, each more opulent than the one before. Their walls glistened in ivory and salmon marble, unstained by the city's ordure. Smooth pavestones replaced the street's cruddy brick.
Caim went over the job in his head. Two days wasn't much time, but he had put it to good use. He had located the target's home, a three-story Graccian-style manse at the apex of Founders Circle, and spent most of the first night casing the site. The house had a gloomy look. Tall windows gaped in the dark stone facade like empty eye sockets. A high wall encircled the property. The gate was a gaudy monstrosity of wrought iron.
'This is nice.' Kit floated up to peek over the wall. 'A lot nicer than that old barn you live in.'
'Just get inside and take a look around, will you?'
With a smirk in his direction, she walked through the stone. Caim ducked into a spacious alley between the wall and the next property, a similarly impressive mansion. Around back he found a servants' entrance, a simple wooden gate secured from the inside. In less than a heartbeat, Caim was over it and crouched on the other side. He listened for signs of alarm, but the yard was silent. True to the report, there were no sentries and no dogs, for which he was grateful. Even though his information explicitly stated the target owned no animals, Caim had brought a pouch of pepperlaced meat just in case. No lights showed in any of the windows.
Caim darted across the yard. The outer face of the house was stone brick. His information suggested forcing the rear door and stealing up the inside of the house. Detailed plans of the building were included in the packet, with the stairs and entry points clearly marked. The target's chambers were situated in the northeast corner of the top floor. The only servant, a middle-aged butler, bunked on the second floor. While it was a sound plan, Caim had discarded it at once. Forcing doors was a noisy affair, which meant an added chance of attracting attention. Plus, he didn't like anyone telling him his business.
As he crouched in the lee of the house, he reached into his satchel for a bundle of thin rope. He portioned out a loop and tied a slider knot. A grappling hook wouldn't bite on the slate shingles and would make an awful clatter, but like most large homes the roof of this manse sported several chimneys. Caim hurled the lariat up and over the lip of the roof. On the third throw it caught on something. Caim tugged several times and the line held. He had a solid anchor. After one last glance about the yard, he went up the line hand over hand.
He found Kit at the top, lounging on the canted tiles.
'Are you going to take all night?' she asked.
Caim gathered up the rope behind him. He left it coiled around the chimney stack it had snagged on. 'I thought you wanted to stay a bit.'
She sat up. 'Can we? It's really beautiful inside! You have to see this crys-'
'Any guards?'
Kit huffed and laid back on the rooftop. Her hair spread out beneath her head like a silver pool. 'No.'
'Is the servant asleep?'
'I suppose.'
'You didn't check?'
'Of course I did. All the lights are out and no one is moving.'
'Good.'
Caim ignored Kit's glare and crossed the tiles. At the northeast corner, he lowered himself onto his belly and leaned over the edge. The window he wanted was directly below his perch. He swung his legs over the side, lined it up as best he could, and let go.
He landed on the pitched gable protecting the window with barely a sound. From there it was an easy shimmy down to the casement. Caim stepped out onto the narrow stone shelf projecting from the windowsill with care. With some old houses, the masonry was weak and prone to collapse. But it held.
The shutters were closed and secured from the inside. Caim took a thin steel bar from his belt and slid the hooked end between the wooden doors. After a moment of searching, he snagged the latch and lifted it out of the catch. The hinges swung open without protest. The window was closed, but not locked. Caim pushed the misted panes open far enough to slip inside.
He paused as his soles touched down on the floor of a hallway, one hand under his cloak to grip the hilt of a knife. This was the most precarious moment. Had his entrance been heard? He listened for sounds of movement, for the sharp intake before a cry was given. Even an old man could raise a hue, and in this neighborhood the tinmen would come running. Fortune favored him tonight. All was quiet.
The hallway ran the width of the top floor and joined with a staircase winding down to the levels below. The target's room was the third door on the right. Caim crept across the hardwood floor and paused at the first door to listen. According to the packet, the target's daughter was a child of five. She should be sound asleep at this hour, but children could be unpredictable. The crack under the door was dark and no sounds issued through the wooden panels, but Caim stood at the door for several moments. He didn't like the idea of harming innocents, especially children. Yet by his actions tonight he would be making an orphan of this girl.
I'm serving the greater good. The target was a vicious man who had earned death a hundred times over. The daughter would be better off without him. Sure. That worked out well for Duke Reinards son, right? Caim put the thoughts out of his head as he continued to the third door, the master suite.
He drew his right-hand knife, turned the knob, and eased the door open. By the orange glow that emanated from the stone hearth, he could make out the details of the long room, which was larger than his entire apartment. A four-poster bed against the far wall dominated the floor space, but there was room enough for a large desk and chair, a sideboard, and rosewood cabinets. The bed was empty, its blankets flat against the tall mattress.
Caim turned his head very slowly until he located his target, slouched in a chair beside an antique desk. Wisps of white hair rose above the seat back.
Caim glided across the bedchamber floor and yanked the head upright by the hairs with his free hand. The suete knife came up. Its point hovered as Caim stared down at his victim.
He could not believe his eyes.
'Can we go now? Please?'
