walls. As he turned about, the presence moved away.
Someone was in the room with him. Someone who didn't want to be noticed. The carpet muffled the tread of their feet, and the bolhouse noise covered any involuntary sounds. The flowery perfume that hung in the air would hide the small scents of a body. Only the senses unique to him as a magician had detected the stranger.
It was a test. He doubted if the owner of the presence was being tested on their ability to remain unnoticed. No, this test was for him. To see if he detected anything. To see if he was a magician.
Casting his senses out, he detected another faint presence. This one was stationary. Stretching his arms out, he started forward again. The first presence darted around him, but he ignored it. After ten steps he encountered a wall. Keeping his hands on the rough surface, he began moving around the room in the direction of the other presence. The first one moved away, then suddenly rushed toward him. He felt a faint breeze against his neck. Ignoring it, he continued on.
His fingers met the door frame, then a sleeve and arm. The blindfold was lifted from his eyes, and he found himself staring at an old man.
'I apologize for keeping you waiting,' the man said. Recognizing the voice, Dannyl knew this was his guide. Had the man left the room at all?
Offering no explanation, the guide opened the door. 'If you would follow me now, please.'
Dannyl glanced around the now-empty room, then stepped into the passage.
They continued the journey at a more relaxed pace, the lamp swinging in the old man's hand. The walls were well made. At each turn a small panel was set into the bricks, engraved with strange symbols. It was impossible to guess what time it was, but he knew that many hours must have passed since he had entered the first bolhouse. He was pleased with himself for realizing he was being tested. Would they have taken him to the Thieves if he had proven to be a magician? He doubted it.
There might be more tests - he would have to be careful. He did not know how close he was to speaking with Gorin. In the meantime, he should find out as much as he could about the people he wanted to negotiate with. He regarded his companion speculatively.
'What is a 'knife'?'
The old man grunted. 'An assassin.'
Dannyl blinked, then smothered a smile. The Bold Knife was truly an appropriate name, then. How did the owner get away with advertising so blatantly?
He could wonder about that later. For now there were more useful things to learn.
'Are there any other alternative names I should know about?'
The old man smiled. 'If someone sends you a messenger, you'll be getting either a threat, or they'll be carrying out that threat.'
'I see.'
'And a squimp is someone who betrays the Thieves. You don't want to be one of those. They live short lives.'
'I'll keep that in mind.'
'If all goes well, you'll be called a client. Depends what you're here for.' He stopped and turned to regard Dannyl. 'Guess it's time to find out.'
He knocked on the wall. Silence followed, then the bricks collapsed inward in two sections. The old man gestured toward the opening.
The room Dannyl entered was small. A table fit snugly between the walls, effectively blocking access to the huge man sitting in the chair behind it. A pair of doors stood partly open behind him.
'Larkin the mat-seller,' the man said. His voice was startlingly deep.
Dannyl inclined his head. 'And you are?'
The man smiled. 'Gorin.'
There was no chair for visitors. Dannyl moved closer to the table. Gorin was not an attractive man, but his bulk was more muscle than fat. His hair was thick and curly, and a woolly beard covered his jaw. He truly lived up to his namesake, the huge beasts that hauled punts up the Tarali river. Dannyl wondered if this was a joke of the thug's - perhaps Gorin was the man with the
'You lead the Thieves?' Dannyl asked.
Gorin smiled. 'Nobody leads the Thieves.'
'Then how do I know if I'm talking to the right person?'
'You want to make a deal? You make it with me.' He spread his hands. 'If you break the deal, I punish you. Think of me like something between a father and a king. I'm helping you out, but if you betray me, I'll kill you. Does that make sense?'
Dannyl pursed his lips. 'I was thinking of something a bit more balanced. Father to father, perhaps? I wouldn't presume to suggest king to king, though I like the sound of it.'
Gorin smiled again, but it didn't extend to his eyes. 'What you want, Larkin the mat-seller?'
'I want you to help me find somebody.'
'Ah.' The Thief nodded. He pulled over a small block of paper, a pen and an inkwell. 'Who?'
'A girl. Fourteen to sixteen. Small build, dark hair, skinny.'
'Ran away, did she?'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
'A misunderstanding.'
Gorin nodded sympathetically. 'Where you think she might have gone?'
'The slums.'
'If she is alive, I'll find her. If she is not, or we have not found her within a time - we'll agree on how long - your obligations to me end. What's her name?'
'We don't know her name yet.'
'You don't -' Gorin looked up, then narrowed his eyes. 'We?'
Dannyl allowed himself to smile. 'You need to devise a better test.'
Gorin's eyes widened slightly. He swallowed, then leaned back in his chair. 'Is that so?'
'What did you intend to do with me if I hadn't passed?'
'Lead you somewhere far from here.' He licked his lips, then shrugged. 'But you are here. What do you want?'
'As I said: we want you to help us find the girl.'
'And if we don't?'
Dannyl let the smile fall from his face. 'Then she will die. Her own powers will kill her, and destroy part of the city too - though I cannot tell you how much as I do not know her strength.' He stepped forward, placed his hands on the table, and held the Thief's gaze. 'If you help us, it doesn't have to be a profitless arrangement - though you must understand that there are limits to what we can be seen to be doing.'
Gorin stared at him in silence, then put pen and paper aside. He leaned back in his seat and turned his head slightly.
'Hai, Dagan! Bring our visitor a chair.'
The room was dark and musty. Shipping boxes were stacked against one wall, many of them broken. Pools of water had gathered in the corners, and a thick layer of dust covered everything else.
'So this is where your father used to hide his stuff?' Harrin asked.
Cery nodded. 'Da's old storeroom.' He wiped dust off one of the boxes, and sat down.
'There's no bed,' Donia said.
'We'll put something together,' Harrin replied. Walking over to the boxes, he began rummaging through them.
Sonea had stopped in the doorway, dismayed at the prospect of spending the night in such a cold and unpleasant place. Sighing, she sat on the lowest stair. They had moved three times during the night to avoid reward-seekers. She felt as if she hadn't slept for days. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to drift. Harrin's conversation with Donia grew distant, as did the sound of footsteps from the passage behind her.
