Blade glared at the peeling, mildewed ceiling, fighting the urge to shout in frustration. The skin under his casts itched unbearably and his stench sickened him. After two tendays abed, his muscles twitched from inaction. The time had been a trial of daily agony when Lilu changed his dressings and endless pain in between. That had faded now that his stab wounds had healed, and she no longer had to clean them, but the enervating boredom and endless itching were on the brink of driving him crazy, coupled with the lack of wine. Lilu had removed his stitches a tenday ago, but being bedridden was humiliating, especially when it came to his bodily functions.
Blade hated everything about his life now, and the prospect that he may never be able to dance again filled him with despair. If he could not perform the Dance, even in its simplest form, the Guild would burn off his mark. Then what would he do? How would he earn a living? Perhaps the Guild would allow him to retire at two and twenty, and then he could take on apprentices. The future loomed dark and bleak, and he wished, for the umpteenth time, that Lilu had left him in the gutter to die. Even training stupid boys did not appeal to him, although it was better than joining the crippled beggars in the gutter.
Blade flexed his leg, finding that the pain was not so bad, and raised his right arm with its tatty, stained cast. Soon, he hoped, the healer would remove them. Levering himself upright, he swayed as the room spun after so long lying on his back. Bile stung the back of his throat, and he swallowed. Lilu had gone to the market to buy food. His left leg was encased in plaster from mid-thigh, and he cursed the healer. Why could he not have left his knee free, so he could bend his leg? Whatever his reasons, it made life exceedingly awkward. Bowing his head, Blade waited for the dizziness to pass, and then tried to rise to his feet. His good leg trembled under the strain, and dull pain came from his broken one. Cursing, he sank back onto the bed.
Dragging the rickety chair closer, he used it as a prop and struggled to his feet. For a few moments he stood, triumphant, then his head went cold and his good leg buckled, sending him crashing to the floor. Pain flashed up his leg and arm, and he cried out. He lay still, biting his lip while the pain washed through him, waiting for it to recede. Apparently he was not ready to get up yet, and now that he lay on the floor, he was stuck. He dragged the chair closer and tried to pull himself to his feet, but with his rigid knee and useless right arm it proved to be impossible. Blade sagged back, able only to shift into a more comfortable position, and resigned himself to waiting for Lilu, cursing her for taking so long.
A time-glass later, as he was dozing off, a scream from the door made him jerk in alarm and raise his head. Lilu dropped her bag and ran to him, falling to her knees, her eyes wide with alarm.
“What happened? Are you all right?”
He frowned, nodding. “Fine. Help me back onto the bed.”
“How did you fall?”
“I was trying to get up.”
“You what?” She stared at him in disbelief. “How could you be so stupid? You might have hurt yourself! Your bones aren't strong yet.”
“I'm sick of lying in that bed.”
“So you thought you'd just get up and go for a walk? Are you mad?”
“I'd be fine if I had crutches. I need crutches!”
She glared at him. “You need your head examined! Of all the idiotic... and you had to do it when I wasn't here, too, as if trying wasn't bad enough on its own!”
“Just help me back onto the damned bed,” he said. “I don't need a bloody lecture.”
“Yes you do, and if you want my help you'll have to ask for it, nicely.” She folded her arms.
“Bugger off.”
“Fine.” She stood up and went over to pick up her bag of shopping. “You can lie there all day then.”
Blade glowered at her while she took the items from the bag and placed them on the table, humming a little tune. The ditty told him that she was upset and anxious, for Lilu did not usually sing. She was concerned about him, and struggled to hide it with too much cheerfulness. He lay back and studied the ceiling, wondering which of them was more stubborn. The floor was hard and cold, and he strived to hide his shivers. Only the sheet that he had dragged from the bed and wrapped around his hips covered him. He closed his eyes with a sigh.
Lilu stacked jars of pickles on the shelves, humming tunelessly as she tried to ignore Blade's palpable anger. She longed to help him back into bed and tuck him in, and noted his shivers with a swift glance. He was so stubborn that he would rather lie there and freeze than be polite. Whatever he had been through had left him indifferent, and hardened him to the point where he would rather suffer than be forced to do something he disliked. She sensed that she would lose this battle of wills, and regretted entering into it. Still, she let him lie there a little longer, to make her point.
Turning, she studied him. His bruises had faded and the swellings had gone down, and the sight of him lying floor was hard to bear. With a sigh, she went over to gaze down at him, and he opened his eyes at her approach.
“You're making the place untidy. Come on, let's get you on the bed before you get sick from the cold and I have to nurse you through another fever.”
Blade held out a hand, and she noted the thin scars on his fingers as she clasped it. Probably from dagger throwing practice, she guessed. She pulled him up, bent and slipped her arms around his chest, lacing her fingers behind his back to lift him. He was lighter than he had been when she had carried him from the alley. When she lowered him onto the bed, she overbalanced and sprawled on top of him as he flopped back. He tried to shove her away, but her fingers were locked together and jammed under him. His nostrils flared and his brows knotted.
“Get off me.”
“Relax, my hands are stuck.” Lilu tugged her fingers loose and pulled her hands free. “Your rudeness never wanes, does it? I help you, and all I get is more insults.”
“You're crushing my ribs.”
“No I'm not. You just don't like to be close to anyone, do you? Why is that?”
“None of your damned business, and you stink.”
“I do not.” She glared into his icy eyes. “If you want me gone, ask nicely.”
“What is it with you and manners?”
“They're pleasant.”
“I'm not a pleasant person. You should have left me in the gutter and found someone more polite to rescue.”
“Perhaps I would have, had I known how rude you are.” Lilu gripped his face and thrust hers closer. “You want me to let you go? Say please.”
“You really don't want to know how easily I could make you let go,” he said.
“You know what will happen to you if you hurt me? You'll end up out there on the street with the urchins, and they won't look after you.”
He closed his eyes. “Please get off me.”
“That wasn't so hard, was it?” She stood up and lifted his splinted leg onto the bed, pulling the sheet over him.
Blade rolled onto his side to face the wall, and she sighed as she went back to packing away the food. She had bought fresh, warm bread and a selection of jams, tarts and pastries to tempt his appetite, such as it was. She had taken a parcel of food to her children on her way home, better fare than they usually got, thanks to the assassin's money. He had not stipulated a wage for her work, and merely handed her money whenever she asked for it, but she only bought food and paid her rent and the fishwife who cared for her children. He had paid back the three goldens she had spent on the doctor, however, and given her money to purchase the rickety cot on which she now slept.
Lilu sliced bread and ham while she pondered the youth in her bed. His deadly skills had earned the money that now fed them, but would he ever be able to work again? What would happen to him if he could not? She could not keep him, but nor could she throw him out into the street to fend for himself. She had the impression that his family was dead. She hoped his recovery would be complete, but if it was, he would be a killer again, and that thought made her shiver. Then again, had he ever stopped being one? She remembered the pure aura Symbell's song had revealed, and wondered at it afresh. Perhaps, if he was crippled, the priestesses at the temple would take him in as a servant.
Lilu closed the door behind the doctor and turned to smile at Blade, who sat on the bed, scratching his leg as if he could not stop. The casts lay on the floor in dirty heaps, and he looked much better without them. At first, the healer had been daunted when faced with an awake assassin, but had rallied to the task with the aid of two goldens and pronounced Blade's bones to be healed. Lilu scooped up the casts and dumped them outside her door for the trash men to remove, then sat beside Blade.
“Now you need a proper bath.”
“I'll return to my rooms if you bring me my clothes.”
Lilu's heart sank. “You're not strong enough yet. You still have to learn to walk again.”
“I'll manage.” He looked at her. “Why would you want me to stay any longer?”
She shrugged, averting her eyes. “I just don't want all my hard work going to waste when you fall down the stairs and break your neck.”
He drew his money pouch from under the pillow and took out a handful of goldens, holding them out. “Here, this should make it worth your while.”
She glared at him. “I didn't do it for money.”
“Then why?”
“I wanted to help you.” Lilu shook her head in disgust. Even after four tendays in her constant care, he still treated her like a stranger. “Why won't you believe me?”
He hesitated. “It isn't rational.”
“It doesn't have to be rational, but it's the truth.”
“For you to save me purely because you wanted to, and spend all this time looking after me without wanting payment, you would have to be mad.”
“Perhaps I thought you'd be my friend,” she said.
“Ah, now we're getting somewhere. You thought it might be useful to have the Dance Master in your debt, is that it?”
“No.” Lilu shook her head. “You won't believe anything I say unless it suits your way of thinking, will you?”
Blade slammed the goldens down on the bedside table. “Where are my clothes?”
“Your landlord will have rented your rooms to someone else by now.”
“I paid my rent four moons in advance.”
She bowed her head. “Will you be my friend, if I asked you for that as my payment?”
“No. You get the goldens, no hold on me.”
“I don't want a hold on you. That's not what friendship is. I'd just like to see you sometimes, to talk.”
He shook his head. “We haven't exactly had any good conversations while I've been here.”
“That's because you won't allow it. You're rude and snide, or you won't talk at all.”
“Nor will I allow it now. Assassins don't have friends; we may have to kill them.”
She glanced at him. “Is that what you're afraid of? Who would bother to hire an assassin to kill me?”
“Even if that's not a possibility, the friend of an assassin would be a target for vengeance seekers and despisers. They almost killed me, and they'll kill you if you're my friend.”
Her heart warmed, and she smiled. “I'll risk it.”
“You'd take that chance, to be friends with me?” His brows rose. “What is it about me that you like so much?”
“You're a good person, deep down. If only you would allow yourself to be nice. I kept hoping you would mellow.” She sighed. “But even if you won't, I'd still like to have you as a friend.”
He snorted. “You must be really desperate for a friend, then. Don't you have whore friends?”
“Yes, but... I like you. I've earned your friendship, don't you think? I've proven to you that I'm not after your money or your protection.” She reached for his hand. “Please, Blade.”
He snatched it away. “No. Are you going to bring me my clothes, or must I search for them?”
“They're in the wardrobe.”
With a heavy heart, she watched him hobble to the wardrobe, the bed sheet wrapped around his hips. Over the past two tendays, he had risen every day to wander around the room, the cast hampering him. He favoured his wounded leg even more now that the cast's support was gone, barely placing any weight on it. Lilu had procured a crutch for him a tenday ago, but he did not use it now.
“Won't the despisers and murderers want to kill an injured assassin? Will you be safe on your own?”
“I'll be fine.” He pulled out his clothes and returned to the bed to don them, casting her a frown.
“Why are you in such a hurry to leave when I want you to stay?” she enquired.
“I dislike company.”
“Why?”
“None of your business.” He pulled his flannel shorts from the pile of clothes and turned to her. “Would you wait outside?”
“No.” She folded her arms. “I've seen naked men before, I assure you.”
“Probably the commonest sight in your life, but I'd like some privacy.”
“Why? What have you got that they don't?”
He frowned. “Will you force me to wait until you leave on some errand? You should be going back to work now, since I'm leaving.” He paused. “Is that why you want me to stay? So I'll support you? I won't, you know.”
“I know.” She hid her anger at his assumption and callous dismissal, wondering why she did. “I never thought you would, or expected you to.”
Lilu sighed, raked him with a scathing glance, rose and left the shabby room. In the street, she watched the peddlers and beggars and considered her options. Perhaps the only hope she had of ever seeing him again was if she was particularly nice to him. She did not have much hope that it would work, but it was worth a try. He tried to turn everything she said or did into something ugly, to suit his past experiences, she guessed, and she had to find a way to convince him that he was wrong. She also had to let him go, though. The prospect brought tears to her eyes, and she wiped them, sniffing. A skinny beggar boy held out dirty hands in a pleading gesture, and she waved him away. He ran off shouting insults, and she turned to re-enter her room.
Blade sat on the bed, clad in his black leather trousers, frowning at the silver-studded belt he held. He looked up with a puzzled, chagrined expression, from which she deduced that he had not expected to find it still amongst his possessions. She glared at him and went over to the table.
“No, I didn't sell it.”
“So it would seem. But you're not above thievery, I would guess.”
“No.” She sat on the chair. “I do what I must to survive, as we all do. It's a hard life, with few joys, but I make the most of it.”
“And for some reason you think having a killer in your life will make it better?”
Her heart leapt with hope. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Lilu wanted to tell him that she knew he was God Touched, but something told her not to. He would probably not believe her, and, even if he did, he would assign some ugly motive to that, too. In truth, that was not the real reason, so she said, “I'm lonely. Your company would be most welcome, even if all you do is sit and drink wine. I like having you around, and I don't expect you to change, nor will I ask anything of you. If you're ever sick or injured, who else will help you? I will.”
Blade placed the belt on the bed and picked up a loaded wrist sheath, strapping it on, then donned the leather vest. She wondered if he was going to answer her.
As he shrugged on his jacket, he said, “I'll consider it.”
“Thank you.”
He paused in the act of buckling on his belt and frowned at her. “You've done me a service, and while I didn't particularly wish to be saved, I appreciate what you did.”
“Then show your appreciation and visit me sometimes. That's all I ask.”
“As I said -”
“You'll consider it.” She forced a wan smile.
Blade bent to pull on his boots, checking the weapons in them. “You've been weeping.”
She raised her chin. “No, it was smoky outside. Some idiot was burning rubbish on the street.”
“Ah.” He contemplated her for a few moments, then levered himself to his feet and picked up the crutch. “I may see you again, then.”
“I hope so.” Lilu bit her lip as he hobbled to the door. “You could eat before you go. I made food.”
He paused and glanced back. “No.”
“Be careful. Those men are still out there, and you're not well.”
“They won't catch me again.” The assassin opened the door and limped out, closing it behind him.
Lilu stared at it. Only the grinding misery of her trade lay ahead when the goldens he had left ran out. She went over to count them, finding fifteen, enough to feed and board herself and her babies for three moons. At least she did not have to return to her whoring ways just yet. Without Blade's presence, her dingy room seemed smaller and dirtier somehow, as well as empty.
Blade watched the young assassin who practiced clumsy steps upon his platform. That the youth had achieved his tattoo was surprising, considering the poor quality of his dance. A screen of leaves hid Blade from the trespasser, and he waited, the steel spring within him tightening. As yet, he was not ready for the Guild to find him, and had been careful, over the last moon, to avoid being seen. This was the first time he had returned to his platform. Since leaving the whore's room, he had exercised and practiced in his lodging, and ventured out only at night to buy wine and food. The time had been torturous, but his skills were almost restored. When he did go out, he did not wear his belt, to ensure that if he was seen, no one would know who he was.
The young assassin muttered and jumped down, striding off into the trees. Blade waited until he was out of sight, then approached the platform. His limp was barely noticeable now, and he hoped that he would be able to regain his old skills. He was unfit, though, so it would take time to restore his former abilities. They would be, he was determined. His feet tapped on the boards as he walked around the platform, limbering up. The exercises in his room had restored his suppleness, and all that remained was to see if he had retained his speed. He took a few experimental steps, drawing on the memories of his training and the skills he had honed. Raising his head, he launched into the first steps of the Dance of Death, allowing his legs to remember their old habits.
At first, his steps were no faster than an average dancer. He speeded them up, revelling in the surge and pull of his muscles and the spring in his legs. He leapt high and lashed out with stiff legs, brushing his boots together in mid-air. As he landed, his left leg buckled and he crashed to the boards, grazing his hands on the wood. He lay panting, sweat sliming his skin, and reviewed what had happened. His bad leg ached, and he sat up to rub it, frowning. His knee had buckled, so perhaps he was pushing himself too hard, too soon. No leaps for a while might be a better idea.
The sky darkened as the sun sank, and the forest cast gloom across the stage. Deciding that he had done enough for one day, he limped back towards the poor quarter. As he often did these days, he detoured to the whorehouse where Lilu worked and climbed onto a wall opposite, settling down to wait. He did not know why he watched her walk home sometimes, but it made him feel better about himself. Why she had returned to work just two tendays after he had left puzzled him, although his cynical mind told him it must be because she enjoyed it. Deep down, he knew that was wrong. Perhaps she was saving up for something. It was none of his business, anyway.
Patrons reeled in and out of the brothel, some in ditty-singing groups, others alone, most with familiars close by or clinging to their person. Barrow-hags, who seemed to populate most of the city's street corners, trundled past, shouting about their wares. Several urchins played a game of tosspot in a nearby gutter for a while, their high shrieks jabbing his ears. The red-paned lamp that hung outside the brothel's front door advertised its occupation, and a peeling sign bore an illegible name. From his perch, he could see the front and back doors of the establishment, since his vantage was some distance away. It would not do for anyone to spot him, especially Lilu. As the evening dragged past, the urchins and the barrow-hags vanished into whatever hovels they occupied, leaving the street empty.
Blade jerked from his doze when the whorehouse's back door banged open and two men threw a bundle of rags into the street. They re-entered the whorehouse, and the assassin studied the heap, curious. It moved, and a pale arm rose feebly, falling back onto the cobbles. Blade frowned and glanced up and down the street to assure himself of its emptiness before he slid off the wall and approached the bundle on silent feet. The woman's face was turned away, and he walked around her to see it. He froze, his breath catching, then crouched and brushed a lock of tangled hair from Lilu's cheek. Her nose was smashed and her face smeared with blood, her lips swollen and split, and swellings sealed her eyes shut.
“Ah, Lilu,” he whispered. “You stupid trollop.”
After glancing around again, he pressed his fingers to her throat, and she slumped with a sigh. The assassin slid his arms under her and scooped her up, staggering under her weight.
“You need to go on a damned diet,” he muttered.
Blade stayed in the shadows out of habit on the way to her room in the slums. His lock pick opened the door in moments, and he dumped her on the bed, groaned and rubbed his back with a grimace. After arranging her comfortably, he gazed at her for several minutes, pondering. The throat pinch would assure her unconsciousness for a time-glass, and he had little time left. He contemplated using it again to lengthen it, but discarded the idea. Fetching the water basin, he wiped her face with a rag, revealing the true extent of the damage.
Lilu groaned, and he tossed the rag into the bowl and rose. At the door, he paused to gaze at her again, then let himself out and locked it behind him. While he walked home, he pondered what must have happened to her, disliking everything to do with her vile trade and its consequences. She would be better off as a serving wench or washerwoman, but she was too stupid for that. Her nose was so badly broken he doubted she would be able to continue her current vocation unless she wore a bag over her head, as Graleth had recommended for Annay. Lilu had been ugly before, now she was hideous. He chuckled, shaking his head, and let himself into his room to flop down on his bed.
The next afternoon, Blade made his way to Lilu's abode and took up a position on a nearby rooftop, where he could watch her door. He spied movement behind the dirty curtain that covered the single window, and, after lying in the sun, yawning and scratching, for a time-glass, he quit his perch to practice on his platform.
The following day, he visited the armourer who had made his daggers and ordered a pair of boot blades, an assassin's traditional weapon. Once they had been used for duels, but that practice had been stopped. Now they were mostly for self-defence, which was their original purpose. If a group of men pursued an assassin, seeking vengeance or merely satisfaction, their prospective prey could don the blades for a better chance of survival. Using them effectively, however, took a great deal of skill. The moves were based upon the Dance, but somewhat different. Since he could not dance now, or at least, not properly for a while, when he collected the blades three days later he practiced the fighting moves employed whilst wearing boot blades.
Each day, he went to Lilu's room and watched her from a neighbouring rooftop, assuring himself that she was all right. He had not seen her emerge since he had brought her home, even though he had spent quite a bit of time watching her, and his concern grew. He despised it, but could not deny it. Five days had passed, and she must be running out of food.
Four urchins chased a skinny dog down the street, shrieking and throwing stones, and a beggar cursed them when they tripped over him in the gutter. Two firebirds courted on a neighbouring rooftop, bowing to each other with purring calls, their flame-hued tails spread. A grey dove nested in a chimney close to them, watching them with worried brown eyes. The shack Lilu dwelt in was one of many that lined the narrow street, backing onto run-down houses with sagging slate roofs and peeling paint. The entire area was impoverished, bordering the slums and the garbage dump beyond, where he had spent seven days so long ago.
The sun dipped below the rooftops, withdrawing its warmth and light, and he sighed, frowning with annoyance. Sliding off the roof, he landed with a thud behind a hag's vegetable barrow, making her jump. Ignoring her myopic glare, he ambled across the road, where urchins picked pockets and beggars held out grimy hands.
Blade hesitated in front of the door, every particle of his being wanting to leave, but the despised concern drove him to tap on the wood.
“Go away!” a hoarse shout came from within, and he almost did. Two steps from the door he swung back, and this time banged on it.
“Bugger off! I have a knife!” Her bellow was even louder.
“Lilu.” He coughed, clearing his throat. “It's Blade.”
The door was yanked open so forcefully that a wind blew past him, and he staggered back as the ragged whore engulfed him in a rib-cracking embrace. Blade narrowly avoided stepping in something putrid and sitting down in the dirt, and tried to pry her arms away.
“Get off me!” he said.
Lilu buried her face in his chest and wept. Blade glanced up and down the street at the curious pedestrians who had paused to stare at him and pushed her into the room, kicking the door closed. Still she clung to him, pinning his arms to his sides, and he freed them with a jerk, hurling her back against the bed. She sagged, sniffing, and he stared at the ravaged ruin of her face. Blue bruises ringed her eyes, mottled her lips and covered her flattened nose. The assassin thought he had never seen such a nauseating sight, and looked away. She wiped her nose, then covered her face and wept.
“Stop it,” he said, “or I'll leave.”
She hiccupped and gulped, rubbed her face on her sleeve and forced a wan smile. “It's good to see you. I've missed you so much. I'm glad you came. I have wine.”
Blade stepped aside when she headed for a cupboard, staying out of her reach. She turned with a bottle of cheap wine that he knew tasted more like vinegar, and he held up a hand.
“No, that stuff is vile.”
Her face fell, and she looked so desperate that his anger rose again, and he headed for the door.
“No!” She rushed at him. “Wait! Blade!”
The assassin slipped out before she could grab him and slammed the door in her face, stepping into the shadows as she yanked it open again. He ignored her desperate calls and turned into an alley, at the end of which, he knew, was a shabby taproom that the local beggars frequented. The soggy door creaked when he dragged it open, and he banged on the scarred counter until a man came over with a lopsided leer and an angry scowl. The bartender eyed him, clearly uncertain of whether he was an assassin or just a man clad in black. Blade ordered three bottles of the best wine and paid a golden for something he hoped was drinkable.
Back at Lilu's room, he shoved open the door, which he knew was now unlocked, and kicked it shut behind him. She lay on the bed, and looked up in alarm, her eyes wide. A hesitant smile twisted her swollen, scabbed lips, and she sat up and swung her legs off the bed. Blade banged the bottles down on the table and eased himself onto the rickety chair, which creaked.
Lilu gulped and coughed. “You came back.”
“I went to get some decent wine,” he said, looking away.
“Thank you.”
“Are you going to pour it, or sit there gaping at me?”
Lilu went over to the cupboard and took out two pewter cups while Blade pried the cork out, and he filled them. She dragged a box closer and perched on it, gazing at him. He handed her a cup, which she took with trembling hands.
Blade scowled at her. “Who did that to you?”
She fingered her crushed nose. “A customer.”
“Why?”
“I... I stole his money.”
“Then you deserved it.”
“He almost killed me.” She leant forward, her eyes intent. “Someone carried me home that night and left me on the bed.”
Blade sipped his wine. “That was nice of them.”
“Yes, it was. Thank you.”
He snorted. “It wasn't me.”
“I know it was.”
“Then you're an idiot.”
She sipped her wine, wincing. “This is good.”
“I won't drink that rat's piss you have.”
“No, I expect you can afford the good stuff, like this.”
He shrugged. “It's tolerable.”
“Why did you help me? And how did you find me?”
“I didn't. How would I? What do you think, that I've been following you around or something?”
She lowered her eyes. “Perhaps it was a happy coincidence.”
“Unlikely.”
“I don't know of anyone else who would have helped me.”
“I wouldn't have, either.”
“All right.” She looked at him. “Have it your way, but I know it was you.”
“Don't delude yourself with idiotic imaginings.”
“I hope you didn't hurt your leg doing it. I'm not that light.”
His eyes narrowed at her clumsy ploy. “I'm sure it was some stout lad with a heart of gold or a crotch full of lust, who probably made use of you before he left.”
She grimaced. “You're being vile.”
“When am I not? And yet you seek to credit me with a charitable act.”
“I know who you really are.”
“Indeed? Who am I, really?”
“A good man.”
Blade chuckled, shaking his head. “You'd see good in a murdering rapist if he patted your bottom and bought you a drink.”
She sighed. “How have you been?”
“Tolerable.”
“Are you dancing again?”
“No.”
“You're not limping.”
Blade sipped his wine. “And you're not working. What are you eating, the curtains?”
“How do you know I'm not working?”
“Because no man in his right mind would rut with you now.”
She looked down at her wine, fiddling with it. “I have a little food still.”
“Good, I'm hungry.”
Lilu stifled a sob.
Blade smiled. “Aren't you going to offer your guest something to eat? You asked me to visit you, and I've even provided the wine. The least you can do is offer me a meal.”
Jumping up, she wrenched open a cupboard and took out a hunk of mouldy bread and an equally foetid chunk of cheese, banging them down on the table. “There. Eat.”
“That's disgusting.”
Her face twisted, and she turned away. “That's all I have.”
He sighed. “I'm not eating that. Even the rats wouldn't eat it.”
“I'm sorry.”
Blade drew a silver from his money pouch and banged it on the table. “Go and buy us something for dinner. The hag with the barrow across the road is selling hot pies.”
She looked at him, her eyes alight, then her face fell. “Won't you buy it for us, please?”
He raised his brows. “Now you expect me to not only pay for it, but fetch it, too?”
“Please.” Her eyes darted, and a hunted look invaded them.
He leant closer. “What are you scared of?”
“Him.”
“Oh, him.” He sat back, considering her. “Your erstwhile client.”
“Yes. He promised to kill me.”
“And you think he's standing outside the door, waiting for you?”
“Maybe.”
He snorted. “You're being idiotic.”
“He knows where I live. The last two nights he's been banging on my door, promising to kill me if I come out.”
“Has he now?” Blade frowned at the door, wondering if she was lying.
“Yes. I thought it was him when you knocked. I don't know why he hasn't come tonight.”
“I take it he didn't get his money back when he beat you.”
“No. I hid it.”
“At the whorehouse?”
She nodded, sipping her wine.
“Foolish. You should have given it back. How much was it?”
“Five goldens.”
“No wonder he's angry,” he said. “What do you need so much money for? You pay, what, a silver a moon for this shithole, and three coppers a day for food? Are you saving up for a mansion?”
“No, I...” She hesitated, shooting him an uncertain look. “I have children.”
Blade cursed and jumped up. “Gods! You stupid trollop! How many?”
“Two...” She gulped, watching him with wide eyes. “A boy and a girl, five and three years old. And...”
“What?”
“Another... on the way.”
Blade stared at her, wanting to quit the smelly shack and her hopeless, fawning desperation. He preferred the woman who had hit him with a broom, but the fire had gone out of her. The assassin sank down on the chair again, bracing himself when it wobbled.
“Presumably you have no idea who the father is?”
“Not this time, no.”
“Don't you... take herbs, or something?”
“They don't always work.”
Blade glanced away, finding it hard to look at her battered face. “So you were just going to hide in here and starve, and let your children starve, too.”
“No, I was hoping he'd give up and go away.”
He snorted. “Fat chance. Five goldens will keep him coming back, unless he's rich.”
“He's a drover.”
“And you think he's outside, right now?”
“He might be.”
Blade stood up and loomed over her. She cowered and raised her hands, her eyes wide. His brows knotted. “What, you think I'm going to hit you now? I should. So help me, Lilu, if you don't wipe that look off your face and stand up straight, I'll leave right now and you'll never see me again. Get up!”
Lilu rose, trying to school her features, although her chin wobbled and her eyes shimmered. Blade scooped up the silver, gripped her arm and dragged her to the door, pulling it open. The hag stood at her barrow across the street, and a few urchins played tosspot in the gutter. He glanced around, pressed the coin into Lilu's hand and gave her a shove that sent her staggering into the road.
“Go and buy us some bloody food, now!”
The whore cringed, her eyes darting, but scuttled across the street to the barrow and haggled with the crone, limping back with two pies clutched to her bosom. Blade stood aside, scanning the road again before banging the door closed and turning to Lilu, who ripped open the paper packet and tried to stuff an entire pie into her mouth. Blade grabbed her arm and yanked it out, bits of pastry protruding from her bruised lips.
“Don't act like a starved dog.” He took the food and found two plates in the cupboard, banging one down in front of her. “Eat it slowly, or I'll throw it away.”
Lilu controlled herself with an obvious effort, and took reasonable bites while Blade nibbled his. It was a cheap repast, and the meat inside, he mused, was probably rat or cat, but it was hot and nourishing. When she finished hers, he pushed his plate across to her.
“I'm not hungry anymore,” he said. “The sight of your face makes me ill.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled, blinking.
Blade sipped his wine. “Where are your children?”
“In the care of a fishwife down the street. Her name's Nelta. If anything happens to me, would you –?”
“No.”
She bowed her head and concentrated on her food, washing it down with wine.
The assassin sighed. “This drover won't risk murdering you. He might beat you again, though.”
“Who's to stop him killing me? The Watch won't care about a whore.”
“True. But if he didn't kill you the first time, why would he do it now?”
“Because he didn't get his money back. The bounder boys pulled him off before he could murder me.”
“I see.” Blade sipped his wine and gazed across the room, thinking about how miserable it must be, to be trapped in this filthy hovel, hungry and alone, afraid to go outside while her children also went hungry. Her life was pathetic and futile, not worth his interest, slight though it was. She had saved his life, yet she had not asked for his help, and he wondered why. If ever there was a good time to claim his debt, it was now.
“Perhaps you should give him his money back then.”
“Perhaps. If I could get to the whorehouse, I would.”
“That’s why he’s been banging on your door to terrify you. He could easily have kicked it in, it's rotten. If he murders you, he won't get his money back.”
“Do you really think that if I give it back, he won't kill me anyway?”
Blade sighed. “No, he probably will.”
“Then there's no hope for me, is there?”
He eyed her. “Why aren't you asking for my help?”
“I couldn't put you in that kind of danger. He might hurt you, and I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you. Then he'd still come after me, anyway.”
“Your concern is touching. You seem to have forgotten that I'm a killer.”
“You're an assassin, and I don't have any money to pay you. Besides, everyone knows you can't hire the Master of the Dance for a few coppers, or even a few silvers. What is your fee?”
“It depends on how difficult the target is to kill.”
“For an easy kill.”
He shrugged. “For a really easy kill, four goldens.”
“I suppose I have five.”
“I'm not for hire right now.”
“Why not?”
“I'm not fit enough.”
She wiped the pastry crumbs off her swollen lips. “I wouldn't risk your life. He's a big man, and a good fighter, I've heard. He regularly beats up men.”
“He did a good job on you.”
“What should I do?”
Blade drained his cup, refilling it. “You could hire an assassin.”
“I suppose so, but how will I find one? Would you –?”
“No.”
She refilled her cup. “I'll manage, somehow.”
“You'll have to.” Blade slugged back the rest of his wine and rose to his feet.
Lilu jumped up. “You're leaving?”
“Yes.”
“No, wait, please. Stay a little longer.” She glanced at the bottles. “You haven't finished your wine.”
“Keep it.”
“Blade...”
The assassin slipped out of the door and banged it closed, stepping into the shadows. Lilu opened it again a moment later and peered up and down the street, calling his name in a despairing voice. He wondered if she really expected him to reappear just because she called him, but then, she did not know him as well as she seemed to think she did. After a minute, she glanced around with obvious trepidation and retreated into the dubious shelter of her tatty room. Blade leant against the wall behind him and breathed the fresh air that was a relief after the musty confines of her shack and its depressing atmosphere of hopelessness. He strived to blot out her pleading eyes and battered visage while he walked home, avoiding turds and puddles of urine.