say he was scheming something, but not against you."
"Then I have nothing to worry about."
The faded sign of the Blue Vine appeared around the next corner. One
of the oldest wineshops in Othir, it had been owned by innumerable men
and women over the centuries, passed down through families and sold off
dozens of times. The current owner was Mistress Clarice Henninger, but
everyone called her Mother.
She spotted Caim as soon as he pushed through the rickety door.
"Caim!"
He held open his arms as she waddled across the common room to
wrap him in a fierce embrace. A thick-waisted woman on the hoary side
of fifty, she was every bit as saucy as a wench half her size and a third her age. The money purse tucked in his shirt ground against her massive
breasts.
"Happy to see me, sweetling?"
Kit giggled while
Caim disentangled himself as politely as he could
manage. The Vine's taproom was dim, its windows tightly shuttered. The
only light came from small oil lamps suspended from the ceiling and two
stone-lined hearths. Thick shadows clung to the brick-and-niter walls. It
was crowded this night. Most of the Vine's patrons were teamsters and
porters, large men who made their living by the sweat of their brows and
the strength of their backs. A few nodded his way. He returned the gestures with a slight dip of his chin.
"Want your usual table?" she asked.
Mother led him to a dim corner, swaying her wide hips with every
step. Caim took off his cloak and slid around the table to sit with his back
to the walls. From here he could see the front entrance as well as the door
to the back room where the wine casks were stored.
"A cup of Golden Swan?"
Caim started to nod, but stopped himself. "No, I'll have the Asper
tonight. In a clean cup, please."
She laughed, grasping her breasts with both hands. "Of course, sweetling. All Mother's cups are clean!"
A pair of oldsters in shabby coats cackled over their stones game as
she waddled back to the bar to fetch his order. Kit perched on the table
and regarded Caim. Her large eyes glowed like purple jewels in the dim
lighting.
"So you took another job?"
He flipped a penny to the wench who delivered his wine. She flashed
him a welcoming smile, but he returned only a curt nod and leaned back
into the shadows.
As the girl flounced off, he said, "You were eavesdropping?"
Kit twirled a wisp of silver hair in her fingers. "Mathias talks so loud
I could hear him half the world away. I thought you were going to take a
break."
Caim took a sip and sighed as the cool wine trickled down his throat.
"I was, but sometimes people need killing. That's what I do."
"It didn't sound like you were too eager to take it."
"Well, I couldn't stand to see Mathias beg."
"You never say no to him."
"He's a friend."
Kit reclined on an elbow, staring up at him. "A friend wouldn't put
you in danger for a few pieces of gilt."
Before he could think of an answer, the door opened and a young man
entered. The newcomer's colorless eyes swept around the room as the door
closed behind him. He was alone.
"Hubert's here," Caim said. "Why don't you go keep an eye on his
roughnecks?"
Kit hopped off the table with a spin. "It doesn't sound like you need
my help. Maybe I'll go watch fireflies instead."
"As you like."
As Kit vanished through a wall, Caim focused on the youth crossing
the wineshop. Hubert Claudius Vassili looked every inch the foppish
noble's son he was, from the floppy, wide-brimmed hat cocked roguishly
on his head, complete with a ridiculous sky blue feather, to his fine cavalry boots, polished to a high shine. A slender rapier hung on his left hip,
more of a showpiece than a real weapon.
Hubert stopped in front of Calm's table with a hand on his sharp,
smooth-shaven chin as if considering where to sit, and said, "The blue
falcon hunts at midnight."
Caim kicked out a chair. "Sit down before you draw more attention to
us than you already have."
Hubert dropped his
"Then I have nothing to worry about."
The faded sign of the Blue Vine appeared around the next corner. One
of the oldest wineshops in Othir, it had been owned by innumerable men
and women over the centuries, passed down through families and sold off
dozens of times. The current owner was Mistress Clarice Henninger, but
everyone called her Mother.
She spotted Caim as soon as he pushed through the rickety door.
"Caim!"
He held open his arms as she waddled across the common room to
wrap him in a fierce embrace. A thick-waisted woman on the hoary side
of fifty, she was every bit as saucy as a wench half her size and a third her age. The money purse tucked in his shirt ground against her massive
breasts.
"Happy to see me, sweetling?"
Kit giggled while
Caim disentangled himself as politely as he could
manage. The Vine's taproom was dim, its windows tightly shuttered. The
only light came from small oil lamps suspended from the ceiling and two
stone-lined hearths. Thick shadows clung to the brick-and-niter walls. It
was crowded this night. Most of the Vine's patrons were teamsters and
porters, large men who made their living by the sweat of their brows and
the strength of their backs. A few nodded his way. He returned the gestures with a slight dip of his chin.
"Want your usual table?" she asked.
Mother led him to a dim corner, swaying her wide hips with every
step. Caim took off his cloak and slid around the table to sit with his back
to the walls. From here he could see the front entrance as well as the door
to the back room where the wine casks were stored.
"A cup of Golden Swan?"
Caim started to nod, but stopped himself. "No, I'll have the Asper
tonight. In a clean cup, please."
She laughed, grasping her breasts with both hands. "Of course, sweetling. All Mother's cups are clean!"
A pair of oldsters in shabby coats cackled over their stones game as
she waddled back to the bar to fetch his order. Kit perched on the table
and regarded Caim. Her large eyes glowed like purple jewels in the dim
lighting.
"So you took another job?"
He flipped a penny to the wench who delivered his wine. She flashed
him a welcoming smile, but he returned only a curt nod and leaned back
into the shadows.
As the girl flounced off, he said, "You were eavesdropping?"
Kit twirled a wisp of silver hair in her fingers. "Mathias talks so loud
I could hear him half the world away. I thought you were going to take a
break."
Caim took a sip and sighed as the cool wine trickled down his throat.
"I was, but sometimes people need killing. That's what I do."
"It didn't sound like you were too eager to take it."
"Well, I couldn't stand to see Mathias beg."
"You never say no to him."
"He's a friend."
Kit reclined on an elbow, staring up at him. "A friend wouldn't put
you in danger for a few pieces of gilt."
Before he could think of an answer, the door opened and a young man
entered. The newcomer's colorless eyes swept around the room as the door
closed behind him. He was alone.
"Hubert's here," Caim said. "Why don't you go keep an eye on his
roughnecks?"
Kit hopped off the table with a spin. "It doesn't sound like you need
my help. Maybe I'll go watch fireflies instead."
"As you like."
As Kit vanished through a wall, Caim focused on the youth crossing
the wineshop. Hubert Claudius Vassili looked every inch the foppish
noble's son he was, from the floppy, wide-brimmed hat cocked roguishly
on his head, complete with a ridiculous sky blue feather, to his fine cavalry boots, polished to a high shine. A slender rapier hung on his left hip,
more of a showpiece than a real weapon.
Hubert stopped in front of Calm's table with a hand on his sharp,
smooth-shaven chin as if considering where to sit, and said, "The blue
falcon hunts at midnight."
Caim kicked out a chair. "Sit down before you draw more attention to
us than you already have."
Hubert dropped his
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