The assassin grinned. “Perhaps I killed a temple paladin for it.”
“Perhaps you did,” said Caliban evenly, giving no sign of how his stomach lurched at the thought.
“Ah, you disappoint me.” Brenner chuckled. “No, I went to a weaponsmith. He does very fine work, and he occasionally supplies the temples.”
“Now you disappointme,” said Caliban. “Did you at least steal it?”
“Tchah!” Brenner clucked his tongue. “One does notstealfrom weaponsmiths. They’re skilled labor. You do your part to keep them in business. Stealing from them is short-sighted.”
Caliban scratched his chin. This was an unexpected social conscience for an assassin.
“Of course, as Mistress Slate reminds me, we’re all going to die shortly, so does one have the luxury of being anything but shortsighted?”
“Aww.” Brenner slid off the barrel, grinning, grinding the cigarette end out under his heel. “Our Slate is a dear little fatalist, isn’t she?”
“I take it you don’t share her view,” said Caliban, practicing a lunge that took him away from the assassin’s grin.
“Nah. The trip’s bad enough, mind you, but she’s got her own reasons for not wanting to go to Anuket City. And it’s different for me, you understand—I expect to die any day, so one more suicide mission isn’t any different. Our Slate’s in a much lower-risk line of work.”
Caliban raised an eyebrow at that. “You’re both breaking into people’s houses at night, aren’t you?”
“Yes, yes, but it’s different. You wake up and find a teeny little girl with big eyes like our Slate going through your papers, you call the watch. You wake up and find me standing over you with a knife, and…well, now.”
A knife appeared in his hand. He waved it under Caliban’s nose, perhaps by way of demonstration. The former knight-champion stood his ground.
I recognize a test when it draws steel on me.He sighed internally.I wonder how this will go down.
“It occurs to me…” drawled Brenner, “that if you’re going to be watching our backs, it would be nice to know how good you are.”
“You’ve been watching me for a few minutes now, unless I miss my guess,” Caliban said.
“Chopping at shadows, while very pretty, is not quite the same thing.”
“I suppose not. What do you propose, then?”
Brenner lunged at him, his body unfolding like a preying mantis closing on an insect.
Caliban had been expecting it, practically since the assassin had showed up, and he still barely managed to get out of the way.
Dreaming God, he’s fast!
He leapt backwards, swung his sword, saw it going directly at Brenner’s head, and pulled the blow with a brutal snap that left his wrists throbbing.
Ow. Ow. Ow.
“You idiot!” he yelled. “This is live steel! You can’t—if I hit you—”
“I’d best make sure you don’t hit me then,” said the assassin cheerfully, circling on the balls of his feet. He was indeed presenting just a profile.
Knife-fighter. Yep. Damn.
“This isnota good idea, Brenner!”
“It’s a great idea!”
I’ve got a good bit of reach on him, particularly with the sword, for all the good it does. I know I’m stronger. And it doesn’t bloody well matter because whether I cut him or he cuts me, I lose. Damn, damn, damn.
“Put some armor on, at least!”
