She knew that the boy would have to die, yet something within her seemed to be fighting that conclusion, and it was a part of her she could not recognize. She'd been taken, born a killer two years ago on a coastal road. The body she dwelt within was convenient, suitably unmarred by the events of a dramatic life-a young girl's body, a young girl whose mind was no match for the power that overwhelmed it, obliterated it.
But was it obliterated? What had the coin touched inside her? And whose voice was this that spoke with such power and determination in her head? It had come upon her before, when Whiskeyjack had uttered the word Seer.
She tried hard to remember any dealings she might have had with a seer in the last two years, but none came to mind.
She pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders. Finding the boy had been easy, but as to what he was up to, that was another matter. On the surface it looked no more complicated than a simple theft. Crokus had stood in an alley studying a lighted window on the third floor of an estate, waiting until the light went out. Wrapped in unnatural shadows as she was, he had not seen her as he scaled the slick wall she leaned against. He climbed with impressive grace and skill.
After he'd gone she found another vantage-point, which allowed her full view of the room's balcony and sliding doors. This had meant entering the estate's garden. But there had been only one guard, patrolling the grounds. She'd killed him effortlessly and now stood beneath a tree with her eyes on the balcony.
Crokus had already reached it, had picked the lock and entered the room beyond. He was quite good, she had to admit. But what thief would then spend close to half an hour in the chamber he was robbing? Half an hour and still counting. She'd heard no alarms, seen no lights spring to life behind any of the estate's other windows, nothing to indicate that anything had gone wrong. So what was Crokus doing in there?
Sorry stiffened. Sorcery had burgeoned in another part of Darujhistan, and its flavour was known to her. She hesitated, unable to decide. Leave the lad and investigate this new, deadly emanation? Or remain here until Crokus re-emerged or was discovered?
Then she saw something behind the balcony's sliding doors that ended her indecision.
Sweat ran down Crokus's face and he found he had repeatedly to wipe it from his eyes. He'd beaten the new triggers to get inside-the one on the balcony, the trip-wire at the latch-and now padded to the makeup table. Once there he froze, unable to move. Idiot! What am I doing here?
He listened to her soft, regular breathing behind him-like the breath of a dragon-he was certain he could feel it gusting against the back of his neck. Crokus looked up and scowled at his own reflection in the mirror. What was happening to him? If he didn't leave soon: He began to remove his bag's contents. When he'd finished he glanced again at his own face-to see another behind it, a round, white face watching him from the bed.
The girl spoke. “Since you're putting it all back, I'd prefer the proper arrangement. My makeup jar goes to the left of the mirror,” she said, in a whisper. “The hairbrush goes to the right. Have you my earrings as well? just leave them on the dresser.”
Crokus groaned. He'd even forgotten to cover his face. “Don't try anything,” he growled. “I've returned everything, and now I'll leave. Understand?”
The girl pulled her blankets about her and moved to the bed's end.
“Threats won't work, thief,” she said. “All I need do is scream and my father's Master Guardsman will be here in seconds. Would you cross your dagger with his shortsword?”
“No,” said Crokus. “I'd put it to your throat instead. With you as a hostage, with you between me and the guard, will he swing his blade at me? Unlikely.”
The girl paled. “As a thief, you'd lose a hand. But kidnapping a highborn, it'd be the high gallows for you.”
Crokus tried to shrug casually. He glanced at the balcony, gauging how fast he could be outside and then up on the roof. That new trip-wire was a nuisance.
“Stay where you are,” the girl commanded. “I'm lighting a lantern.”
“Why?” Crokus demanded, fidgeting.
“To see you better,” she replied, and light bloomed in the room from the lantern in her lap.
He scowled. He hadn't noticed it there, so close at hand. She was ruining his plans even as he made them. “What's the point in seeing me better?” he snarled. “Just call your damn guards and have me arrested. Be done with it.” He pulled the silk turban from his shirt and dropped it on the tabletop. “That's all of it,” he said.
