Best Served Cold

Day handed him an empty spirits bottle and Morveer placed it carefully on the tiles beside the guard’s boot. She passed him a half-full bottle, and he removed the stopper and sloshed a generous measure down the front of the guard’s studded leather jerkin. Then he placed it carefully on its side by his dangling fingers, spirits leaking out across the tiles in an acrid puddle.

Morveer stepped back and framed the scene with his hands. “The tableau… is prepared. What employer does not suspect his nightwatchman of partaking, against his express instructions, of a measure or two after dark? Observe the slack features, the reek of strong spirits, the loud snoring. Ample grounds, upon his discovery at dawn, for his immediate dismissal. He will protest his innocence, but in the total absence of any evidence”-he rummaged through the guard’s hair with his gloved fingers and plucked the spent needle from his scalp-“no further suspicions will be aroused. All perfectly as normal. Except it will not be normal, will it? Oh no. The silent halls of the Westport office… of the Banking House of Valint and Balk… will conceal a deadly secret.” He blew out the flame of the guard’s lantern, sinking them into deeper darkness. “This way, Day, and do not dither.”

They crept together down the hallway, a pair of silent shadows, and stopped beside the heavy door to Mauthis’ office. Day’s picks gleamed as she bent down to work the lock. It only took a moment for her to turn the tumblers with a meaty clatter, and the door swung silently open.

“Poor locks for a bank,” as she slid her picks away.

“They put the good locks where the money is.”

“And we’re not here to steal.”

“Oh no, no, we are rare thieves indeed. We leave gifts behind us.” He padded around Mauthis’ monstrous desk and swung the heavy ledger open, taking care not to move it so much as a hair from its position. “The solution, if you please.”

She handed him the jar, full almost to the brim with thin paste, and he carefully twisted the cork out with a gentle thwop. He used a fine paintbrush for the application. The very tool for an artist of his incalculable talents. The pages crackled as he turned them, giving a flick of the brush to the corners of each and every one.

“You see, Day? Swift, smooth and precise, but with every care. With every care, most of all. What kills most practitioners of our profession?”

“Their own agents.”

“ Precisely so.” With every care, therefore, he swung the ledger closed, its pages already close to dry, slid the paintbrush away and pressed the cork back into the jar.

“Let’s go,” said Day. “I’m hungry.”

“Go?” Morveer’s smile widened. “Oh no, my dear, we are far from finished. You must still earn your supper. We have a long night’s work ahead of us. A very long… night’s… work.”

– 

H ere.”

Shivers nearly jumped clean over the parapet, he was that shocked, lurched round, heart in his mouth. Murcatto crouched behind, grinning, breath leaving a touch of smoke about her shadowy face.

“By the dead but you gave me a scare!” he hissed.

“Better than what those guards would’ve given you.” She crept to the iron ring and tugged at the knot. “You made it up there, then?” More’n a touch of surprise in her voice.

“You ever doubt I’d do it?”

“I thought you’d break your skull, if you even got high enough to fall.”

He tapped his head with a finger. “Least vulnerable part o’ me. Shake our friends off?”

“Halfway to bloody Lord Sabeldi Street, I did. If I’d known they’d be that easily led I’d have hooked them in the first place.”

Shivers grinned. “Well, I’m glad you hooked ’em in the end, or they’d most likely have hooked me.”

“Couldn’t have that. We’ve still got a lot of work to do.” Shivers wriggled his shoulders, uncomfortable. It was easy to forget at times that the work they were about was killing a man. “Cold, eh?”

He snorted. “Where I come from, this is a summer day.” He dragged the cork from the bottle and held it out to her. “This might help keep you warm.”

“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you.” She took a long swallow, and he watched the thin muscles in her neck shifting.

“I’m a thoughtful man, for one out of a gang of hired killers.”

“I’ll have you know that some hired killers are very nice people.” She took another swig, then handed the bottle back. “None of this crew, of course.”

“Hell, no, we’re shits to a man. Or woman.”

“They’re in there? Morveer and his little echo?”

“Aye, a while now, I reckon.”

“And Friendly with them?”

“He’s with them.”

“Morveer say how long he’d be?”

“Him, tell me anything? I thought I was the optimist.”

They crouched in cold silence, close together by the parapet, looking across at the dark outline of the bank. For some reason he felt very nervy. Even more than you’d expect going about a murder. He stole a sideways glance at her, then didn’t look away quite quick enough when she looked at him.

“Not much for us to do but wait and get colder, then,” she said.

“Not much, I reckon. Unless you want to cut my hair any shorter.”