The Ambassador’s Mission

“Here for some good company, are we?” she said. She looked at Gol, who was watching the other woman returning to her seat. “People always assume Martia runs the place,” she said. “But she’s here keeping an eye on her son, who works in the servery. Like to go downstairs?”

“Yes. I’m here to see an old friend,” Cery told her.

She smiled knowingly. “As are we all. Which old friend would that be?”

“Terrina.”

The woman’s eyebrows rose. “That one, eh? Well, no man asks for her who doesn’t already know what he’s getting. I’ll take you to her.”

She led them through the doorway down a short flight of stairs into a room beneath the bolhouse. It was as large as the room above, but was filled with rows of cubicles. Paper screens were attached to the sides, and most were closed to hide the interior – and from the sounds coming from all sides most of the cubicles were being used for the purpose they were built for.

Aunty led them to a cubicle near the centre of the room. The screens were open. Inside was a single chair. It was a generously sized chair, with a large cushioned seat and sturdy arms. All of the rooms were furnished thus. The women here did not want their customers to be so comfortable they’d fall asleep and prevent them servicing more customers. Cery turned to nod at Gol, who took up a position a few steps away, outside another empty room.

As Cery moved into the cubicle, Aunty closed the screens. Sitting down, he listened to the sounds nearby, then extended his focus beyond the moans and laughs in search of sounds that didn’t belong. The sound of breathing. Of footsteps. Of the rustle of cloth.

His nose caught a scent that brought a rush of memories, many years old. He smiled.

“Terrina,” he murmured, turning to the back of the little room.

A panel of the wall slid aside, revealing a woman with short hair and dark clothing. She looks just the same. Perhaps that little crease between her brows is a bit deeper. She was a little too lean and muscular to be called beautiful, but Cery had always found her athletic build attractive. As she recognised him, her eyebrows rose and she relaxed.

“Well, well. I haven’t seen you in a long time. What must it be? Five years?”

Cery shrugged. “I told you I was getting married.”

“So you did.” The assassin leaned against the side of the cubicle and tilted her head to one side, her dark eyes as inscrutable as always. “You also said you were the loyal type. I assumed you’d found another, shall we say, side interest.”

“You were never a side interest,” Cery told her. “Life is too complicated for more than one lover at a time.”

She smiled. “Sweet of you to say so. I can’t say the same in return – but you knew that.” Then her expression grew serious. Stepping inside, she pulled the panel closed. “You’re here for business, not pleasure.” It was not a question; it was a statement.

“You always did read me too easily,” he said.

“No, I just pretend to. Who do you need killed?” Her eyes flashed with eagerness and anticipation. “Anyone annoyed you lately?”

“Information.”

Her shoulders dropped with disappointment. “Why, why, why? All the time they want information.” She threw up her hands. “Or if they want the full deal they coward out of it before I can even get my knives sharp.” She shook her head, then looked at him hopefully. “Will the information lead to the full deal?”

She enjoys her work far too much, Cery thought. Always did. It was part of what was so exciting about her.

“It might, but then I’d rather do the job myself.”

Terrina’s lips formed a pout. “Typical.” Then she smiled and waved a hand. “But I can’t grudge you, if it’s that personal. So what do you need to know?”

Cery drew in a deep breath, bracing himself for the stab of pain that would come with what he was about to say.

“Who broke into my hideout and killed my wife and sons,” he said quietly, so none of the other patrons would hear. “If you don’t know for sure, then any gossip you’ve heard will do.”

She blinked and stared at him.

“Oh,” was all she said. She regarded him thoughtfully. The gossip of assassins rarely spread beyond their ranks. All accepted that it could be bought, for a high price, but if it led to another assassin losing trade or being killed the seller would be punished severely. “You know how much that will cost?”

“Of course… depending on if you have the information I need.”

She nodded, dropped into a crouch so she was at eye level, and stared at him earnestly. “Only for you, Cery. How long ago did it happen?”

“Nine days.”

She frowned and gazed into the distance. “I’ve heard nothing like that. Most assassins would have put it about by now. Getting into a Thief’s hideout is impressive. He’ll have tried to kill you there because it proves he’s clever. Tell me how he did it.”

He described the unbroken locks, the ambushed guards, but left out what the lockmaker had said about magic.