Cosca came close, pointing to the dice. “Three and four, eh?”

“Three and four.”

“Seven. A most ordinary score.”

“Average.”

“May I?”

Friendly looked sharply up at him. “Yes.”

Cosca gathered the dice and gently rolled them back. “Six. You win.”

“That’s my problem.”

“Really? Losing is mine. What happened? No trouble in the gaming hall?”

“Some.”

There was a long streak of half-dried blood across the convict’s neck, dark in the lamplight. “You’ve got something… just here,” said Cosca.

Friendly wiped it off, looked down at his red-brown fingertips with all the emotion of an empty sink. “Blood.”

“Yes. A lot of blood, tonight.” Now Cosca was back to something approaching safety, the giddy rush of danger was starting to recede, and all the old regrets crowded in behind it. His hands were shaking again. A drink, a drink, a drink. He wandered through the doorway into the warehouse.

“Ah! The ringmaster for tonight’s circus of murder!” Morveer leaned against the rail of the stairs, sneering down, Day not far behind, her dangling hands slowly peeling an orange.

“Our poisoners! I’m sorry to see you made it out alive. What happened?”

Morveer’s lip curled still further. “Our allotted role was to remove the guards on the top floor of the building. That we accomplished with absolute speed and secrecy. We were not asked to remain in the building thereafter. Indeed we were ordered not to. Our employer does not entirely trust us. She was concerned that there be no indiscriminate slaughter.”

Cosca shrugged. “Slaughter, by its very definition, would not appear to discriminate.”

“Either way, your responsibility is over. I doubt anyone will object if you take this, now.”

Morveer flicked his wrist and something sparkled in the darkness. Cosca snatched it from the air on an instinct. A metal flask, liquid sloshing inside. Just like the one he used to carry. The one he sold… where was it now? That sweet union of cold metal and strong liquor lapped at his memory, brought the spit flooding into his dry mouth. A drink, a drink, a drink—

He was halfway through unscrewing the cap before he stopped himself. “It would seem a sensible life lesson never to swallow gifts from poisoners.”

“The only poison in there is the same kind you have been swallowing for years. The same kind you will never stop swallowing.”

Cosca lifted the flask. “Cheers.” He upended it and let the spirit inside spatter over the warehouse floor, then tossed it clattering away into a corner. He made sure he noted where it ended up, though, in case there was a trickle left inside. “No sign of our employer?” he called to Morveer. “Or her Northern puppy?”

“None. We should give some consideration to the possibility that there may never be any.”

“He’s right.” Vitari was a black shape in the lamplit doorway to the kitchen. “Chances are good they’re dead. What do we do then?”

Day looked at her fingernails. “I, for one, will weep a river.”