Seemed it was as true now as it had been when Verturio wrote the words. Mercy and cowardice are the same.

The Odd Couple

It was Morveer’s considered opinion that he was spending entirely too much of his time in lofts, of late. It did not help in the slightest that this one was exposed to the elements. Large sections of the roof of the ruined house were missing, and the wind blew chill into his face. It reminded him most unpleasingly of that crisp spring night, long ago, when two of the prettiest and most popular girls had lured him onto the roof of the orphanage then locked him up there in his nightshirt. He was found in the morning, grey-lipped and shivering, close to having frozen to death. How they had all laughed.

The company was far from warming him. Shylo Vitari crouched in the darkness, her head a spiky outline with the night sky behind, one eye shut, her eyeglass to the other. Behind them in the city, fires burned. War might be good for a poisoner’s business, but Morveer had always preferred to keep it at arm’s length. Considerably beyond, in fact. A city under siege was no place for a civilised man. He missed his orchard. He missed his good goose-down mattress. He attempted to shift the collars of his coat even higher around his ears, and transferred his attention once again to the palace of Grand Duke Salier, brooding on its long island in the midst of the fast-flowing Visser.

“Why ever a man of my talents should be called upon to survey a scene of this nature is entirely beyond me. I am no general.”

“Oh no. You’re a murderer on a much smaller scale.”

Morveer frowned sideways. “As are you.”

“Surely, but I’m not the one complaining.”

“I resent being dropped into the centre of a war.”

“It’s Styria. It’s spring. Of course there’s a war. Let’s just come up with a plan and get back out of the night.”

“Huh. Back to Murcatto’s charitable institution for the housing of displaced agricultural workers, do you mean? The stench of self-righteous hypocrisy in that place causes my bile to rise.”

Vitari blew into her cupped hands. “Better than out here.”

“Is it? Downstairs, the farmer’s brats wail into the night. Upstairs, our employer’s profoundly unsubtle erotic adventures with our barbarian companion keep the floorboards groaning at all hours. I ask you, is there anything more unsettling than the sound of other… people… fucking?”

Vitari grinned. “You’ve got a point there. They’ll have that floor in before they’re done.”

“They’ll have my skull in before that. I ask you, is an iota of professionalism too much to ask for?”

“Long as she’s paying, who cares?”

“I care if her carelessness leads to my untimely demise, but I suppose we must make do.”

“Less whining and more work, then, maybe? A way in.”

“A way in, because the noble leaders of Styrian cities are trusting folk, always willing to welcome uninvited guests into their places of residence…”