“More work like this?” He frowned down at the bloodstained sawdust under her boots.

“Killing. You can say it.” She thought about whether to stab him down into the chest or up under the jaw, or wait until he’d turned and take his back. “What did you think it’d be? Milking a goat?”

He shook his head, long hair swaying. “Might sound foolish to you, but I came here to be a better man. You got your reasons, sure, but this feels like a bastard of a stride in the wrong direction.”

“Six more men.”

“No. No. I’m done.” As if he was trying to convince himself. “I don’t care how much—”

“Five thousand scales.”

His mouth was already open to say no again, but this time the word didn’t come. He stared at her. Shocked at first, then thoughtful. Working out how much money that really was. What it might buy him. Monza had always had a knack for reckoning a man’s price. Every man has one.

She took a step forwards, looking up into his face. “You’re a good man, I see that, and a hard man too. That’s the kind of man I need.” She let her eyes flick down to his mouth, and then back up. “Help me. I need your help, and you need my money. Five thousand scales. Lot easier to be a better man with that much money behind you. Help me. I daresay you could buy half the North with that. Make a king of yourself.”

“Who says I want to be a king?”

“Be a queen, if you please. I can tell you what you won’t be doing, though.” She leaned in, so close she was almost breathing on his neck. “Begging for work. You ask me, it’s not right, a proud man like you in that state. Still.” And she looked away. “I can’t force you.”

He stood there, weighing the purse. But she’d already taken her hand off her knife. She already knew his answer. Money is a different thing to every man, Bialoveld wrote, but always a good thing.

When he looked up his face had turned hard. “Who do we kill?”

The time was she’d have smirked sideways to see Benna smirking back at her. We won again. But Benna was dead, and Monza’s thoughts were on the next man to join him. “A banker.”

“A what?”

“A man who counts money.”

“He makes money counting money?”

“That’s right.”

“Some strange fashions you folk have down here. What did he do?”

“He killed my brother.”

“More vengeance, eh?”

“More vengeance.”

Shivers gave a nod. “Reckon I’m hired, then. What do you need?”

“Give Friendly a hand taking out the rubbish, then we’re gone tonight. No point loitering in Talins.”

Shivers looked towards the anvil, and he took a sharp breath. Then he pulled out the knife she’d given him, walked over to where Friendly was starting work on Gobba’s corpse.

Monza looked down at her left hand, rubbed a few specks of blood from the back. Her fingers were trembling some. From killing a man earlier, from not killing one just now, or from needing a smoke, she wasn’t sure.