Her arm stretched out, limp finger pointing towards his chest. “Smoking, idiot.” He looked down. A few acrid wisps were curling up from his shirt.

“Damn it!” he squeaked as Shivers took a shocked step back and let him fall. He tore his jacket off, fragments of glass from the shattered acid bottle tinkling to the boards. He scrabbled with his shirt, the front of which had begun to bubble, ripped it open and flung it on the floor. It lay there, smoking noticeably and filling the grubby chamber with a foul reek. The three of them stared at it, by a turn of fate that surely no one could have anticipated, all now at least half-naked.

“My apologies.” Morveer cleared his throat. “Plainly, this was not part of the plan.”

Repaid in Full

Monza frowned at the bed, and she frowned at Shivers in it. He lay flat out, blanket rumpled across his stomach. One big long arm hung off the edge of the mattress, white hand lying limp on its back against the floorboards. One big foot stuck from under the blanket, black crescents of dirt under the nails. His face was turned towards her, peaceful as a child’s, eyes shut, mouth slightly open. His chest, and the long scar across it, rose and fell gently with his breathing.

By the light of day, it all seemed like a serious error.

She tossed the coins at Shivers and they jingled onto his chest and scattered across the bed. He jerked awake, blinking around.

“Whassis?” He stared blearily down at the silver stuck to his chest.

“Five scales. More than a fair price for last night.”

“Eh?” He pushed sleep out of his eye with two fingers. “You’re paying me?” He shoved the coins off his skin and onto the blanket. “I feel something like a whore.”

“Aren’t you one?”

“No. I’ve got some pride.”

“So you’ll kill a man for money, but you won’t suck a cunt for it?” She snorted. “There’s morals for you. You want my advice? Take the five and stick to killing in future. That you’ve got a talent for.”

Shivers rolled over and dragged the blanket up around his neck. “Shut the door on your way out, eh? It’s dreadful cold in here.”

The blade of the Calvez slashed viciously at the air. Cuts left and right, high and low. She spun in the far corner of the courtyard, boots shuffling across the broken paving, lunging with her left arm, bright point darting out chest-high. Her quick breath smoked around her face, shirt stuck to her back in spite of the cold.

Her legs were a little better each day. They still burned when she moved quickly, were stiff as old twigs in the morning and ached like fury by evening time, but at least she could almost walk without grimacing. There was some spring in her knees even, for all their clicking. Her shoulder and her jaw were loosening. The coins under her scalp barely hurt when she pressed them.