“That’ll be well guarded,” said Shivers, doing his best to keep up. Didn’t help that he thought he could hear a child crying somewhere.

Vitari snorted. “A dozen of the best-guarded people in the world, all sharing a room with their bitterest enemies? There’ll be more soldiers than at the Battle of Adua, I’ll be bound. Hard to think of a spot where the brothers would be less vulnerable.”

“What else, then?” snapped Monza.

“We’ll see. I’m no friend of Ario’s, but I know someone who is. A close, close friend.”

Monza’s black brows drew in. “Then we should be talking to—”

The door creaked suddenly open and Shivers spun round, hatchet already halfway out.

A child stood in the doorway. A girl maybe eight years old, dressed in a too-long shift with bony ankles and bare feet sticking out the bottom, red hair poking from her head in a tangled mess. She stared at Shivers, then Monza, then Vitari with wide blue eyes. “Mama. Cas is crying.”

Vitari knelt down and smoothed the little girl’s hair. “Never you mind, baby, I hear. Try and soothe him. I’ll be up soon as I can, and sing to you all.”

“Alright.” The girl gave Shivers another look, and he pushed his axe away, somewhat shamefaced, and tried to make a grin. She backed off and pulled the door shut.

“My boy’s got a cough,” said Vitari, her voice with its hard edge again. “One gets ill, then they all get ill, then I get ill. Who’d be a mother, eh?”

Shivers lifted his brows. “Can’t say I’ve got the equipment.”

“Never had much luck with family,” said Monza. “Can you help us?”

Vitari’s eyes flickered over to Shivers, and back. “Who else you got along with you?”

“A man called Friendly, as muscle.”

“Good, is he?”

“Very,” said Shivers, thinking of the two men hacked bloody on the streets of Talins. “Bit strange, though.”

“You need to be in this line of work. Who else?”

“A poisoner and his assistant.”

“A good one?”

“According to him. Name of Morveer.”

“Gah!” Vitari looked as if she’d the taste of piss in her mouth. “Castor Morveer? That bastard’s about as trustworthy as a scorpion.”

Monza looked back, hard and level. “Scorpions have their uses. Can you help us, I asked?”

Vitari’s eyes were two slits, shining in the firelight. “I can help you, but it’ll cost. If we can get the job done, something tells me I won’t be welcome in Sipani anymore.”

“Money isn’t a problem. Just as long as you can get us close. You know someone who can help with that?”

Vitari drained her mug, then tossed the dregs hissing onto the coals. “Oh, I know all kinds of people.”

The Arts of Persuasion

It was early, and the twisting streets of Sipani were quiet. Monza hunched in a doorway, coat wrapped tight around her, hands wedged under her armpits. She’d been hunched there for an hour at least, steadily getting colder, breathing fog into the foggy air. The edges of her ears and her nostrils tingled unpleasantly. It was a wonder the snot hadn’t frozen in her nose. But she could be patient. She had to be.