He gripped the cup with two shaking hands and sipped the tea, letting the hot liquid steady him. His glance fell on the satchel the man had left beside his desk. It was in the Chalcedean style, an open-topped loosely woven bag. Inside it there were two boxes of wood with enamel insets. The sigil worked in gleaming scarlet and black was the Duke’s symbol, the grasping claw of a raptor. The edges of the box were studded with alternating pearls and small rubies. The boxes alone were worth a small fortune. What did they hold? Something irreplaceable. He turned one over and over in his hands, looking for a hidden catch. His napkin-wrapped hand leaked blood onto the pearls, making them rosy.

Whatever was in them would be fair compensation for what he had gone through this morning. Someone owed him recompense for that. Anger was beginning to assert itself. He would go to the City Guard. The Bingtown Traders had small tolerance for Chalcedeans at the best of times. When they heard that an insane assassin was loose in the city, they’d hunt him down like a dog. And, Hest reflected, if word got out that it was the treachery of Sedric Meldar that had lured such a villain to Bingtown . . . well, Sedric and his family’s reputation were not Hest’s concern. He should have thought of those things before he stole from him.

A sharp rap at the door jerked him from the chair. He stood trembling, the box forgotten in his hands. Then another sharp knock, and Ched’s voice.

“Sir? Your guest is gone. I thought you’d like to know I found the scroll you wanted. The one in the glass-topped rosewood box? It had been stored in one of the cabinets, along with several others. Sir?”

Hest staggered to the door. With his good hand, he lifted the latch. “Call a healer, you fool! You left me at the mercy of a madman! And fetch the City Guard, right away!”

The man stood gaping at him, the precious scroll in its decorative box in his hands. The box that Hest held made a sudden small click; his unwary touch had released a hidden catch. The twin halves of the lid rose of their own accord. There was a smell, of spices and dirty salt. Hest looked inside.

The hand inside the box was small but well preserved. A child’s hand, palm up, the fingers open as if pleading. The silver bracelet that bound the ragged stump of the wrist did not conceal the two arm bones that protruded. They were uneven, crushed as much as cut.

“Sweet Sa, have mercy,” Ched gasped. He looked as if he might faint.

Hest found breath to speak. “Just a healer, Ched. A discreet one.”

“Not the City Guard, sir?” The servant looked baffled.

“No. And not a word of this to anyone.”

Chapter Six

Day the 12th of the Change Moon