He thought about pursuing. His blood was up now, and he was ready to chase down half a dozen of the young thugs.

:Chosen. Enough. You’ve ended the problem; that will do for now.:

Kantor’s demand cut across the fire in his veins, and chilled it.

He shook his head and backed up out of the way, against the wall. With the instigators gone, the bouncers were managing to quell the remaining belligerents without any help from him. He slipped his knuckle guards off his hand and back into his pouch.

Part of him regretted that the fight was over. Most of him sighed with relief. When the last of those still trying to fight had been tossed into the street, he gave the bouncers a hand with sending the unconscious after them. The three he’d done for were among them, but he saw no point in saying anything about what might have happened. After all, there was no proof.

He accepted a somewhat better tankard of beer as his reward for helping out, and stayed only long enough to drink it before returning to Kantor. His glee was gone; his guilt had started, and besides, nothing more was going to happen tonight. If anyone was thinking of hiring Aarak, they wouldn’t do it tonight. The men he’d downed might have friends watching, who would take it amiss if someone “rewarded” Aarak with a job.

The moon was down by the time Alberich got to his hiding place, and he had to feel carefully for the keyhole to let himself inside. He discovered bruises he hadn’t felt when he changed back into his gray leathers.

:Maybe you didn’t, but I did,: Kantor sniffed as he mounted.

:They’ll heal,: he replied, sending Kantor back up the street toward the Palace. He felt as he always did after a fight; weary and with emotions dulled except for a fierce and bitter satisfaction. The weariness was welcome; he’d sleep well tonight for a change.

:There was someone watching you from the corner,: Kantor went on, giving him a flash of something that the Companion had noted through Alberich’s eyes. :I think you’ll be offered a job next time you go there.:

The bitterness eased a little; Alberich recognized that vague glimpse. It was someone he’d been watching for some time now, a legitimate businessman who somehow seemed to have more goods in his warehouse than he’d actually purchased… Now—now he might find out just where those goods came from.

“Good,” he said aloud. :That is why we come here, isn’t it?:

:Not entirely,: Kantor retorted. :At least, you don’t.:

Alberich started to reply, and thought better of it. Kantor was infinitely better at warring with words than he was. He let his silence speak for him, letting Kantor come to his own conclusions.

Eventually, the ears flattened, and out of the silence came—

:I apologize.: