Just not a very nice one.

In person, Elsinore Quest was a rabbity little fellow who hunched his shoulders and ducked his head and almost never met Jess’s eyes. But when he did, Jess realized why. There was a certain steeliness to his gaze that would certainly have put some of his victims off too soon. Better to seem inoffensive and incapable of violence, particularly if someone wanted to entrust mind and will to you.

Quest kept up a steady stream of chatter on the carriage ride back, which was unbearably annoying, since all he talked about was the weather. It was typical for the time of year—warm and humid—and Quest seemed to think that it would be the death of him.

If only it were true, at least it would stop his endless droning.

“You understand what I’m paying you to do?” Jess interrupted, when he recognized the streets they were crossing. They were close to Wolfe’s house. “And what I’m paying you to forget?”

Quest’s flow of complaints shut off as if someone had closed a valve inside him, and he raised his gaze to meet Jess’s. The man was in his forties, most likely, with weathered, ill-kept, dry skin and graying, thinning hair, but his eyes—blue as the faded Alexandrian sky—were still vital and powerful. “Don’t worry about me, young master,” he said, and smiled. “I’ve forgotten more deadly secrets than you can ever imagine existed. One more is no bother, especially at the price you’re paying. Though I should point out—just for business purposes—that I sent a message off to a colleague about where I’d be and who you are. In case some . . . mishap occurs.”

In other words, he wasn’t a fool and he knew the risks. Jess nodded. He didn’t take offense. Everyone in the shadow trades had to watch his own back.

“Half now,” Jess said. “Half when you’re done.”

“Reasonable,” Quest said, and turned to look out the carriage window. The steam powering it puffed white and wispy behind them on the still, quiet night air; the streets were deserted, which Jess thought was a good thing. The fewer witnesses to Quest’s visit, the better. “Ah. We must be close.”

The carriage slowed, and Jess jumped out to offer the driver the standard fare of five geneih. Quest climbed down slowly, as if he was old and fragile, and shuffled after Jess to Santi’s door.

Wolfe opened it and stood aside. He was fully dressed now in a loose black shirt and trousers and boots. There was no sign of Santi, and the bedroom door was still shut.

“Elsinore Quest, Mesmer,” Jess said. “Scholar Wolfe, who’ll be your subject.”

“Very pleased to meet you,” Quest said, and weakly offered a handshake. Wolfe ignored it until the hand dropped awkwardly back to Quest’s side. “We will need relative quiet. Ah, this corner chair will do. Please sit down, sir. Make yourself quite comfortable. It’s very important that you be quite comfortable and let all your cares fall away, let them blow away like sand on the wind . . .”