In these baths met merchants and guildsmen who desired privacy for certain delicate negotiations. She had come to these baths the first time because she’d heard she could pay coin for a private bathing room, an astounding luxury. Now she ate and drank sparingly of the cheapest gruel and watered rice wine, and slept in a boardinghouse little better than a rathole, so she could keep coming back for the conversation that her unnaturally keen hearing picked up.

She had learned a great deal about the city of Olossi: trade secrets and outside-the-temple dealings; petty rivalries pursued by narrow-minded competitors; militia men deep in schemes for the upcoming Whisper Rains games. Olossi’s Lesser Houses and guildsmen were discontented, being ruled by the greed of the Greater Houses, and certain people in their ranks plotted an uprising. A group of reckless young men was engaged in smuggling, more for sport than for profit. A lad and a lass from competing clans who would never ever consider letting them marry made their assignation here, even though—as Marit knew—they were long since being followed by various agents from their own families.

She picked out voices like threads from a multicolored shawl.

“. . . No one can know we are negotiating. I’ll lose the contract if the Greater Houses suspect I’m going outside the official channels. I tell you, we in the Silk Slippers clan have been providing reliable river transport for generations, and what do the Greater Houses do now? They try to force us to lower our rates, greedy bastards . . .”

“. . . If you take the cargo across the river after moon-set, Jaco’s boys will meet you just downstream of Onari’s Landing with the knives. . .”

“If the militia continues to refuse to send out long-range patrols, then the carters’ guild has agreed to cooperate with us. We’ll send a joint mission to Toskala to appeal to Clan Hall directly, and ask them to intervene to improve the safety of the roads . . .”

“Eh. Eh. Yes, like that. Ah. Ah.”

“I want you to kill a man.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she strained to hear.

“That would be murder. Against the law.” The other man’s voice had a slight hoarse timbre, as though he had once inhaled too much smoke.

“Do as I ask, and no charges will ever be brought against you.”

“How can you possibly guarantee that?”

“We control the council. It will never get past a vote.”

“The council does not control the assizes if the reeves bring me in to stand trial.”

“Argent Hall will not charge you. They have a new marshal, hadn’t you heard? He’ll not interfere.”

“The hells. You sound certain, Feden. Considering what manner of crime you’re asking me to commit.”

“You haven’t asked the name of the target. Or why he needs killing.”

“I want to know first why Argent Hall won’t interfere if it gets wind of the killing. Surely the dead man’s clan will seek justice.”