“Here.” He pulled her into an alley, then turned down a passageway between two buildings that was so narrow they had to slide through sideways. It ended in a small brick-paved courtyard, half-roofed against the rain. Up against one of the buildings was a set of wooden cellar doors, set into a stone pad, and secured by a sturdy-looking padlock.

Han had it open in a heartbeat. It pleased him to know he was still a deft gilt with a pick.

The hinges protested as he pulled the doors open, and a rush of dank cellar air swept over him. Didn’t look like anyone had been there since he’d left the life. He led the girlie to the steps. “It’s a dozen steps down.” He took her elbow so she wouldn’t fall. “Feel with your foot.”

She hesitated on the edge. “Please,” she said, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders. “Have mercy. Just kill me now. I’ve not done anything to you.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Han blurted out, surprised.

“I don’t want to be tortured. Or ravished.”

“I’m not going to torture you,” Han said desperately. “Or…or anything. I’m cold and wet and tired, and I just want to quit walking for a while, all right?”

“I don’t want to go down there,” she persisted, shuddering. “Please don’t make me.”

“Look.” He reached over and untied her blindfold, then pulled it off. “Here we are.” He smiled at her, his best, most charming smile. “This is…kind of a hideout. I promise you, it’s more comfortable than it is out here in the rain. And I’m coming down with you.”

“That is not reassuring, Mr…. Cuffs,” she said, with some of her old spirit.

“Look, what’s your name?” he asked.

“R…Rebecca Morley,” she said, trembling, teeth chattering from either cold or fear.

“Rebecca, I can’t turn you loose in Ragmarket in the middle of the night,” he said. “Hang on. I’ll light a lantern, but you have to promise not to take off on me.”

“Hold it over the steps to light my way down,” she commanded, then added as an afterthought, “Please?”

She descended the steps with great dignity, head high, like a saint walking into the flames. He followed after her, setting the lantern in the center of the room and pulling the cellar doors closed after them.

It was really quite cozy, for a cellar. No golden thrones or heaps of jewels and coins or captive women, as Dori had imagined, but there were three sleeping cots and blankets and a stout wooden chest that contained spare clothing and candles and several jars of dried beans, jam, biscuits, sugar, and grain. The grain had gone moldy, but the rest looked all right.

Even better, this cellar had a back door, a narrow staircase into the warehouse beyond. Han always liked having a back door.