Han briskly raked his winnings into his carry bag and tossed it over his shoulder, leaving enough girlies on the table to pay Cat’s debt. The key in such situations was a quick getaway.

Boudreaux’s piggy eyes narrowed with rage. He slung out an arm and took hold of Han’s shirtfront. “Not so fast,” he hissed.

“Let go!” Han said, trying to pull free.

“You’re a cheat!” Boudreaux shouted, producing a large curved knife from under his coat and pressing it against Han’s throat. “A cheat and a thief and a fraud.”

The onlookers surrounding the table stepped back a pace.

The blade was a nasty surprise. Most sharps and card muckers were cowards at heart, which was why they chose that mode of thievery. But Boudreaux outweighed Han twice over, and Han knew from experience that there was nobody more furious than a cheat cheated.

Han thought of the flash under his shirt, the knives at his waist, wondering if he could reach either or any without getting his throat cut.

“Now,” the sharp said, his florid face inches from Han’s, his beery breath pouring over him, “give over the bag, boy, and I might not cut off your ears.”

Focused on the blade under his chin, Han didn’t quite follow what happened next. Boudreaux yelped and disappeared, hitting the floor hard enough to dent it. His knife spun across the room, nearly beheading a miner snoring softly at the next table.

Han threw himself back, out of danger. Boudreaux flailed about on the floor like he had the spasms. And behind him, deftly avoiding his flying limbs, was Cat, a garrotte twisted around Boudreaux’s throat.

Oh, right, Han thought. Cat was a deft flimper, as well as a demon with a blade.

The sharp’s face turned red, then blue, and his eyes bulged out alarmingly. Cat bent low over Boudreaux, crooning to him, some lesson she wanted him to learn.

Boudreaux’s flailing diminished, became less organized.

“Cat!” Han shook off his astonishment and put his hand on her shoulder. “Leave him go. You don’t want to swing for him.”

Cat looked up at him, blinking as if surfacing from a trance. She let go of Boudreaux and sat back on her heels, stuffing the garrote into her pocket.

A commotion at the front drew Han’s attention. A clot of brown uniforms filled the doorway, colors of the Delphian Guard. Han swore, knowing he’d stayed too long. He stood slowly and pulled Cat to her feet. Keeping hold of her hand, Han began backing toward the rear door, but a bristle-bearded miner the size of a small mountain stepped into their path.

“You’d best stay, boy, and take what’s coming to you for what you done,” he growled, grinning as though he personally were looking forward to the show.