George was returning to the Dancing Dove from his mother's, when he realised that someone was following him. They weren't bad – even lost in thought and half-asleep, George had been taking a twisty route through the back-alleys of Corus, and they had kept up. George wasn't even sure how long they had been following him. He strolled down a sidestreet that ran next to the Carter family's warehouse, climbed a drainpipe and opened the window that was stuck half-open. The Carters never seemed to get around to fixing it, so it was always available for use as a meeting point or hiding place.
Now he was going to use it as a stalking ground. Moving as quickly as he could in the near-total dark of the warehouse, he scrambled up a pile of crates and wedged himself between the boxes and the wall. He scrabbled in his pocket for a dark crystal lens, and held it over his eye as he peered over the top of the stack of crates. His Sight could improve his vision, but with the lens he could see almost perfectly in the dark. George's spare hand reached through the slit in his tunic pocket, and loosened one of his knives as he watched the window. The rest of the warehouse was well-secured; he would hear his stalker if they tried to enter through any of the doors.
He hung from the crates and counted his breaths, waiting for something to happen. As he reached fifteen, a short figure in a cloak hurled itself through the window and landed in a fighting stance. The figure stood like that for a long moment, then straightened, apparently deciding that it was safe. George frowned in disapproval. The figure held up a hand, and with his Sight George could see the flicker of purple Gift that summoned a ball of light. The figure glanced around the warehouse, then pushed back its hood with a sigh.
The figure was a young man – no, a woman, but stocky and well-muscled. Her eyes were the same curious shade of purple as her Gift, and her hair was bright red. Not someone that could blend into a crowd, George thought with a smirk. Her clothes were of average make and quality, but clean; there was a shortsword at her hip, and from the lines of her clothing she was carrying at least two concealed knives, possibly more. If not for the Gift, George might have thought her a mercenary – but anyone with a Gift would earn more in other trades. He had heard rumours of Gifted assassins, from Carthak and the Yamani Isles…but the woman hadn't used her Gift to cloak herself or to track George, only to call light.
George tucked the night-eye crystal into his pocket, and jumped down from his hiding place. The woman spun about and drew her sword, and George drew his sleeve-knives in response. The woman stared at him for a long moment, both of them in guard stances. From the way she stood and breathed, George could tell she knew how to use her weapon. He had height and reach, but she had a longer weapon – and her Gift. As they stared at each other, George felt a growing sense of familiarity. He knew this girl, even if he couldn't remember where he'd met her. The sensation was unsettling.
"What are ye following me for?" he said. The girl relaxed slightly, then took two steps backwards and sheathed her sword.
"George Cooper?" she said calmly. She didn't have an accent, but George heard a trace of well-bred diction.
"It's possible," he allowed. He sheathed his knives, and stuck his hands in his pockets – ready to draw the daggers strapped to his legs.
"George Cooper, the Rogue?"
"Well, I don't know how you were brought up, but I don't like to give my name out to mysterious figures in the night."
The woman flushed. "I'm the Shang Cat."
"And what might the Shang want with me, a humble, ah, horse trader?"
The Cat snorted. "You're the Rogue, king of the Court of Thieves."
George rubbed his chin. "So?" If the girl wanted to kill him, she was doing a fine job of talking him to death.
"I want you to teach me."
"Teach you?" George said, eyebrows raised. "I think you know how to use that pigsticker at your belt better than all the King's knights."
"Of course," the Cat said, and flashed a brief grin. "But there's more to Shang than the sword."
"You want to learn thievery," George said.
The Cat shrugged. "I want to learn how to move like a thief."
"It's true that you walk awful heavy for one called the Cat," George agreed. The Cat frowned, but didn't speak; George got the impression that it was something she'd heard many times before. "But what's the payment for me doin' all this teaching?"
The Cat shifted, bit her lip. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in money."
"Well, us thieves are well-know for our love of a day's wage for a day's work," George drawled. The Cat narrowed her eyes, thinking. George knew that there was no reason for him to stand here, bantering with the girl, but that sense of knowing her was still crawling over him.
"I could owe you a favour," she said, sounding a little desperate.
"How about this," George said, carefully not thinking about what he was saying. He needed some time to figure out how he knew this girl. "I'll teach you thievery, and you'll teach me that fancy Shang weaponless fighting."
The Cat eyed him warily. "Will you teach me how to fight with knives, as well?"
"Knife-fighting is a thief's sport," George said with a smile. "'Course."
"Fine." The Cat took a deep breath. "I will teach you open hand fighting, as you teach me how to move and fight as a thief." She stepped forward, and held out a hand.
George shook it. Her fingers were strong and calloused, a warrior's hand.
"And what do I call you?"
"The Cat," she said. Well, if she didn't want to hand out her personal name, that was just fine. George would find it out some other way.
"You know the Dancing Dove?"
"I can find it."
"Meet me in the stables there at dawn."
"Our first lesson is horses?" the Cat said, wrinkling her nose. George grinned.
\ / \ /
"And I thought I knew how to fall," the Cat muttered, rubbing her forearm.
"You did," George said easily. "But there's more than a mite of difference between being thrown to the ground, and jumping off a noble's fifth-floor balcony."
"And you speak from experience."
"Oh, no." George grinned. "It was only the third floor."
"Well, if you're done bruising me," the Cat said, "it's time for me to return the favour. We'll start with stances."
\ / \ /
"Why can't we ride to the Dove?" Raoul grumbled.
"Because we'd stand out like…like…" Jon ran out of words, and frowned.
"Like twenty-noble horses in a ten-coppers part of town?" Gary said. Jon turned to glare at him, but Gary was staring at the clouds overhead.
"Exactly like that," Jon said through clenched teeth.
"Hey, isn't that Trebond?" Raoul said, pointing to the other side of the market square.
"What?" Jon shaded his eyes with a hand. "It is! Mithros, I thought he was allergic to sunlight."
"I've never seen him wear a cloak before," Gary said, frowning. "Is he trying to hide his face?"
"Well, he's not doing a very good job of it," said Jon. "I wonder what he's here for. Meeting a girl?" There was a short pause while the three knights considered the romantic prospects of Thom of Trebond, the coldest, most bookish knight in all the land. "No," Jon said to himself.
"The only women he's interested in are made of ink," Raoul said, and chortled at his own joke.
"It is very odd," Gary said pensively.
"Come on," Jon said. "I want to see what he's up to." Gary rolled his eyes; Raoul shrugged.
The three knights followed Trebond to the Golden Boar, a reputable but inexpensive tavern. Thom ducked inside furtively, and Jon stood in the street.
"We can't go in," he said after a moment. "He'll see us and rabbit."
"And you can't disguise us with your Gift," Raoul said, scratching at his stubble. "Trebond would see right through that."
"Yes, thank you," Jon hissed. Trebond was one of the most gifted mages in the palace, something of a sore point for Jon. He reached into his purse, and passed a few coins to Gary. "Buy us a few cloaks. With hoods. Really big ones."
Cloaked and hooded, the three knights sat at a table in the Boar and stared at Trebond's corner table: Jon with interest, Gary with absent curiosity, and Raoul with boredom.
"Can't we just go along to the Dove?" Raoul grumbled.
"I want to see who he's meeting," Jon said without turning around.
"Perhaps we shouldn't stare at him," Gary said. "Might make him nervous."
"Right." Jon looked away from Trebond. "Act natural."
Raoul glanced around. "But there's no one to hit."
"Oh," Gary said, and gestured at the doorway. "I think she's who Trebond's meeting."
"How do you know—" Jon cut himself off. The woman standing in the doorway had the same flame-red hair as Trebond, the same lines to her face. Stocky and well-muscled, she handled the sword at her hip with practiced ease.
"Must be a cousin or something," Raoul said after a moment. "Of course. Trebond probably doesn't know how to talk to girls he's not related to."
"Don't be stupid," Jon said. "She's practically his twin, but she doesn't look like any lady I've ever met."
"He never talks about his family," Gary said. "Maybe this is why. She might have been disgraced."
Trebond looked up and saw the woman, and grinned. It was the first time Jon had seen him smile without a hint of mockery in it. The woman smiled in return, her eyes blazing with what Jon thought might be satisfaction. She strode over to Trebond's table as he stood up, and they hugged fiercely. As they sat down, Trebond made a gesture with one hand, and a haze of coloured light flickered around his table for an instant.
"He's put up an eavesdropping shield," Jon said with disgust.
\ / \ /
"You look like some barbarian warrior queen," Thom said as they sat down. "Where's you throne of skulls?"
"I left it back at the temple," Alanna said, mock-serious. "It doesn't travel well."
"You do, though. You look…"
"Like a Shang warrior?" Alanna raised an eyebrow and smirked.
"Exactly." The two siblings sat together in comfortable silence for a moment, before Alanna leaned across the table.
"Are we private?"
Thom nodded. "Of course. You didn't see-" He stopped, and shook his head. Alanna frowned at him.
"It's not like I stopped using it at all," she said. "But I had to set it aside. And Liam didn't make things any easier."
"You're a strong mage. You should know how to use your Gift. Would you…would you let your sword start rusting?"
"I practice with my Gift when I can," she said coolly. "Anyway. How's your smiling friend?"
"Oh, Mithros, don't remind me," Thom said, rubbing his hands together.
"Mithros is the one who gave you the job," Alanna said pointedly.
"Yes, and it's a terrible one," Thom said with feeling. "He's…he's so charming, and handsome, and of course he can do no wrong…" Thom imitated a lady's simper. Alanna snorted, and Thom smiled at her. "A smooth bastard all round." He lowered his voice, despite the wards. "He's better than I am, sister. A better mage. I know he's got some spell on the Queen, nothing else explains her health, but I can't find any traces." His voice was ragged with desperation. "And the prince is no better, wandering off into the city all the time…I can only protect him if I can find the idiot."
Alanna leaned back in her chair. "I didn't realise it was so dire."
"Oh, well…" Thom waved a hand. "Never mind my troubles. Tell me about your trial. What was it like? Was I right about the tests of the senses?"
"You really think I'm going to tell you the secrets of the Shang? Or let you change the subject that easily?"
"Worth a try."
"Really, Thom," Alanna said earnestly. "You sound like you've given up on your task."
"Because it's impossible. One knight, no matter how talented—" Alanna rolled her eyes. "—can't protect the entire royal family. Especially when they refuse to see that they've got a dagger at their throats."
"Hmm." Alanna stared at the table for a moment. "Well, I'm going to be in Corus for a while. Perhaps I can help – keep an eye on the Prince when he leaves the palace."
"I thought you were only here for a few days," Thom said.
Alanna shrugged. "I've found a teacher, so I'll be here for a while. My lessons are in the early morning and late evening, so I can keep an eye on the palace gates during the day."
"Don't waste your time," Thom said sourly. "The idiot prince has a dozen different ways to sneak out." He brightened. "Although…what if I gave you a signal, to glow when he was leaving?"
"That might work." Alanna frowned. "Do you really think your friend would try something that obvious?"
"Prince goes to rough part of town and gets knifed in an alley, what's obvious about that?" Thom shook his head. "R- our smiling friend is a master at covering his tracks. It's amazing, the way that dangerous situations seem to rise up around the prince. Like mushrooms in spring."
"Well, give me that signal and I'll do what I can to pluck out those mushrooms," Alanna said.
"Right." Thom pulled a noble from his pocket, rubbed it with his thumb, and handed it to Alanna. "I'll make that glow, if I think he's leaving the palace. Red for the east gates, blue for the south, green for the west, yellow for the stables."
"You can't tag along with him?" Alanna said, putting the coin away separate from her purse.
"His highness and I are not friends," Thom said darkly. "To be honest, I don't know what Mithros sees in him. He's hardly king material."
"Well, I suppose anyone's better than…your friend."
"True enough."
\ / \ /
Jon pulled the hood of his cloak higher about his face, and strode away from the palace. Another boring reception for some halfwit ambassador, another reminder that he was stuck doing ceremonial duties. Ever since he'd been caught sneaking out of Persepolis, father had had him wrapped up in cotton wool. He hadn't been allowed to take part in the border skirmish with Tusaine, or fight against the Bazhir during raiding season. It was excruciating. Jon knew that without his regular trips down to the Dove, he would have snapped months ago.
Jon turned into one of the back-alleys, not at all afraid for his safety. 'Johnny' was known to be a friend of the Rogue, he walked like someone with arms training, and he was carrying two knives on his belt in plain sight. So when a man emerged from a side-alley into Jon's path, he put his hands on his knives, but didn't think much of it. Incognito princes were hardly the only ones on the streets of Corus, after all. Then a second man joined the first, both of them drawing long knives from their belts.
Jon drew his own, cursing inwardly. The two men filled the alley in front of him, he couldn't turn his back on them, and even if he ran he would probably be running into a trap. He risked a glance over his shoulder; there was no one behind him. Yet. The two men were walking closer, taking their time and keeping their eyes on Jon. This wasn't a robbery; this was an assassination. Jon settled into a balanced stance, one knife high and one low, and thought about his options. Couldn't run. Couldn't stall, no one knew where he was. Couldn't beat two men in close quarters. Couldn't work magic without them killing him before it finished. He had to change the nature of the fight.
He let out a mad yell and rushed at the two men, hoping that he wasn't about to get himself killed in the process of saving himself. The two men took a step back, shocked by his sudden charge, and Jon managed to slash across the forearm of the man on the right. But then they recovered, and the wounded thug was ignoring the blood dripping down his arm. Jon was young, strong, and trained, but he didn't have a chance against two men at once. He gave ground as fast as he could, knowing he was probably retreating towards more assassins. There were noises behind him, but before Jon could react someone yelled "Down!".
Jon dropped to the ground. There was a whsst-thunk and then he was joined by one of the thugs, a crossbow bolt driven clean through the man's chest, stopping the corpse from laying flat against the cobblestones. Jon started to push to his feet, then rolled to the side as someone ran past him, a shortsword in one hand. Jon scrambled to his feet, keeping the wall at his back, just in time to see the second thug fall to the ground clutching his stomach. The person that had saved Jon's life turned.
They were short and solid, wearing a cloak with a deep hood. It didn't quite hide a pair of vivid purple eyes, a pert nose, and a sun-tanned face; Jon blinked as he realised that his rescuer was the woman he had seen with Trebond.
"You're not hurt," she said in a tone of mild surprise, wiping her shortsword on her cloak before sheathing it. Jon scrambled to his feet.
"My thanks for your timely assistance," he said, putting on his court manners to slow his pounding heart. "May I know your name?"
"No," she said easily. "I'm just a friend." She raised her left hand to her eye level, and Jon saw that she was holding a miniature crossbow, sized for easy concealment. "I think I'll keep this," she said happily.
"Surely friends should know each others names," said Jon, reaching for the easy charm that worked so well on noblewomen.
"I didn't say I was your friend," said the hooded woman.
There were shouts from behind Jon, closer to the main streets. The woman grinned, the expression of honest delight shifting her from interesting-looking to beautiful. As Jon stared, she drew herself up in a heroic pose.
"And exeunt stage right!" she declaimed. Then she ran, down the alley and around the corner before Jon could stop her.
The city guard arrived a few moments later. They found two corpses at the mouth of the alley, both of them killed by a single thrust from behind. A little further down the alley they found Prince Jonathan standing over two more dead men, staring into space like a lovesick fool.