I wake to the sound of voices, hushed, trying not to disturb me. My eyelids flicker open but I close them and lie still, listening.

'...sure this potion of yours will work?' I recognise Isganna's voice. Last night comes into sharp focus suddenly. I remember staggering through the streets, losing blood and trying to find refuge. I knew I could not make the long trip back to the Docks, and so I made for the nearest safe place.

'Of course, madam, of course. Potions such as these come at a high premium, which nobody would pay for anything less than top quality. No, I assure you this is the real thing. All the way from Talenazzar.' This voice is that of an elderly man. He has a cultured voice – no dockside quack, then.

'Thank you, Doctor. I apologise for doubting you, but I'm sure you understand one can't be too careful these days. I also apologise for calling you at such an unsociable hour, but I'm afraid my black sheep of a brother keeps strange hours. I dread to think what mess he has got himself into this time.'

'Sadly, we can't choose our family,' agrees the doctor. 'Still, he should be on his feet and out of your hands again in no time.'

The door opens and closes and I hear their voices trail away down the stairs. The bell on the shop door rings, and Isganna comes back alone. As she comes into the room I open my eyes and try to sit up. The room hazes and I fall back, eyes shut. I can only think there must be some damage to my mechanical eye and my heart races. I need that eye.

'What's wrong with my eye?' I say. I can hear the panic in my voice and hate it but cannot control it, and I'm breathing faster and my heart beats painfully quickly.

'Nothing,' she replies calmly. She moves closer and I feel her tug at something behind my head. Pressure on my cheek that I hadn't registered before is released. I open my eyes slowly, and let out a sigh of relief. Everything looks normal again.

'I couldn't have the doctor recognising you, so I took the liberty of putting this on you.' She holds up a triangle of black cloth on leather strings. 'It's an eyepatch. I reasoned there are many men in the City with these, but precious few with reflective green eyes. Besides, it makes you look rakish, which fitted your role as my drunkard brother rather well.'

I take it from her, hold it up to the light. The material is gauzy, so that I can just about see through it.

'I expect it will take some getting used to,' she says.

'Thank you,' I say.

'Oh, that's nothing,' she says, waving a hand dismissively. 'The doctor's bill on the other hand... well, we can sort that out later. I had to purchase a rather expensive potion for you.'

'I'm somewhat short of funds at the moment,' I say grimly. Perry tells me that many women can be persuaded to forget debts through flattery and compliments, though I've never mastered the art, but like me Isganna prefers cold hard cash. 'Once I'm healed I'll pay you back. How many weeks will I be out of action?'

'That's the beauty of the doctor's huge bill.' She lifts a phial of purple fluid from the bedside table and holds it up. It is two thirds full. 'A measure of this for the next two mornings, and you should be ready by Furtivus Day.'

I gape. That's just four days away.

'I suppose you'll want to stay here until then.' She smirks. 'The longer I have to feed you for, the more it will cost you in the long run.'

I try to sit up again and my back protests. 'Perhaps for tonight,' I concede.

XXX

Furtivus Day dawns and I am still at Isganna's house. We see very little of each other. She spends the days working in her shop or out visiting her clients, and I spend them asleep, not wanting to lose my nocturnal habits. When I wake in the evening she passes my door but doesn't linger for long. I think in some part of her heart she fears me, but I don't know why. Perhaps it is rooted in the mysterious past that she will not tell me about.

That evening I announce I am ready to leave. I tell her I'll be back with her money in the next day or so. She leaves the room and comes back a few minutes later with a bundle.

She hands it to me. 'Think of it as protection for my investment.'

Curious, I unwrap the cloth. It smells of age and mothballs, as though it has been in the back of a cupboard for a long time.

It contains a blackjack, a small dagger and two long handled picks. I look up in surprise.

'You won't get very far without the tools of the trade.' She shrugs and looks away. 'And don't ask me where they came from. I won't tell.'

I don't. They're good tools, though old. The leather handle of the dagger, once soft, has cracked and hardened with age. Good job I won't be needing it much.

'You know,' she smiles mischievously. 'There's an old saying among thieves. A thief's dagger is like his heart – he keeps it hidden away because when he takes it out someone gets killed. But don't get any ideas.'

'You're not a thief, so you don't count,' I say absently. My mind's eye is showing me a rain-swept cobbled street, and a woman lying with my dagger buried in her neck. I know how true that saying can be. I blink the pictures away.

'Are you alright?' She asks, concerned. 'You can stay another night, if you're not recovered.'

'I'm fine,' I say gruffly and stand.

I open the shutters and look out over the rooftops. The Thieves' Highway, they call it. Out in the distance I can see the Watch flag flying.

Tonight is just about to get interesting.

XXX

Writer's block: 0, Bex: 1.

Hopefully more should follow. I've got the plot all written up, just need to find some time to write it.

There'll be some action in the next section, I promise!

By the way, any cryptic references towards the end of this chapter refer to The Star Stone, another of my Thief fics. You don't have to have read that to understand what's coming up in this one, but it contains a metaphor that I'm really proud of but which wasn't obvious enough. If you read it again, keeping Isganna's thief saying in mind, all should become clear.