The next time someone came to their cell, it was a guard with the keys.
"You get lucky," he said as he unlocked the door. "Senor Cacioppo wants to see you both. You not get hanged - this time."
"Who's Senor Cacioppo?" Maric asked, in a whisper.
"Beats me," Loghain said. "I suppose we're going to find out."
The guard took them from the depths of the dungeon to the front doors of the Palace of Justice, where they were loaded into a closed carriage by a quartet of grim-faced servants in livery. The servants had wicked-looking blades tucked in their sashes, testifying to the dearth of wisdom in defying them. They pulled blindfolds out of their back pockets and tied them over Maric and Loghain's eyes.
"You not take off, or we kill you," one of them said, and tugged the knot on Loghain's blindfold extra tight for emphasis.
"This is interesting," Maric said, as the carriage was closed up and they were locked into darkness.
"That's not the word I'd have chosen," Loghain said. "I wonder where they're taking us?"
The carriage started to move. "Can you do your…you know…blindfold trick?" Maric asked.
"Possibly. Keep quiet and let me concentrate."
Silence reigned without and within, except for the rumble of the wheels on cobblestones and the steady clop of the horse's hooves. Finally, after many twists and turns, the carriage slowed to a stop.
"Do you know where we are?" Maric whispered.
"Somewhere on the docks. The warehouse district."
The carriage door opened, and a strong smell of salt water and fish wafted in on the breeze.
"You are amazing, you know that?" Maric said admiringly. They were pulled out of the carriage and hustled along by their silent captors. The stone beneath their feet changed to wood planking as they were led still blindfolded into some sort of structure.
"So this is them?" a voice said. "You know, you boys killed a lot a' my guys. Anybody else, they be dead right now, but you? I got a special proposition for you. Sit 'em down, take those blindfolds off 'em. An' get 'em something to drink."
They were pushed roughly into chairs, and the blindfolds stripped off. They were in what looked like an abandoned warehouse, with glassless clerestory windows and rotting roof beams. The chairs they sat in were of fine mahogany wood and rich velvet upholstery. The desk in front of them was teak, and looked expensive. Behind the desk sat a round-faced little man who looked like nothing so much as a treasury agent, the type that sat at a desk all day making up ledger sheets and account books.
Glasses were shoved into their hands. The liquid in the clear crystal goblets appeared to be high-quality Antivan brandy. Loghain eyed it suspiciously. "Don't drink it," he said to Maric in an aside.
"You think I put poison in it? No no. If I want to kill you I not be so subtle about it, no? I make it look nice an' messy, so no one else get any big ideas about going up against my boys. But the thing is, you Fereldanos have left me shorthanded. I got a lot a' jobs need doin', and nobody to be doin' 'em, comprende?"
"So, you're hiring?" Maric said brightly. Loghain elbowed him hard in the ribs.
"In a sense. You see, my boys are well-trained. They're good at what they do, and they love to do it. When a couple a' jokers like you show up an' put the hurt on a whole bunch of 'em, I sit up an' take notice. So what's gonna happen here is, I'm gonna forget this whole nasty business an' leave the two a' you alone…provided you do a couple a' jobs for me, just to pick up the slack 'til I can get me some new guys. Simple, no?"
"What sort of jobs are we talking about?" Maric asked. Loghain snorted.
"Think about it," he said. "We're in Antiva, aren't we? Apparently some of those fools we killed were Crows."
Maric blinked in surprise. "You're an assassin?" he asked the man.
"Think of me as a supervisor," the man said. "You the ones gonna be doin' the work."
"No. Absolutely not," Maric said. He started up out of his chair but a hard hand pushed him back down.
"How many jobs are we talking about?" Loghain asked. "I'll not be strung along forever."
"Ah, a practical man. I like that sort, they so much easier to work with than the idealistic type. You killed eight a' my guys, so lets say eight jobs."
"Firm," Loghain said. "No 'just one more's after all is said and done. We pay up and we're square, you leave us alone."
"Agreed."
Maric stared hard at Loghain. "You can't be serious. You want to kill eight people for this monster?"
"It's that or die, Maric. I'm not too keen on the idea of dying in Antiva."
"So we have a deal, then?" the man, Senor Cacioppo presumably, said. "I send the contracts 'round to where you stay when the time for each job rolls 'round. The Duenna an' me, we got a history, you know? She like you two, so I take it easy on you. Treat you square."
"Deal. Can we go, now?" Loghain said.
"Sure, sure. I have my boys take you an' drop you off. But we gotta keep things a bit secret, no? So they not gonna drop you off at you place. You can find you way home from where they take you."
The blindfolds were pulled back down. "This is rather tiresome. And unnecessary," Loghain said.
"It does add an element of excitement to the whole ordeal, though, doesn't it?" Maric said.
"To you, perhaps, but you find so many things exciting. Corn growing, for instance."
"Hey, corn is very pretty!" Maric said. They were led back out and shoved into the closed carriage again. Maric kept the many words he wished to say silent so Loghain could concentrate on following the twists and turns of the road and matching them up to the map in his head.
"They're taking us in exactly the opposite direction from the bordello," Loghain said. "It's going to be a long walk."
A/N: Antiva's getting more and more Italian. I can't help it. I searched my brain and couldn't think of a single Spanish-y surname other than Banderas. Cacioppo is actually my great-aunt's maiden name, and is very much Italian like all my relatives. So too are the accents. Oh well, in my head Antiva shares a border with Tevinter. I don't know if they do on any Thedosian map.