Because very few things in Ten's life could be said to have ever gone smoothly, it would not be morning when she was awakened. Instead, with a jerk, she found herself on the hardwood of the floor. She got her bearings, and realized that she had not, as she had first thought, fallen out of the armchair, but had instead been unceremoniously pulled to the ground by someone who had a large hand over her mouth.

"What the fuck?!" she tried to demand, but her voice was muffled.

"Stay quiet," Alistair whispered furiously, "I'm sorry, you tend to make a lot of noise." He removed his hand from her mouth.

"Yes, well, when one is pulled to the ground in her sleep, noise is rather the logical reaction," Ten whispered.

"Four men just came in the front door. They're armed. They're in the kitchen."

Ten wriggled over to where she could see through the doorway into the kitchen and, indeed, four hooded figures were standing around the table in the kitchen and seemed to be speaking with one another in hushed voices. She slid herself back and out of sight.

"Shit," whispered Ten, "They haven't seen us?"

"I don't think so. They seem nervous. Probably amateurs. I don't think they're thieves, thieves would be going through the drawers, looking for silver," Alistair said.

"My knives are over there," she gestured with her chin at the small pile of weaponry she'd left beside the dying fire, "Careful, the small ones are poisoned. Take the big hunting knife."

He went over and took the indicated knife, "Ugh, this is not what I'm used to. It felt a lot bigger when you had it at my throat."

"There's a dirty joke somewhere in there," said Ten.

"Not the time!" Alistair exclaimed.

"Well of course not, I have neither the energy nor the puppets to explain the punchline to you," Ten said, "But I know hitmen when I see them. Even mediocre ones."

"Shit. You don't think they're looking for us?"

"Does anyone know we're here?"

"The butler could have read the letter, but the rest of them just know we went to see someone," Alistair said ,"I don't know that they'd know the address. And as obnoxious as they can be I don't think they would have told."

"Well not on purpose, but Zevran is really bad at discerning what ought to be secret," said Ten, "But you're right, they wouldn't have known the address. And I highly doubt Gwylan would have sold us out."

"I suppose not. That would be a scandal, after all. But that means they're after Hanne or Ioan," said Alistair, "Why?"

"It's not unheard of," said Ten. She rose, staying in the shadows by the hearth and grabbing her throwing knives. She edged along the wall until she was by the doorway, and crouched low to the ground, "Whores know things that sometimes people don't want them knowing. All the same, maybe we ought to keep them alive if possible, get them to talk." She fumbled with her throwing knives, each coated in a tranquilizer that even Ten had to be careful handling.

"Ooh, do I finally get to see what you mean when you say you got someone to talk?"

"If you're a lucky lad you will. If you're not, we're both fucked."

The first of the hitmen made their way into the room. He was fortunately not very well armored - probably not anticipating a fight at all - and so the fact that Ten was still half drunk with abysmal aim did not matter. The little knife buried itself somewhere in his back and he started staggered almost immediately. Ten gestured with her head, and Alistair, who could figure things out when truly pressed, got two arms under his shoulders before the body could fall and alert the others. He eased up backwards towards the fireplace, out of view of the kitchen.

"Jairo!" called one of the remaining three.

"Go find him," said one of the others.

"Fuck no, I don't know what's in there."

"You're both amateurs."

Ten picked up another knife. She only had the three. She watched the doorway, saw the shadow cast by the lamplight streaming in the front windows grow taller. She aimed. Waited.

She would not have time to throw, for with a crack of wood on metal and a wave of stale whiskey stench, the door to the bedroom on the opposite wall to the fireplace burst open. Hanne strode out in undershirt and short pants, wielding a cat o nine tails in one hand and a leather bullwhip in the other, having evidently kicked it down, possibly for dramatic effect but just as likely because they had been unable to negotiate the doorknob in the state of rollicking dwarven inebriation they were in.

"Who the fuck is in my house?!" Hanne roared, cracking the bullwhip. Ten flinched at the noise. There was a yelp of pain from the door to the kitchen and the shadow disappeared.

"That is decidedly not an indoor weapon…" Alistair mused.

"Oh it's not a weapon at all, normally," Ten said, "Better stay out of the way, I don't know how much control Hanne has with that thing…"

For emphasis, Hanne cracked the whip again, this time knocking over an end table by the chair Ten had been sleeping on.

"Oh fuck this," one of the hitman said, "Jairo said one human and he'd be sleeping, not a dwarf in his underwear with a whip…" Footsteps retreated to the front door, and it opened and slammed again.

"Yeah that's right! Go tell your little friends you got the shit beat out of you by a dwarf in skivvies!" Hanne exclaimed.

"I-I-I don't know what your deal is, Missus, but you win!" The kitchen door opened and closed again.

"What about you, are you into this or something?" Hanne asked, grinning and advancing slowly towards the kitchen, "You're getting a great deal right now, usually I charge quite a bit for this."

"Andraste's left tit, this is a sex thing isn't it," the third one, horror in his voice, "Nevermind. Not being paid enough. Sorry Ser. Just… pretend I wasn't here," The door opened and shut again.

"They're gone!" Hanne called.

Ten went over and lit a candle from the fire and used it to light a couple of lamps.

"Oh, there's another one," Hanne said, their eyes falling on the inert form of the first thug.

"Well, you asked who the fuck was in your house," said Ten, "He'll come around in a couple of minutes and we can find out. Do you have anything to restrain him?"

Hanne chuckled, "Do I ever."

Ten had been truly awed by three things in her life. The magnitude of human cruelty was one, the dragon in the valley outside Haven was another, and the ease and speed with which Hanne managed to truss up the would-be assassin like a holiday roast was the third, and easily the most impressive. They sat the unconscious hitman down in the chair Ten had been sleeping in, and sat around to wait.

"Where's your husband?" asked Ten.

"Dead to the world," said Hanne, "That much booze and sentimentality, he'll not wake until noon."

"Even with the cracking whip?" Alistair asked.

"He holds his liquor like an elf but sleeps it off like a human," Hanne sighed, "I don't know if that's a better deal or a worse one. Do you suppose you'll know who's under the hood?"

"Well apparently his name's Jairo, so I have a couple of guesses," Ten said, and pushed it back, "Yup." She knew the red hair, skin that was somehow tanned and freckled at the same time.

"How do you know absolutely everyone?" Alistair asked.

"I'm a lesser noble of the underworld," said Ten, "We tend to run in small circles. Everyone, meet Jairo Montilleva. He's a two-bit thug who thinks he's hot shit because he's got warrants back home in Antiva."

"If you don't have a few warrants in Antiva, have you truly lived?" mused Hanne.

"Probably not," said Ten, "But this poses a problem. He's one of Don Cangrejo's, meaning I can't really do much to him without causing a problem."

"Don who? What are you talking about, Ten?" Alistair asked.

"She's a crime boss, bud, have you not figured that out yet?" asked Hanne, "And she's talking about another crime boss. If she does something to this idiot there's the risk that the other boss is going to come after her."

"I'm not a crime boss," Ten insisted, "Neither's Don Cangrejo."

"Yeah yeah yeah, you're just an herbalist, he's just an import-export man," said Hanne, rolling their eyes, "That's why you both go by your legal names in all dealings."

"Says Will o the Whips," Ten said.

"Those whips just saved you a lot of trouble, Arlessa," Hanne pointed out.

"Fine. Either way, it is true that if I do anything permanent to this young man, I will be in for a world of trouble I don't have the time or energy to quell," Ten said, "Hanne, has Ioan done something to upset the Don?"

"Not that I know of," said Hanne, "Does he know Ioan's one of yours?"

"Yeah," said Ten, "I made a deal for him when he started working at the Pearl. Cangrejo looks out for him, I hand him any potential foreign rivals who dock at the river. I've held up my end of the bargain for several years at this point."

"Ten, you do sound an awful lot like a crime boss right now," said Alistair.

"Well what does that make you, then?" she countered, "Unless you're off to call in the guard, you're solidly on my side of the law right now."

"I'm not calling any guardsmen, I think I've witnessed quite enough debauchery for one evening."

"Hanne, can you hit him with something?"

"Nope. That would far too weird," said Hanne, "He's also not wrong."

Before Ten could think of a comeback, the hitman's eyes began to flutter open. They slid across the three faces in front of him, and when they settled on Ten's, they went wide. She crossed her arms and shook her head, clicking her tongue behind her teeth.

"What are you doing here, Jairo?" she asked, "And who are your little friends?"

"I… must have gotten the wrong house," Jairo said, "I'm on a job. A very important job. So you must let me go, or Don Cangrejo will be very angry with you."

"Oh will he!" Ten exclaimed, "So if I go to him right now and say, 'Gonzago, did you send Jairo Montilleva and three cowards on a job tonight?' what will he say? If it is indeed an officially sanctioned job, surely it can wait until we clear up this little misunderstanding."

"No, it is very urgent. You must let me go."

"Fair enough, his estate is a good forty-five minute walk. But, it occurs to me that the Captain lives ten minutes away, and there is absolutely no way that Don Cangrejo sent you on a hit in her neighborhood without clearing it with her first. So I go to her and say, 'Griet, did Gonzago clear a hit with you tonight?' what will she say?" Ten continued, emphasizing that she was on a first-name basis with both of these people.

"No, no!" exclaimed Jairo, "Don't do that."

"Ah, excellent," said Ten, "So the Captain doesn't know. That means that either Don Cangrejo has violated some very major codes, or you are working under the table. So that leaves me with a quandary. On the one hand, if I take you down to the Antivan Quarter, and say 'Gonzago, did you tell this payasito he could freelance?', he's going to say no, and then you are going to wake up spitting out dirt six feet under his courtyard."

"And on the other?"

"On the other hand, if you tell me who you're freelancing for and exactly why they want my friend dead, I will let you go, you will go to that person, tell him the job is complete, and you will take the payment and fuck right back off to Antiva before I change my mind, which I will do in approximately thirty-six hours."

"Fine," Jairo said, "Deal. Everything you just said, I will do."

"Who hired you?"

"I do not know her name."

"Then fucking describe her."

"She was dressed all fancy, but she was just … some knife-eared Orlesian puta."

Ten sighed, closed her eyes, and shook her head. "Hanne?"

Hanne, who'd been a ball of nervous energy through the whole exchange, fetched Jairo across the face with the steel ends of the cat o nine tails.

"Try it again without the slurs," Hanne said.

Jairo took several deep breaths, blood trickling from the welts on his cheek. "She never gave me her name. It was an elf. Orlesian accent. Dressed like a lady. I saw her go to Don Cangrejo, he refused the contract and sent her away. I caught her on the way out and told her I could get done whatever she needed. She took me up on it. I figured anyone who could afford her as a maidservant must be able to afford a good amount of money. I was correct."

"And which one was the target?"

"Not the dwarf," said Jairo.

"So the other one," Ten sighed, "All right. Where are you supposed to meet her for payment?"

"The Arl of Denerim's estate," said Jairo.

"Well then, you'd better start walking," said Ten. She cut the ropes binding him. He rose, and without another word, took off out the door. Then she sat back down in the chair. I really, really hope this is a coincidence, but… it can't be. Fuck. She got up again. She paced up and down the length of the front room twice. Sat back down again. Of all the ridiculous trouble… She rose and began pacing again.

"Oh… no," said Alistair, "She gets like this when it's bad news but she doesn't quite know how bad yet."

"Come on, Ten, out with it," Hanne said, "That clearly meant something to you."

Ten paused midway through the room. Turn on her heel. Started again. "It means," she said, "That your husband's a fucking idiot and you two might want to think about hurrying up your exit plan."

"Shit," said Hanne, "So it's someone you can't protect us from. That's… actually terrifying."

"You better go ask him who his regular house call was," said Ten.

"Something tells me you already have an idea," said Hanne.

"This fancy Orlesian handmaiden has come up one too many times," said Ten, "I don't want to believe it. But it just can't… it can't be random." She was aware that her voice had risen half an octave and doubled in speed, "No. No. Some things are just… way too weird and creepy."

"I am genuinely worried now," said Alistair, "What is it?"

"I don't want to say it out loud," said Ten.

"What on earth could have scandalized you of all people?" asked Hanne.

"Seriously, did you not just hang seven corpses from the topmast of a slave ship?" Alistair pointed out.

"That was her?" Hanne asked, "Ugh, I saw that ship. Whatever's going on in your mind right now can't possibly be as weird and creepy as that."

"Work with me here," said Ten, "Dima Syasko told me about Ioan's… regular client, month, month and a half ago.. Said it was booked by a third party. Foreign elf."

"There are probably four dozen foreign elves in this city," said Hanne.

"Yes, but most of them work on the docks, and they're mostly men," said Ten, "We're talking about a woman. Tell me, what are the odds of both a trick and an assassination being booked by two different foreign elves for the same hooker?"

"When you put it that way…" Hanne started, "So a client took a hit out on Ioan. I suppose it's not unheard of. But he's discreet, I don't even know who that client was. I don't even think anyone at the Pearl does."

"He's discreet, but the client doesn't know that," said Ten, "Or, whatever Ioan knows could bring this person down and they don't want to leave it to chance. So much so that their help is desperate enough to hire a gormless thug whose boss just rejected the job. So she knew enough to know that Don Cangrejo controls the traffic in contract killers, but didn't realize what a terrible idea it is to hire some two-timing hoodlum whose master said no. So that means she doesn't talk to the rest of the staff, every elf in Denerim knows you respect the hierarchy."

"You're really not making a good case for 'not a crime boss,' Ten," said Alistair.

"Told you," said Hanne.

"You know, if you believed that you'd be a lot nicer to me," said Ten.

"That's a lot of clues, Ten, but no conclusion," said Alistair.

"Oh, I have a conclusion, I just…"

"We get it. Weird and creepy," said Hanne, "Come on, get us a bit closer."

"All right," said Ten, "Who's your strangest in-law?"

Both Hanne and Alistair thought for a moment, and then pointed at each other.

"See, I used to think that too," said Ten, "Keep thinking about it. I'm going to go back to sleep and forget this happened for a few hours."

Chilled to the bone, Ten elected to curl up on the rug by the hearth. She turned her back on the other two and shut her eyes. Just as sleep had barely come for her, she heard Hanne groan.

"Oh… fucking gross. Ioan! What were you thinking?! I know I've said coin is coin is coin, but this is beyond the fucking pale…"

"Wait, you can't not tell me!" Alistair protested.

"Trust me, bud, when you figure it out you will be grateful for the extra time I gave you not knowing."

Ten chuckled grimly to herself as she heard the dwarf stomp off back to the bedroom and slam the door. She sensed Alistair approach her, heard him take a breath to speak, probably to ask her to explain herself, and hurriedly shut her eyes. Evidently, he thought better of it. He sighed, took a blanket from the back of the couch and threw it over her. Then she heard the springs groan as he lay back down. She shook her head inwardly, and finally fell back asleep as the adrenaline finally ebbed.