Eli lazed on his bunk with his eyes closed, watching the main room of the clinic with one spark while the other drifted just outside his alcove's window.

He listened through that one, more than he looked. Hearing the sounds around the clinic. The chatter of servants, the whinny of horses. The rattle of carts, the cluck of chickens. A flirtatious laugh and noises he couldn't quite identify: a rattle, a thunk.

He felt the warm sun through the spark, then the coolness of the shade under the eaves. He felt the breeze swirling and ... was that the scent of baking bread?

The physician and courtier appeared in the main room, speaking in hushed voices. Not from secrecy, he didn't think, just to keep from bothering the patients. He moved the spark in the clinic a little closer to listen. He still couldn't send the sparks farther than a couple of yard, but they seemed to have sharp senses, so he could hear--and of course see--a good distance.

"... momentarily ..." The courtier sniffed. "You ... wearing that?"

"This is what I wear," the physician said. "Rest assured that my robes will not offend the marquis."

"... dress uniform?"

He physician snorted. "His lordship ... concerned with my skills than my fashion ..."

"... coming now. On the way. At least ... a fresh one."

Eli stood and moved to the head of his bed. 'Coming now?' The marquis was on the way. Okay, stay focused and stay calm. He pulled the rondel dagger from the mattress. He tucked it into the right sleeve of his clinic robe, a baggy shapeless affair. Then he reconsidered, and switched to the left sleeve, to attack from the less-common side.

He practiced slipping the grip down the sleeve into his palm. The movement still wasn't smooth. He'd noticed that last night, so he'd twitched occasionally in the physician's presence, so his jerky motions wouldn't surprise anyone.

Then he left his alcove and wandered toward the window in the main room.

"Where is he going?" the courtier asked, behind him.

"He likes the view."

Which wasn't wrong, though Eli was mostly watching through the sparks, awaiting the Marquis's arrival.

"Who cares what a commoner likes," the courtier sniffed. "Get him back in bed. His lordship is making a bedside visit not a blessdamned windowside visit."

"The Marquis won't care," the physician said.

"Look at him." The courtier frowned at Eli. "Did he just twitch?"

"You spend a month in the troll mountains, see if you startle now and again."

"At least tell me he knows how to bow. You! Soldier!"

Eli turned--and twitched.

"By the Dreamers," the courtier muttered. "Do you know how to bow?"

"Yes," Eli said.

"Thank the Angel. When the Marquis comes, bow to him. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now return to your bed."

"Yes," Eli said, and didn't move.

"Your bed, your bed! Over there." The courtier pointed. "Do you understand a single word I'm saying?"

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"Yes."

"Are squirrels bigger than horses?" the physician asked.

"Yes," Eli said.

The courtier groaned and told the physician, "The Marquis will only step in for a moment or two. Please be sure that this ... soldier ... doesn't embarrass himself. Or, worse, me. I haven't been his lordship's fourth secretary long, but ..."

Eli turned back to the window, mentally rehearsing. He'd stand awkwardly when the Marquis entered. Give a little twitch. If they made him bow, he'd put his hands in his sleeves to bow, taking the dagger in his right hand. If not, he'd drop the hilt into his left palm with a shrug of his shoulder.

Should he use one spark as a distraction? The previous day, he'd send a spark into various assistant's ears and noses. Which hadn't been a pleasant sight, but if Eli hardened them to the full 'raindrop' consistency, his targets had reacted like a housefly had landed on them.

Maybe try that with the courtier. If he reacted strongly enough--and he seemed the type--that'd attract the guard's attention for a split second. Which was all Eli needed.

Then stab the marquis, jump through the window, climb down the plateau. In daylight, which wasn't ideal. Still, even if he was spotted, there weren't many militia troops in the slum. Nobody to intercept him. And there was no reason for anyone to be looking at the cliffside anyway.

Well, nothing he could do about that. If anyone tried to stop him, he'd put them down. Eli didn't know how he'd fare against elite troops, well-armored and heavily-armed, but anything less than that he could handle. He'd held his own against juvenile trolls--and he wasn't afraid of getting wounded.

He looked through the window, recalling the trickle of water and the weight of the mountain. He felt steady. He felt ready.

Yet the marquis didn't come. Not in ten minutes, not in an hour. So much for 'on the way.'

Eli didn't want to alarm anyone by breaking his routine, so after a time he headed back to his alcove. He ate with the other ambulatory patients in the little mess hall. Then he returned to his alcove and--

There!

The spark floating outside detected a small crowd approaching the clinic. Eli concentrated, and caught a glimpse of what looked one of the guards from the room where the Head Clerk had been bludgeoned to death.

He didn't wait to see if the man behind him was the marquis. He crossed the main room and stood at the window again and--yes, yes, that was the marquis. With only two guards, and one courtier. No, two courtiers, including the one who'd visited earlier.

But zero mages, thank the Dreamers. Though of course, this near the heart of the Keep, the fact that he visited the sick with any guards spoke to a remarkable level of caution.

Eli left one spark on overwatch, floating at the very limit of his range, just above the clinic roof. He brought the second inside the main room. A moment later, the first courtier entered. Then the physician and one assistant emerged from their quarters to greet the marquis.

Less formally than Eli, expected, given how much that first courtier had worried. The physician just bowed his head and the marquis clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Been too long since I visited, Quiricas. I've been distracted--a feeble excuse."

"Most in your position never visit, my lord," the physician said. "We appreciate whatever time you spare us."

"Don't simper, Quiricas."

"In that case, m'lord, you're absolutely correct--and should hang your head in shame."

The courtier gasped but the marquis laughed. "We'll have you to the Keep for dinner soon. You still fond of orange and pork pudding?"

"I still loathe it, my lord."

"And rightly so!" the marquis said. "Now, where is this brave fellow? I'll see him first, then the others. We still haven't pinned a name on him?"

"Not yet. Perhaps your lordship will recognize him. He's, uh, there, by the window." The physician lowered his voice, but a spark heard. "And quite addled."

The guards waited by the door while the physician and marquis continued to talk, but both courtiers approached Eli.

"His lordship is here," the one from earlier told him.

Eli kept looking through the window.

"You!" the courtier said. "Beard-face! Turn around."

Eli twitched.

The other courtier, a woman--girl, really, in fancy hose and a floofy jacket--touched Eli's elbow.

"Please," she said, and tugged at him gently.

He turned.

"Now kneel, like this, watch me." The courtier knelt. "On your knees, like so."

"Yes," Eli said.

"Don't be such a stick in the mud, Clarence," the Marquis called, crossing the room with his guards. "He's a wounded soldier, there's no reason to stand on ceremony. Let me look at you, lad."

Eli gave a shudder and shifted the nearer sparks toward the closer guard's ear. He didn't lift his head to look at the Marquis, though. He wasn't concerned about being recognized: the Marquis hadn't looked him in the face when he'd killed the Head Clark, and Eli looked different now. Halo, even without the beard, he stood taller and stronger and less tentative.

Still, he didn't want anyone to see the murder in his eyes.

"You were lost a long time," the Marquis told Eli, his voice gentle. "We don't even know if it was one month or two."

Still looking at his feet, Eli crossed his arms, putting his hands inside his sleeves as if hugging himself, and closed his right palm around the dagger's hilt.

"But you're home now," the Marquis continued. "You're safe now, and once we--"

The spark shot into the guard's ear--and without raising his head, without using his eyes, Eli pulled the dagger from his sleeve and struck.