Running back to the warehouse would've been a bad idea: McKenzie would have been scraping himself off large buildings the entire way. Still, he did the journey in a respectable time, filled with a cold, hard determination that one troll, at least, wouldn't hurt anyone else after what remained of tonight. It also served to clear his head a bit.

When he walked in the door, his first thought was that Danandra had beaten him to it: a pervading odour of burnt and decomposing flesh had been added to the warehouse's list of charming features. He yanked the gun out of it's holster and made sure the safety was off and a round was chambered.

"So I'm home," he said. "Hi."

There was no response. McKenzie dug his phone out, tapped on the torch and held it next to the gun, sweeping it around in arcs.

Something had met a violent and fiery end in the middle of the warehouse. There weren't many good-sized bits left to facilitate an identification, but McKenzie was fairly sure it wasn't either a troll or a human. Then he remembered about the cow, and Danandra's comment from earlier.

"Ew," he muttered, and backed away from the mess.

McKenzie started to become truly suspicious when he didn't see one of the machine pistols hanging up where he thought he'd left it. He checked the rooms in order - Sharinta and Danandra's rooms were empty of any personal possessions, Leni's contained what seemed to be her stuff, and the sad little tale told by the slave girl's discarded sandals and smock was still there for McKenzie to read. He proceeded onto his room, which had also been stripped. The only thing left was a note, which had been attached to the door with an old rusty nail. He safetied the gun and put it away.

The note didn't give any names, but it was obvious who it was from. We think it's BROKEN! We're clearing out, don't worry we've got your stuff. We'll find you. Don't recommend you stay here.

"You fucking well better have my stuff," McKenzie growled under his breath. So: Sharinta and Danandra thought they were free too. Interesting. He crumpled the note up and chucked it into the corner of the room.

His phone vibrated briefly with a text. It was from a number he didn't recognise.

Your cover is blown, it read. The Guild knows. We do not know how at this time. If you're in there, leave immediately and do not return. If you're not in the guild HQ, you should assume you're being followed, and are probably being watched right now. If you survive, we will contact you again. Regards, An Interested Party.

McKenzie very nearly dropped the phone. Suppressing the urge to glance behind him, he stepped forward into his room. If he was being watched, that might afford a degree of privacy.

Thanks, he replied after a few more moments of surprise, but how the fuck...?

There was no reply. He tried calling the number - it simply rang and rang, until he gave up.

McKenzie sighed. It was going to be one of those nights. Well, if Jadhara had immediately fessed up to the Assassin's Guild Human Resources Department (or whoever) that he wasn't singing from the same hymn sheet as the rest of them, fair enough - he'd intentionally left that option open for her. If they'd found out some other way and already knew what was going on, Sharinta and Danandra had already done a bunk, and if they found Leni before he did, well, that'd save him some ammo. In fact, come to think of it, McKenzie was pretty okay with this: if he didn't have to pretend to be an assassin, then he woudn't have to kill anyone, or at least not anyone who didn't deserve it, had tried to kill him first, had monumentally pissed him off or who otherwise snuck in via a similar ethical loophole. Happy days.

Except that if it wasn't Jadhara that had blown the gaff, she might be in deep shit because of him. Their conversation hadn't really got down to the fine detail of her superpowers, so McKenzie didn't know if she could be killed or not, but it seemed sensible to assume she could. Also, Sharinta and Danandra needed to be warned to be on the lookout for ninjas. There were, in other words, complications. Not happy days.

"Piss," he muttered under his breath.

Okay, what was the move now? Well, hanging around here was probably useless - he had to assume that Leni had also sussed out that the curse was broken, which meant, if she had any sense, that she wouldn't be showing up here any time soon. She was probably already on her way to somewhere else. Pity.

McKenzie left the warehouse - he didn't bother closing the door, if someone got in and stole Leni's possessions, so much the better - and headed back into town.

Lemuel could get messages between worlds, McKenzie thought. Right - if he rang Christine, got hold of Lemuel, told him that their cover was blown and to warn the girls, would that help or hinder? It was going to clue Lemuel in to the fact that his curse was apparently history. That was probably gonna happen sooner or later, but if he found out sooner then did that mean he stood a better chance of re-cursing everyone than if it happened later? Was it even possible at all? McKenzie cursed the fact (and laughed grimly at his own inner choice of words) that he knew next to nothing about magic. Danandra would know, but he didn't know where she was and that was the whole fucking problem.

So that option was probably out. McKenzie forced himself to think logically - was there any other way to get in touch with the girls? There was no backup plan, no fallback safe house, no designated message drops, oversights which McKenzie was now - hah, here was that word again - cursing. Since the curse had kept them as completely alienated loners with only their own company, he couldn't even do basic things like leaving messages with friends or-

"Hunh," McKenzie said to himself.

Well, there was an option. He probably couldn't do anything about it right now, though - it was the middle of the night, and in any case if his mysterious tip-off was to be believed, he was being followed anyway. McKenzie set his mental compass for the Assassin's Guildhall, and increased his pace.

- o O o -

McKenzie made good time back to the Guild. "Back so soon, Crowbar?" The weird disembodied voice asked, as he approached the front door.

"What can I say, busy night," McKenzie replied.

The front door, this time, opened directly into the club lounge.

"Whoa," McKenzie said. His surprise wasn't unfeigned.

All of the tables had been cleared, save one, at which Jadhara was seated. There was a varied selection of assassins stood behind her - perhaps not as many as he'd seen earlier that night, but at least two dozen - Talking Cloak guy stood in the centre, near Jadhara. She was sat calmly in her chair, looking for all the world as if she was just taking her ease, but if she wasn't precisely at knifepoint, then certainly something about the arrangement made it very clear that knives could be an option at very short notice should one or more of the meeting participants feel they should be on the agenda. There was also a sensation of magic, and a menacing one at that - the feeling must have been comparable to that experienced by a fighter pilot hearing the wrong type of missile lock alarm.

"Crowbar," Talking Cloak said. "There was no time for introductions, earlier. Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Bladehand, and I am the High Assassin."

"Mornin'," McKenzie said - it was, after all, pushing on towards dawn. The door clicked shut behind him, and McKenzie had no doubt that it wouldn't open onto the street, anymore. "Lemme guess - this isn't a welcome to the office party."

"Indeed," Bladehand replied.

"Well then," McKenzie said. "Let's not fuck about, shall we? I have no interest whatsoever in being an assassin, although all of the qualifications I presented earlier are, you'd better believe, entirely real. I was ordered by a man that everyone round these parts seems to refer to as 'the White' - I won't say his name, because he might be listening - to infiltrate your organisation, to which end we set about arranging a number of entirely fictitiously-funded hits. Pure dumb luck that I happen across Nightwing here on the very first one, who is impressed, and offers me the chance to join up, which I then do. She doesn't have a clue as to my real motivations for being here, although I think she was starting to become suspicious - if the reason for this little get together is that she's sussed me and dobbed me in to you, then I won't be at all surprised," McKenzie added this part on the fly, figuring that it might help her, if she was under suspicion as an accomplice. "The arrangement with L the White, which was not fucking voluntary, by the way, has since broken down. I am no longer under his orders - and now you know as much about this as I do."

"An interesting tale," Bladehand told him.

"Innit?" McKenzie agreed. "Anyshit, the deal is this. I'm not looking to start a fight with a bunch of assassins. I'm a free man, now, and frankly as soon as this fuckin' mess is sorted out, I am gone: I need a fucking holiday. However, if you decide that there is a fight here, I will fucking finish it, and since I'm feeling a bit guilty for lying to Nightwing here, if she gets hurt I will finish it with fucking bells on, by which I mean this whole building will be a smoking hole in the fucking ground."

"Thank you for explaining your position so succintly," Bladehand said. "I shall now explain ours. We know much about the circumstances in which you came to this world, and we know much about you, Crowbar. Your powers are not unprecedented and you are not a god; those of a religious bent might characterise you as a demon, and there are those in this Guild who have dealt with such before."

McKenzie sniffed. "Yada yada," he said. Privately, he was wondering how Bladehand had got his information. Had Jadhara talked? Was her certainty that their earlier conversation had been completely private unfounded?

Fuck's sake, McKenzie thought to himself. This is why I hate doing subtle.

Bladehand betrayed no sign of any anger at McKenzie's dismissive reply. "You were told that you crossed us at your peril, Crowbar."

"Can't argue with that," McKenzie replied. "However I haven't actually done anything yet - the guy who gave the orders hasn't even asked me to do anything: and if he asks me, I'll take great pleasure in telling him to fuck off. There's an old - well, old-ish - saying where I'm from. Well, sort of from. Different country. Never mind, anyway, it goes like this: 'no harm, no foul'. The worst thing I'm guilty of, at least as far as you lot are concerned, is wasting a few hours of your time: and in fact you've found out that the aforementioned highly powerful magic type has an interest in your organisation, which you didn't know before. Is this worth a massive barney? If you know as much about me as you claim, then you gotta figure that even if you think you can take me out - massively not likely, by the way - then it ain't gonna come cheap."

Nobody in the room was the kind to be easily swayed by this argument, or at least not to show it. "Your point is taken," Bladehand said. "Before we go any further with this discussion, you should take a closer look at Nightwing."

"You okay?" McKenzie asked her.

Jadhara made no response - she didn't even look up.

"Hey! You okay?"

Again, she appeared not to hear - McKenzie twigged why not.

"She's not here, is she?"

"In a different chamber," Bladehand answered. "I can guarantee you will not find her, no matter how many of us you kill, how many doors you kick down, or how many walls you obliterate with magical fire. Our hall contains an infinite number of rooms."

Well that could make life difficult, McKenzie thought, and following up that thought, another one flitted through the rapidly-clearing effects of the alcohol from earlier. He had not told Jadhara about the quintessence: Bladehand's reference to 'magical fire' meant their information came from elsewhere.

"I told you she had nothin' to do with it," he told Bladehand. "If you've got questions about the job, I'll answer them. If it'll make his life more difficult, I'll be overjoyed to - but she doesn't know a fuckin' thing."

The old assassin shrugged. "To be perfectly frank, Crowbar, we do not know whether Nightwing was compliant in your infiltration or not. That, however, is immaterial - betrayal is not uncommon among our numbers - inevitable, really, given the way in which we choose to make our way in the world. Incompetence, though - now there is a different matter. We do not tolerate failure in this organisation."

McKenzie almost grinned. "I can barely believe you actually said that without holding a white cat."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind. So you're pissed at Nightwing - these names are totally lame, by the way - and not-so-subtly hinting that you're holding her hostage. I get it. What do you want? Talk to me, Bladehand. I'm open to a deal. I don't particularly want to kill a shitload of people-" McKenzie looked around at the various assassins. "- mostly people today."

"Oh, it's a small thing really. You'll even get paid for it: you are one of us, and we do not work for free. We have an Appointment for you. A new project which has just begun," Bladehand explained.

McKenzie sighed. "Okay. Let's hear it then. It better be someone who has it comin', though"

"Oh, they do," Bladehand replied. "A very shady pair of characters."

This hint was obvious enough for McKenzie to not be surprised by what he said next.

"They are the Elfmage Danandra of The Cloud Kingdom and Her Holiness Sharinta, High Priestess of Tantalia."

"Blimey. All those extra bits to their names and they never mentioned," McKenzie replied, affecting unconcern. "Where the hell is Tantalia?"

"Who - Tantalia is the goddess of lust, seduction and marital infidelity," Bladehand said.

"Figures," McKenzie replied. "Well, they haven't exactly endeared themselves to me over the course of our association, but I ain't got a clue as to where the hell they are."

Bladehand shrugged again. "We didn't think you did – we read their note before you did. You have a week to find them, Crowbar – Nightwing has food and water enough for that long."

"Fine. I'll kill them," McKenzie said, thinking: I'll find them and they can help me figure out how we all get out of this fucking shitstorm.

Bladehand laughed. "You misunderstand, Crowbar. You said you had no interest in being an assassin, and we would not dream of asking you to do anything against your principles, which you evidently hold quite dear. No, we don't want you to kill them. There is someone who would very much like to talk to them. You are merely required to bring them before our client, in a suitably docile state."

"And now I know how Leni stayed off the target list," McKenzie said. "Newsflash, Bladehand: she ain't got shit to pay you with. She's got a few gold bits and that's it. You fuckers strike me as a bit pricier."

"That is not your affair," Bladehand said coldly.

"It is if you were serious about paying me for it," McKenzie retorted.

"I wasn't," Bladehand fired back.

"Tightarse," McKenzie accused.

"This deal can be taken off the table at any time, Crowbar, if you'd prefer to deal with this dispute in a more traditonal manner," Bladehand said, with an edge of anger.

"OK, yeah, fuck it: let's go," McKenzie said, stretching his neck to one side so it clicked. "In fact, if I kill you, does that mean I'm in charge of the guild?"

"No," Bladehand said.

"Possibly," the Weird Disembodied Voice cut in. "Precedents vary. Certainly it would force a vote."

"Thank you, Revlius," Bladehand ground out. "Your threats are all well and good, Crowbar, but the fact remains that Nightwing is my prisoner and unless you agree to my terms, her life is forfeit. Now either go fetch like a good dog, or make your leadership challenge."

A suspicion dawned on McKenzie. He stepped forward towards Bladehand - the man neither moved nor reacted - and extended his finger into the man's left eye. As McKenzie had suspected, there was nothing there - the illusion wavered when McKenzie waved his hand around inside it, and then reformed when he withdrew it.

Bladehand laughed."I'm not a fool, Crowbar. Our clients briefed us as fully on your capriciousness as they did on your various powers."

McKenzie stepped back. "On my cap-what?" He asked, deciding not to mention Bladehand's use of 'they' instead of 'she'. So Leni had a backer, somehow. That would explain how she could sic the guild onto him.

"On your proclivity to engage in acts of random violence at the drop of a hat," Bladehand said.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

"On my proc-what?" McKenzie asked.

Bladehand ignored that one. "Are you taking the deal, or not?"

McKenzie sniffed. "I suppose I am, then. You got anything on their whereabouts?"

"I've always thought that if you're going to blackmail someone into doing your dirty work for you, then you should blackmail them into doing all of it," Bladehand said.

"Cowardly and lazy," McKenzie commented. "Where do you want them brought, then?"

"Oh, here will be fine. The clients have specified that they want the merchandise relatively unharmed, and able only to put up an entertaining rather than actually harmful fight. I'll make it easy for you: bring them here unconscious, and we'll do the rest," Bladehand shrugged.

"Whatever," McKenzie said. "I'll need expenses - let's say fifty gold to start with."

"I think you've failed to grasp-" Bladehand started to speak.

Before he could finish, though, a pouch came sailing out from somewhere in the second row of of black-cloaked figures. It jingled and had a satisfying heft when McKenzie caught it.

"Thanks," he said, in the general direction it had come from. There was no response. Bladehand did not look happy about the deviation from his script.

"We done?" McKenzie asked him.

"Hardly - but your briefing is over," Bladehand told him. "You may go."

"Goodie gumdrops," McKenzie said, and turned. He opened the door, verifying that it opened into the street, and turned back. "Oh, one more thing, if anyone decides to follow me, they better be fucking amazing at it, otherwise, well, I don't need to draw you a picture, do I? Toodle fuckin' pip."

The door slammed behind him.

"I happen to know someone, as it so transpires," Bladehand growled. "Hidebow - after him."

The mobile shadow that had trailed McKenzie earlier flashed to the door, opened it the merest fraction, and was out into the street.

The same door then opened again, admitting the clients. The doorway expanded to admit them.

"You seriously expect him to bring his friends here, bound, gagged and ready for the slaughter?" Iyanus asked Bladehand. The door closed again behind them.

Bladehand snorted. He held trolls in no particular regard, but this one's money was certainly good. "No - but he'll lead us to them, and then we'll be in a position to deliver on our Arrangement," Bladehand told him.

"I thought you called 'em Appointments?" Leni asked.

"Typically they are, when they are of the usual sort. This is hardly of the usual sort, though. Hence, we have an Arrangement. Two warm bodies and one dead demon," Bladehand said.

"I explained that he's really-" Leni began.

"We have dealt with many a demon here, Mistress Troll," Bladehand cut in. "Your information has been invaluable. We will find a way."

Leni didn't look convinced.

"One other detail," Iyanus said. "If he's as powerful and unpredictable as Violentia says, how can you be sure that he won't simply abandon her to her fate?" The troll indicated the illusion of Nightwing, still seated at her table.

"That risk is ours, not yours," Bladehand replied, his tone making it clear that these questions were not welcome. "Whatever his actions, we will still deliver on two warm bodies and one dead demon."

Iyanus shrugged. "Alright then."

"Thank you again for your business - we will be in touch when we have something to report. In the meantime, Allshield and his security detail will accompany you at all times," Bladehand said.

Iyanus nodded and turned to leave. Leni put a hand on his arm. "I'd give it a few minutes, boss. We really don't wanna bump into him, trust me on this."

Iyanus grunted.

"Revlius, would you be so kind as to show Mr. Iyanus and his companion back to the guests' lounge, and inform them when the coast is clear outside?" Bladehand asked.

"Yes, High Assassin," Revlius replied, and the door clicked open again to reveal a chamber full of comfortable seating, some of which was even troll-sized. The clients departed through it, followed by five of the assembled assassins, one of whom was considerably taller and wider than the other four.

It opened again almost immediately afterwards, by the merest fraction. The shadowy form of Hidebow darted through it.

Bladehand turned to regard him, and then disappeared. He entered again a moment later, by a side door.

"I take it you have lost him, then?" The High Assassin, now physically present, asked.

"Gone," Hidebow confirmed in a sibilant rasp.

"It has been no more than a few moments!" Bladehand snarled.

"Strong. Fast," Hidebow hissed. "Follow yourself, then!"

Bladehand inclined his head. "My apologies, Hidebow. If you could not keep sight of him, it is a certainty that nobody could." The post of High Assassin was very much that of first among equals - it didn't pay to antagonise your constituency too much when it was comprised entirely of highly trained, extremely ruthless killers.

"We shall reacquire his trail in the usual fashion, no doubt," Bladehand went on. "Revlius, please tell the Master Listener to alert his network."

"Yes, High Assassin," Revlius' voice replied.

"Meeting adjourned, I think," Bladehand said, and the remaining assassins drifted away.

- o O o -

When McKenzie left the guild hall, he initally sauntered nonchalantly across the deserted square as if he'd just emerged from a slightly tedious meeting. He was cursing under his breath the entire way, though, as if he was one of the square's resident crazies. As soon as he reached the edge, he looked up, judged the height of the nearest building, and jumped. He got it reasonably right, although a fair bit of scrabbling was required to heave himself over the edge. The roof was flat and deserted - McKenzie ran across it and jumped to the next one, which was a little higher. This was easier; he landed and rolled in the middle of it, got right up, repeated the whole process twice more, then crouched down behind a stone railing and looked back the way he'd come.

Dawn was just beginning to trickle down around the city. McKenzie thought he could make out a dark flicker in amongst the other shadows of the rooftops. The shape seemed to cast it's gaze around, then it was gone. McKenzie stayed put for the count of three hundred, keeping a careful lookout, but saw nothing else. Satisfied that he'd eluded his pursuer, he made his way to the other edge of the roof and traversed a few more buildings in the same way, before he dropped down into the street in another square, although this one was neither as large or as grand as the Library Square. It looked like it had a cafe just opening up, though - McKenzie walked over.

"You open mate?" He asked the man inside, who was in the process of belting on an apron.

"We are now, good sir," the man replied, although this customer-friendly approach was somewhat marred by a yawn afterwards.

"Good. Coffee, please, and one of whatever it is in the oven that's making that nice bread smell," McKenzie said, then headed to a table at the back of the establishment.

Well fuck, he thought, sitting down. If there was a way for that to have gone worse, McKenzie didn't know what it was.

He was fairly certain that nobody was following him, so in theory that meant he was free to follow up his only lead on the whereabouts of Sharinta and Danandra - Danandra's new boyfriend, about which he knew very little except he was an Adept mage, whatever that was, and he was called Tal-

Shit. McKenzie's train of thought, which was barely creaking along as it was, suddenly lurched to a halt.

Tal-what? All he could remember was 'Tally Ho!' McKenzie doubted he was called that.

"Shit it," McKenzie muttered in irritation. It hadn't been a long name, he thought. Something fairly short. Oh well, it might not even matter. He wasn't even sure that he should try to find them, or allow himself to be found - the let's-just-fucking-sort-it-out part of his brain, which was the part normally in charge, was fairly keen on the idea of going straight back to the assassin's guild and beating people up until he had Jadhara, then blowing town. On rare occasions, though, another part of his brain sometimes stepped in and convinced him to think about things. It appeared to currently be chairing the what-should-McKenzie-do-next committee, but at least this allowed time for coffee.

"Sir? Coffee. The rolls'll be ready presently," the baker, or waiter, or whoever spoke.

"What? Oh. Thanks," McKenzie said. The man deposited a large mug and a lit candle on the table, and then returned to the front of shop, where he was trying to persuade a recalcitrant shutter to open.

McKenzie's thinking-about-things neurons were recommending some sort of inventorying exercise, which seemed sensible, so McKenzie went through his pockets. He had his gun, of course, with a spare cartridge - but that only contained four rounds. The dagger with which he'd killed Malice - well, mostly killed - was in a sheath on his belt next to the holster. Aside from that, he had his phone, a variety of coins, and the pouch he'd been tossed earlier. McKenzie upended it onto the desk. Maybe a couple of dozen gold bits - and a folded up scrap of paper. A cheque? Did they even do cheques here?

He unfolded it. It wasn't a cheque.

"We certainly don't charge that much, sir, but if that's my tip then I'll be retiring to the country tomorrow!" The waiter/baker joked, as he set a plate of warm, sweet-smelling rolls down on the table.

"Ha. No. Going to invest this." McKenzie forced a laugh and a vague explanation, and crumpled the paper into his hand. When the man wandered off again, he smoothed it out to read it.

If you truly killed Mahrak the Undying, and I believe you did, then I owe you a debt of honour for avenging my brother. This is not paid as cheaply as these few coins, and more, I hold Nightwing to be an ally within the Guild. Be at the Snow Leopard Inn in the Izmodeian Quarter at highsun and I will tell you what I can about the High Assassin's Arrangement.

McKenzie held the note in the candle flame until it caught fire. It was gone in moments. He took a bite of one of the rolls, and sipped his coffee.

Well now he had another option. His day was looking up already.

- o O o -

"It's a bad fucking idea."

"It's necessary."

"It fucking isn't."

Esconced in a comfortable room in a comfortable inn in a quiet, ordinary district of the city, Danandra and Sharinta were having an argument. Danandra - deeply uncomfortable with not knowing exactly what was happening - wanted to contact the Archmage. Sharinta - deeply uncomfortable with doing anything that might bring them to the attention of Lemuel - did not. The focus for this argument was a small, rather utilitarian-looking hand mirror, the twin of which was in possession of the Archmage - it was a lesser example of the powerful artifact they'd taken from Mahrak's castle, many months ago.

"It is," Danandra said. "We all swore unbreakable oaths not to try and break the curse again. Ergo, we know that it wasn't us that broke it."

"It could have been McKenzie," Sharinta replied. "He didn't have to swear."

"We know it wasn't McKenzie, we'd've seen him do it. No. Something else is at work here. The Archmage may know," Danandra said confidently.

"Or he might be waiting for us to use this so he can fucking curse us again," Sharinta countered.

"We've been over this," Danandra said. "Leave if you want, I'm using it." And with that, she waved her hand over the mirror.

Sharinta looked angry, but did not leave the room.

The mirror glowed softly, and then it's surface became white, save for a single gold triangle in the top corner - this was a familiar view to Danandra. It was the wall behind the desk in the Archmage's personal chambers: the gold triangle was the corner of a picture frame.

"Your Wisdom," Danandra said. "Can you hear me?"

"She's not there, clearly. Shut it off, Danna," Sharinta asked.

"Wait. She might be nearby," Danandra said.

Someone was, but it was not the Archmage - Heska's coldly beautiful features filled the mirror instead.

"Lady Danandra," the hyperwere greeted them, but her voice lacked it's usual haughty tone: in fact she sounded slightly flustered. "Do I have you to thank for the current situation, or has that insane demon done something else to the detriment of a forest and freed us?"

"Lady Heska," Danandra greeted her back. "You noticed the curse has been lifted, then."

"One can hardly not notice when the Archmage suddenly gives vent to a peal of delighted laughter and disappears in the middle of a council session," Heska said.

"Oh fuck," Sharinta swore.

"Quite," Heska said.

"Um, this laughter was definitely delighted?" Danandra asked.

"Definitely," Heska confirmed.

"So this is a good thing, right? You don't laugh when things are going fucking wrong," Sharinta stated, although it was more hope than logic.

"Her Wisdom, as you know, has installed me as her deputy - a post that came with an agreement almost as binding as that which The White God applied to us. She confided much to me. Nevertheless I have no idea what has happened. It was my hope that you might," Heska replied.

"No. Fucking. Clue," Sharinta said.

"That much is already clear. Where is Lord McKenzie? Does he not know what has transpired?"

"McKenzie went out on a mission before we knew the curse was broken. He hasn't come back yet, and we've cleared out of the warehouse anyway," Danandra informed her.

"And the troll? I assume she is dead."

"Leni's alive, as far as I know," Sharinta told her.

"You have grown soft, Lady Danandra. I am surprised that Violentia survived the lifting of the curse by more than a few seconds," Heska said.

"We weren't at the warehouse when it happened - when we got back there to get our stuff, she was already gone," Danandra told her. "I won't rest easy until I know she's dead."

"Indeed," Heska said. "There is chaos in Melindron: many believe the Archmage is dead. My time with you is limited. My advice to you is to find McKenzie and return here as soon as possible, and then we may begin to determine what happened. I shall instruct our embassy in Vyrinios to expect you - you can return here on a diplomatic airship."

"I've heard worse ideas." Sharinta shrugged. "Hey, you're not gonna try and turn us into wolves, now, are you?"

"That time of my life has passed. My allegiance is to Melindron: which I must now go to attempt to calm down. Until we meet again, ladies, goodbye." Heska cut the connection.

"Well, now we know she hasn't got a fucking clue either and the only person who might possibly have one has apparently disappeared in a puff of hilarity. That makes me feel better," Sharinta said, with heavy sarcasm. "She's right about one thing, though - staying here is pointless. Let's not hang around to see if the fucking assassins are angry with us or if Aghkar's associates are looking for revenge: let's fucking go, Danna. Let's find McKenzie and go."

"But I'd hoped to-" Danandra started to say.

"Don't say it, Danna," Sharinta stopped her. "Maybe, when the dust settles in a few weeks, you can come back and look him up - but seeing your boyfriend now is fucking stupid, and you know it. If you like him as much as you seem to, don't get him involved. I'm sorry, I really fucking am, but now really isn't the time for romantic entanglements, and it's fucking me saying that."

Danandra nodded slowly in understanding.

"Yes. Um, I'm going out for a bit," Danandra said.

"You're going to go and find McKenzie?"

Danandra shook her head.

"Danna!" Sharinta said. "Were you even fucking listening just now?"

"Yes! It's just-" Danandra stopped.

"Just what?"

Danandra sighed. "I know I only spent a few hours with him. I know the balance of probabilities is that he's already forgotten about me, and even if he hasn't he'll run a mile when he finds out who I really am and who might be after me. I know all that, Shar, I really do, but for those few hours I was myself again. I wasn't Danandra the slave of Le-, of that person, I wasn't even Danandra the stupid, arrogant mageling so drunk on her own power she thought she could do anything and get away with it - I was just Danandra. I liked her. She was nice and normal. If the only way to be her is to be with Talius, then so be it. I want to go and find him."

"Well frankly new-old Danandra is a wet fucking blanket," Sharinta stated, harrumphing. "Would you listen to yourself? Pining after a man because you think you need him to be yourself. The clue's in the word, Danna, to be yourself you only need your self. You don't need another person's self. Just yours."

"I know. You're right. I'm going anyway." Danandra stood up.

Sharinta lunged past her and stood in front of the door.

"You're fucking not. Look, it's still early. We'll have some breakfast, then maybe we can talk to the innkeep about having a message delivered to him," she said.

"Let me out, Sharinta."

"No," Sharinta said. "Until we know exactly what's going on, the most sensible thing is to stay fucking put. I'm being a friend, here - you wouldn't let me out to go chasing after some man."

"You are undoubtedly right, Shar," Danandra said. "Don't worry, though - I'll be back soon."

"I'm not letting you past, Danna," Sharinta said.

"I know," Danandra said, then snapped her fingers. The room seemed to darken for a moment, and Danandra had disappeared.

"Fuck," Sharinta said, to the empty room. "I forgot she could do that."

- o O o -

McKenzie once again found himself in darkness, surrounded by the odd rustling noise.

So you have won your freedom, immortal, the voice of layered hisses spoke again.

"Ha! Define freedom," McKenzie replied sourly. "Man is born free, but everywhere he is in chains, or, in my case, having to deal with Lord Irritating the White's fucking bullshit and knock-on effects thereof."

Join me, and we shall put an end to his meddlesome interference - permanently.

"You said that last time. Actually, not bein' funny, but you were proper creepy last time, too. I could stand to hear more detail on the harems of she-devils part of the package, though. Exactly how many she-devils constitutes a harem? Is there a standard number? Also, how hot exactly are these she-devils? There's not like scales and tails and stuff, is there? 'Cos, frankly, ew."

They are possessed of more beauty than you could possibly imagine, the voice promised.

"I don't know, I can imagine quite a bit," McKenzie replied, and he would have been smirking, had he currently possessed any sort of a physical form.

Do not seek to toy with me, immortal. The time of my ascension draws nigh. Soon, this darkness will be pierced with light. Soon, you will stand before my avatar: either in glory or in chains.

"See, there you go - downright creepy again. Well, it's been nice having this chat, but I'm currently somewhat busy with lots of annoying crap. Get back to me when you've got definite specs on the she-devils, yeah, like maybe a powerpoint presentation or something? Inbox me. Bye now."

If you had somewhere to be, then perhaps it is time to leave.

"Eh?"

- o O o -

"If you had somehere to be, sir?" The waiter/baker asked.

"Eh?" McKenzie awoke with a start and a clatter of crockery as his elbow knocked into his empty plate and cup.

"Just asking if you had somewhere to be, sir. It's just rung nine bells. You mentioned an investment, so I assumed some sort of a morning meeting was-"

"Fuckshitarsebitchtwat," McKenzie said.

"Steady on, sir!" The waiter/baker replied, pretending to recoil at McKenzie's foulmouthed muttering. "You're the one investing the money, I'm sure they'll wait."

"Yeah. Right," McKenzie said. "Um, how much?"

"Eight coppers, sir."

McKenzie fumbled a silver onto the table, and headed out onto the street. "Thanks. Keep the change."

Once out the door, he was greeted by light rain, which did little to improve his mood. He'd slept for several hours and wasted valuable time. The streets were thronged with people going to work, selling things to each other and just milling about - a normal Vyrinian day, in other words. Well, it was good cover: McKenzie flipped the collar of his jacket up to ward off some of the rain, at least, and headed off in a random direction, the heavy pouch of gold thumping against his chest with every stride.

Well, it wasn't too late in the day, and it wasn't like he hadn't needed sleep. He didn't know where the Izmodeian Quarter was, exactly, but he was fairly sure he could get anywhere in the city from anywhere else in the city in maybe a (local) hour, so that left him a couple of hours to find this Adept Tal-something, for whatever good that might do.

A traitorous thought stole into his head. He didn't owe Danandra and Sharinta anything, and they had apparently already made themselves sensibly scarce. This whole thing was in aid of a woman who made her living killing people and was probably entirely capable of getting herself out of this situation. With the possible exception of getting his stuff back, there was nothing tying him to this.

Oh, except it might lead to the public service of putting several bullets into Leni. Yeah, there was always that.

McKenzie altered his path to avoid a parked carriage - one of the many small, two seater ones that operated as taxis all through Vyrinios. It was raining, the carriage was covered, and McKenzie would rather not display his face to every passer by: he came to a decision.

"Oi! Mate," he hailed the driver, who was hunched up under a cloak. "How much d'you make in a normal morning?"

"What?" The driver asked back, looking up.

"How much would you expect to rake in of a morning - it's not just idle curiousity, by the way," McKenzie asked again.

The driver seemed to wake up a bit. "Oh, eight or nine silver, good sir," he said.

This was probably a lie, but McKenzie didn't care.

"Alright. Private hire, rest of the morning, I got a fuckload of calls to make all over the place, and can't be arsed hailing one of you guys after every single one. You want a gold bit for that? You make it quite quick, you can have an extra five silver come lunchtime. Deal?" McKenzie flicked one of the gold coins in the air and caught it. The driver's eyes followed it eagerly.

"Your lucky morning, good sir, you've only happened past the cab belonging to the current Guild champion driver - two seater-class, of course. Flick that coin my way and in you hop," the driver said.

"Result," McKenzie said, and flicked the coin to the driver- who caught it and performed an expert assaying process by biting it and peering at it intently. He then grinned. McKenzie opened the door and hauled himself up into the seat.

"Where to first, sir?" The driver asked.

"I need to get round as many of the magical colleges as poss, with time for a brief chat at reception, before getting to the Izmodeian Quarter for 12 sharp," McKenzie told him – quietly.

The driver looked upwards as he consulted his internal sat-nav, which, unlike the earthly equivalent, was able to factor in such data as 'it's delivery day for such-and-such a place so avoid that road', 'Abilus down the pub heard that they're bringing the roadworks forward down Old Imperial Way' and 'I went down Preceptor Street earlier today and it was a right fucking pain'.

"Reckon we can probaby fit in both Imperius College campuses, Vyrinios University and the Royal Free Magical College, sir, assuming that you're not too long inside," the man said.

"I'm quite good at getting quick answers," McKenzie told him. "Let's roll."

"Off to the magical colleges it is, then, sir!" The driver announced, gave his reins a sharp tug and whistled at his horse. The horse exploded into action and took them off down the street at a blistering pace, leaving angry yells and shouts behind them.

A beggar - guild accredited, and working his allotted patch - watched the carriage pull away. The driver had made his final announcement loud enough to be overheard. It had been put about that 'someone' was looking for a dark-haired man with an acerbic manner and a black jerkin of an unfamiliar foreign style, and there was good money in the telling. Not to be gone near, of course - a dangerous bloke, it was said - but someone was very keen to know his whereabouts.