A week later Chrys was again at her favourite table in the garden of the Overlook, beer, morsels of fried fish and a plate of spiced baby octopus to hand. A second discreet meeting with the Old Man had been gratifyingly productive. He had listened impassively as Rakt reported the results of the expedition, accepted the Named Blade, buttons and badges of rank with a nod, grunted “Well done”, written out a bank draft and left. Chrys was now twice as rich as before. She thought of the hacked bodies lying on the grass. Unpleasant, but they were dasma, enemies, to her friends and to herself. Her father would have taken their heads for the shamans. Well, those that were in reasonable shape. Grymwer’s halberd did not leave neat wounds. She speared another octopus and washed it down with a swallow of beer. Opposite, Aitonala lifted her head at the sound of running feet, then stood abruptly. Chrys swivelled to see Kosohona crossing the garden at a run.

“Grymwer’s been stabbed dead, in the market.”

“What! Who by? No, that can wait. Where’s the body?”

“The watch took him away. It happened in the cloth market off Northgate Road. I was looking at some blue sea-thread when I heard the outcry, so I didn’t see it happen.”

“Tell us everything later,” Chrys decided. “For now, we need to see his body. Tell us as we go.”

The city of Dtlag was, in general, a peaceful place. The ability of the watch to solve many crimes with the aid of magic no doubt assisted in this. Still, as in any port, the waterfront was the scene of many a fight, people still lost their tempers and youth believed themselves, despite all evidence to the contrary, to be both invincible and indestructible. The results ended up on cool marble in the basement of the main watch house. The officer in charge, a brisk matron, led the three past the results of a boast that this vest was knife-proof and of a marital disagreement over the morning porridge to the third slab. There Grymwer’s body lay, decently covered. The officer gave a brisk resume of the investigation to date.“Stabbed through the heart, a clean thrust, from behind. The assailant was somewhat shorter, from the angle of the wound. From the complete absence of magical traces, either the knife was spelled or the user possesses some powerful Item. That and the manner of the attack suggest a professional – had the deceased annoyed anyone lately?”

“He is from the Brahnzhever, and I understand his family is not viewed favourably by the authorities there on account of doctrinal differences,” Chrys said cautiously. The matron’s lips tightened.

“I’ll pass that on. Now, what dispositions would you wish made for the body? The Brahnak custom is burial, but the bones of the left forefinger are kept aside to add to the family chain.”

Chrys hesitated a moment, then plunged ahead. “We believe we can recall Grymwer. We’ll need some place where we can keep the body safe for three days.”

This was met without surprise. “The wound should allow it, unless there is poison. I am myself an adept and can check the soul is still present and do a binding, for the usual fee. We can move the body to a separate room – we make them available for a small sum. You won’t need more than the usual three days, I trust?”

“Please go ahead.” Chrys turned to the other two. “Someone will need to be on guard all the time. And we need to find the others and tell them. I’ll stay. You two go, and stay together.”

She looked at Aitonala, who added “We’ll also need a Practitioner from the Healing Hands.”

Chrys sat in the small stone cell under the watch-house, waiting for the others to return. From time to time she glanced at Grymwer, recumbent under the sheet. The casualty rate had just doubled. More to the point, they had enemies in Dtlag, ones wealthy enough to hire professional assassins. Some plot of Brahnzhever seemed most likely. If so, they had moved fast. Also, how had they known of the party’s role in the deaths of Fearless Pride and his troop? She refused to believe that the Old Man had betrayed them, but perhaps the Brahnaks had suborned some servant of the High Councils? She turned the matter over and over, to no useful conclusion.

It was an hour before the others filed in, faces serious. It did not take long to decide on a plan. Aitonala would use the offices of her order to arrange for a Practitioner of the Healing Hands to attend. Cardnial would go with her. Doryid and Kosohona would alert the Old Man. Rakt and Chrys would stand guard over the body. This they did, chatting quietly. The little information they had about Grymwer’s murder did not take long to review, and theorising was pointless without more. They turned to considering what they should do if Grymwer could be recalled.

“We could take ship for the Merllan Archipelago,” argued Rakt. “Good climate, great food, many of us speak the language, there’s some interesting Wilds over in the western islands.”

“I enjoyed my time there, but it’s too close to Branzhever, and doubtless crawling with Brahnak agents,” countered Chrys. “Also" she added, “assassination is a favourite pastime of the Merllan upper classes. Too easy to find another cutthroat.”

“Further afield, then? Hadawa? Kurkroh? All the way across the sea to Az or Kaber?”

“We can only decide when we’re all together,” Chrys sighed. “In three days, with luck, we can talk about it.”

The Practitioner of the Healing Hands was a mild-mannered young man. He bent over Grymwer’s body, long fingers probing, bent to sniff the wound, pried back an eyelid to look closely at the eye beneath, even spent some time with his ear pressed to a silver disc placed on the belly. At last he stood, wiped his hands on a cloth dipped into a sweet-smelling salve and gave his opinion.

“The cause of death is arrest of the heart. I can detect no poison in the body. I understand you intend to use a Resurrection Pill?” Rakt nodded.

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“There should be no undue difficulty. One or at most two vials of medium strength Healing should suffice. I will cast the Beneficent Touch as the Pill takes hold, and I will need someone to administer the Healing at the same time.” He paused. “There is less risk if the spell Holisticity is used beforehand, but my access to the ether will not reach so far.”

Chrys reached into her jerkin and brought out a small but fat book. “Holisticity, Holisticity...Ah, here we are. Beyond my reach also but, let’s see, with Trust could you and I together, Cardnial? No? We need a third.” She looked at the Practitioner, who spread his hands apologetically.

“My Practice does not permit.”

“Could we use the rod?” asked Aitonala. Both magicians shook their heads.

“No,” answered Cardnial. “It holds the songs, but for this we need singers.”

Chrys made a decisive gesture. “We will bring in a Practitioner who can perform the spell. Aitonala, can you arrange? By tomorrow, for preference. ”

Aitonala ushered the Practitioner out, talking rapidly. Chrys gathered that their ability to pay was the main concern. Perhaps, she thought, we should dress better.The recall of Grymwer was surprisingly undramatic. The (very expensive) Senior Practitioner had come and gone, leaving the body fully repaired. The younger Practitioner now ruined her work by making an incision in the upper abdomen, reaching in with his scalpel to open a path into the stomach. He dropped in the Resurrection Pill through a funnel, withdrew this, watched carefully for some seconds and then nodded to Aitonala as Grymwer’s eyes fluttered. Before Grymwer was aware enough to protest a vial of Healing had been tipped down his throat. Grymwer’s body shook, he winced in pain and then confusion as that receded and he registered his situation.

“What happened to me?” Grymwer croaked. Aitonala held a cup to his lips.

“You were murdered. Stabbed in the back. By whom we don’t know,” Chrys stated flatly.

“And now I’m not murdered. Thanks. And many thanks to you,” he said politely to the young Practitioner. The latter murmured a courteous reply and then gave some brisk advice while packing away.

“Please stay prone for at least an half an hour. You may notice some after-effects, both from the Healing and from being dead. It is difficult to predict what these will be – they range from the minimal to the growth of additional organs or re-arrangements of the sensory apparatus. We would be pleased to consult should these prove awkward.” He bowed to all and left the room.

Grymwer lay back and closed his eyes. “I’ve been in the dark for the last few days. So, give me the details.”

An hour later they filed out through the main room. The previous occupants had been replaced by an inept burglar and the loser of an argument over berthing rights. Grymwer halted, stared, then turned to the others.

“I can see ghosts, Well, two ghosts, anyway. They don’t look happy. One looks depressed, and the one with the fisherman’s beard angry. They’re sort of blurry, but quite there.”

“Could come in handy,” noted Chrys. “You could get a job here, for instance, taking statements.”

* * * *

They took dinner together that evening on the broad rear verandah of the Overlook. The conversation of those in the garden below reached them as a surf-like noise, devoid of meaning, mingling with the sough of the wind in the trees and the faint distant clatter of the wharves.

“So, do we stay, or go? And if we go, where?” Chrys asked.

“We can’t be sure that there will be further tries to kill us,” argued Aitonala. “The Brahnaks will not want to offend the League and cannot afford to fall under suspicion. This is a good base, and also my home.”

“We can’t be sure there won’t be further attempts either,” responded Cardnial. “We’re safe enough here and now, but even if we go everywhere in twos it’s hard to guard against a knife in a crowded market. And there are other weapons than knives – do we test every glass for poison? Watch every window and roof for an archer?”

“The Old Man said they thought there was another Brahnak agent further on, as well as the magician who flew away, and he thought this might come from them. We could go after them – we know the magician’s name,” put in Doryid.

“I think,” began Rakt, then hurled himself sideways with a cry. Aitonala snatched up a fork and threw it with some accuracy at the dark-clad figure dropping on to the verandah railing. As a dart intended for Chrys’ throat hit her shoulder, Rakt leapt to his feet and lunged forward. The figure dropped into the night just in time to avoid a thrown mug. Kosohona cursed and ran for the stairs. The Gentle at the next table uttered a sharp cry. His partner, who had been leaning forward amorously, recoiled. Two adolescents at the table beyond cheered and whistled. Their parents called them to order and asked for the bill.

“That settles it,” said Chrys, plucking the dart out. “We’re moving.”

Aitonala picked up the dart.

“There’s poison on this.” She sniffed cautiously, held the weapon up to the light, then placed it on the table. Her face stilled, her fingers knotted and a thin wash of light emanated from her left little finger. Aitonala played this over the point of the dart, watching the shifts in colour closely.

“Assass.” She reached into her pouch, found a vial. “Here, drink this immediately. It will aid your resistance.” Chrys downed it without demur, then leaned back to let Aitonala bandage her shoulder.

Kosohona came back as Cardnial soothed the Overlook’s owner. The latter alternated between outrage at the assault on her guests and concern that her establishment might be a battleground, wavering between demanding they leave and offering compensation.

Chrys tilted her head at the dart.

“What does the poison do?”

“Kills you very quickly. Unless you resist its effects. Then it just,” Aitonala hesitated “Does that.”

“What!”

“Look at your hands.”

Chrys looked down and swore. Her hands were bright yellow. She snatched a small mirror from her bag. Her face and neck were also bright yellow. She swore again, feelingly. Aitonala waited until she had run down and then said “The good news is, you are not going to die of it. If you were, you would have some minutes ago.”

“But it was meant to kill, right?”

“Oh, definitely. You had something less than a one in four chance of survival. There’s no antidote, and the spells to neutralise it are complex and expensive. My potion boosted your chances, but the odds were still against you.”

“I am going to kill whoever is responsible.”

The others nodded, and Rakt added “We’re with you.”