'That rag of a shirt you're wearing won't help matters, Captain. I imagine you're looking forward to ditching the disguise.'
'What disguise? This is my lucky shirt.'
Lostara Yil leaned back against the wall of the small room, her arms crossed as she watched Pearl pacing back and forth near the window.
'Details,' he muttered, 'it's all in the details. Don't blink or you might miss something.'
'I must report to the Red Blade commander,' Lostara said. 'Then I shall return here.'
'Will Orto Setral give you leave, lass?'
'I am not relinquishing this pursuit ... unless you forbid me.'
'Gods forbid! I enjoy your company.'
'You are being facetious.'
'Only slightly. Granted, you've displayed little ease of humour. However, we have shared quite an adventure thus far, have we not? Why end it now?'
Lostara examined her uniform. Its weight was a comfort – the armour she had worn when disguised was a shattered mess and she had happily discarded it after the Claw's healing of her wounds.
Pearl had offered nothing to relieve the mystery of the demon that had appeared during the night engagement out on the plain, but it was clear to the Red Blade that the incident still troubled the man. As it does me, but that is past now. We have made it to Aren, still on the assassin's trail. All is as it should be.
'Will you wait here for me?' she asked.
Pearl's smile broadened. 'Until the end of time, my dear.'
'Dawn will suffice.'
He bowed. 'I shall count the heartbeats until then.'
She left the room, shutting the door behind her. The inn's hallway led to a wooden staircase that took her into the crowded main room. The curfew made for a captive clientele, although the mood was anything but festive.
Lostara ducked under the staircase and passed through the kitchen. The eyes of the cook and her helpers followed her as she walked to the back door, which had been left ajar to provide a draught. It was a reaction she was used to. The Red Blades were much feared.
She pushed open the door and stepped out into the alley. The river's breath, mingled with the salt of the bay, was cool against her face. I pray I never travel the Imperial Warren again.
She walked to the main street, her boots loud on the cobbles.
A dozen soldiers of the High Fist's army accosted her as she reached the first intersection on her way to the garrison compound. The sergeant commanding them stared at her with disbelief.
'Good evening, Red Blade,' he said.
She nodded. 'I understand that the High Fist has imposed a curfew. Tell me, do the Red Blades patrol the streets as well?'
'Not at all,' the sergeant replied.