James watched him deliver the first few blows. Beatings had to be done, but he didn’t take pleasure in them. After a while, he caught Rand’s eye. The redheaded man nodded. He would keep Bacchus in line, and James was free to go home and check on the dancing girl’s other warning.
James lived in a single room with a sloping ceiling, tucked above a smithy. Its location meant that he got some extra heat in the winter from the forge below, though it was sweltering in the summer, and the blacksmith’s hammer constantly echoed through the walls. The noise was a boon tonight, since it hid sounds of his return. He climbed the stairs quietly and timed the turn of his key to a hammer stroke. Then he threw the door open.
A man was by his bed, sliding his hand under the mattress. In the moment the intruder stared dumbfounded, James closed the distance between them, dodging the man’s hasty punch. James threw a solid blow to his stomach, and when the man doubled over, brought the hilt of his dagger down over his head. The intruder crumpled to the ground, stunned. James checked him for weapons. He found three daggers—one at his waist and two on his shins, which James tossed into the corner. The man stirred, and James ground his knee into his throat.
“Who sent you?” He kept his voice soft, speaking between the rings of the blacksmith’s hammer. “Don’t lie to me.”
The man hesitated, eyes rolling in confusion. James repeated the question, opening two slashes on the man’s cheek for emphasis.
“Gerred.” The man’s voice was tinged with panic.
Somehow, James wasn’t surprised. “What did he want?” he asked.
Another hesitation, which disappeared when James moved the knife closer. “I was to look for letters, money. Anything to see if you were gathering folk to you, with Clevon gone.”
James flicked his knife across the man’s throat, just hard enough to draw blood. The man cursed at him, and James dragged him to his feet.
“Let’s go pay Gerred a visit.”
*
To some extent, the bad blood between James and Gerred was Bacchus’s fault. Bacchus had been just as reckless with his insults during his early years as he was now. One day, a few years after Bacchus had joined the Guild, an older assassin named Nathaniel lost his temper and took a swing at him. But there was a reason Bacchus could afford to be so freely offensive. Within moments, the younger assassin had Nathaniel pinned against a table, a manic grin on his face as he tightened his grip on the older man’s throat. Other Guild members broke in between the two fighters before any blood was shed.
It should have ended like that, with bruised pride and nothing else. But a few days later, James overheard Nathaniel making plans to ambush Bacchus. James had watched the first fight without interfering—he’d had no special love for Bacchus back then, thinking him unpredictable and dangerous. But James disliked Nathaniel even more than he disliked Bacchus. The older assassin was part of Gerred’s inner circle and all too willing to abuse his position. It was why Nathaniel had even dared plan the ambush—infighting within the Guild was against Clevon’s rules, but Nathaniel thought himself untouchable.
Nathaniel’s crew was successful in their ambush. They had Bacchus on his knees, spitting blood, when James intervened. As it was, they didn’t see James until two men were already down with their throats slit. James would have preferred not to kill them—it meant more trouble from Clevon later on—but he couldn’t have gone up against four if he’d held back.
When Gerred found out, he demanded that Clevon execute James. Instead, Clevon pardoned him. Gerred and James maintained an uneasy truce after that. With the old guildleader gone though, it seemed that Gerred was taking more direct steps.
The carpenter’s shop had emptied considerably by the time James dragged the bound and gagged spy through the door. The only people left were Gerred, Lord Hamel, and two men that James recognized as Hamel’s bodyguards. Gerred stopped talking when James entered. His gaze went first to James, then to his prisoner, lingering in particular on the cut across the man’s neck.
“Please excuse me,” Gerred said to Lord Hamel.
There was a touch of a smirk on Hamel’s lips as he led his guards past James and his prisoner. James got the impression that the nobleman was amused by the hint of internal trouble. As the door closed behind Hamel, James turned back to Gerred.
“I brought him back this time,” said James. “Next time, I won’t.”
Gerred sat back in his chair, showing no more remorse than if James had accused him of forgetting his birthday. “I needed to know the loyalty of my men, with Clevon gone.”
At least he hadn’t tried to deny it. “Next time you’re wondering about my loyalties, ask me.”
“You know that’s not good enough. If you had nothing to hide, you had nothing to worry about. If you did . . ” Gerred shrugged.
James dumped the spy onto the ground. A small cloud of sawdust rose up off the floor. “I won’t follow a guildleader who thinks he can sift through my quarters on a whim.”