Thread Slivers(Golden Threads Trilogy)

Thread Slivers(Golden Threads Trilogy) By Leeland Artra



Chapter 1

Boots On the Ground

TICCA MOVED SLOWLY AND CAUTIOUSLY over the roof, making sure she stayed in the chimney’s long shadow as she inched towards it. She kept a watchful eye on the traffic in the street below. I can’t be spotted, or someone will try to kill me; and worse, I’ll miss Sula’s target. Her cloak had a little magic that helped her blend into the shadows, but she knew it didn’t make her invisible. It was a dangerous task to spy on these powerful people. But, she wanted to earn some respect as a Dagger, and Sula was her first big client. Ticca had managed to earn a solid reputation in a dozen or so small jobs before Sula, who had been using more senior Daggers, unexpectedly sat at her table. This was her fifth assignment for Sula, and she was earning a lot of respect and coin for her successes.

Her timing was perfect. She was in position, in the darkest crook of the chimney, as the sun started to touch the western horizon. Nervously, she scanned for any signs she had been spotted, moving into her vantage point. Everything was normal; it was business as usual for the merchants here in the Day Market. From underneath her cloak, she pulled the solid cylinder out and held it firmly in her left hand. Hopefully, that courier will be back.

As the darkness deepened, Ticca became the hunter; waiting, watching the traffic moving through the only known entrance to the market square. The majority of the more upstanding merchants had already locked up their wooden stalls and carted off as much as they could in their push carts, past the beautiful entry statue. Hands on their sword hilts, in their banded leather armor, the last three remaining city guards left for more respectable parts of the city. A few late shoppers moved about the remaining merchants, who were trying to evacuate the square before the sun finished setting. The Day Market was closed; this was about to become the Night Market.

A stout, confident man walked into the market wearing a dark, charcoal grey cloak. Ticca’s heart rate picked up with excitement as she recognized him as the hired assassin — or Knife, as they were called — that Sula had had her identify a few days earlier. What are you doing here personally? What have you been up to the last few days? She held her breath as the Knife scanned the market for someone, and then looked up at the roofs, his gaze passing over her. Not finding who he was looking for, he moved into a dark shadow by the wall and pulled his hood up over his head, blending very well into the shadow.

Ticca stared intently, trying to find his outline. Damn it, don’t lose him now. If he is here, then the courier isn’t coming. She considered leaving, but her instincts were telling her to stay. This might be important to Sula. Maybe worth a bonus.



She couldn’t make out if he was still where she last saw him. She had to decide if she should move to a new position to try and locate him. From where he was, he can see the entrance and me, if I’m not careful. I know he won’t take kindly to seeing someone on this roof. He probably won’t move far. He wants to meet someone. She started taking careful tally of the rest of the square’s occupants in her mind, thankful she’d picked a location to both remain unseen, and yet, be able to view the majority of the square. The courier she was expecting still had not arrived, and she kept her attention primarily focused on watching for the Knife to move. In her peripheral vision, she saw the odd twilight shift of the statue, signaling that the Night Market was in business.

When Sula’s first mission for Ticca had brought her here to the Night Market, that statue had seemed so out of place, it shocked her. During the day, it was an amazingly good portrayal of a young elven lass, shopping basket hung loosely on her left arm, her right arm lifting ever-so-slightly in friendly greeting, and a warm, expressive smile, welcoming market visitors.

It was the kind of statue only the wealthiest could dream of commissioning for their estates. Yet here, it sat in the middle of the only entrance to a medium-sized, dead-end square, just inside the lower area of town, which had been a market for as long as anyone could remember.

The night patrons began to arrive slowly, and the evening’s dealers materialized from the darkened alleys, moving past the statue to enter the square quickly. People in long, expensive rain capes mixed easily with dock workers in their dingy clothes and thick coats. Everyone pulled coats, capes, and collars tight; more to avoid too much exposure to each other, than to keep the rain out.

Watching the deals for the past few nights had given Ticca a good idea of the basic rules of engagement here. Once the sun had set, the market was too dangerous for honest city guards. This was the legendary Night Market, which she had heard tales of long before she came to the city. She’d thought its reputation for having drug dealers, pawn brokers, and facilitators of any act, was exaggerated. But the merchants, or ‘Hands,’ as they like to be called, really lived up to that reputation. She shuddered as she remembered some of the breath-taking and brutal things she had witnessed passing through here; the worst, being a bag of what she was sure were fresh body parts. I would like it if this place shut down, but as my Uncle says, ‘People will always be capable of evil, and some will always choose to be evil.’ Maybe containment here really does keep it in check.



A dignified Hand who dealt in secrets, and a regular visitor to the Night Market, strolled past the statue. The stone figure now held its basket tight, eyes wide with fear and warning, right hand held up, as if to warn visitors of the danger within. She still didn’t understand why they bothered to put that statue there, but it did make a good signal for whether or not it was safe to enter.

The shadow she had been watching split in two, with the real shadow seeming to reluctantly release its twin. That’s a neat trick you didn’t have last time. The Knife kept the hood up and drifted gracefully to intercept the newest arrival. They met, like all the others, a safe distance from everyone else, and started negotiating. It did not take long before the Knife passed a small package to the Hand, who put it in his coat.

Even in the rain-cloaked night, she could clearly see the small package was tied with a glinting golden thread. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized the implications. Sula mentioned there might be something tied with gold. He is the contact Sula wants identified. The Knife didn’t use the courier; he brought it himself. That has to be unique. She smiled, knowing she had succeeded again. One week, and I have found the Hand.

When the Hand’s fingers came out of the coat, they passed over the Knife’s palm, dropping a small bag that vanished instantly. Probably going to waste that coin on something stronger than hyly at a Red-Door. No matter, I have my quarry.



The deal done, the Knife drifted off to the left. She didn’t bother to watch; her attention was fixed on her new target, the Hand. Be sure, Ticca; be real sure you can pick him out again, she cautioned herself.

Once she had his walk, shape, and features down, it was time for the odd part. Under her cloak, her left hand squeezed hard on the small, solid metal tube it held. Although physically impossible the solid tube became slightly smaller activating the spell. She felt the small tingle of released magic flow up her arm. It wasn’t unpleasant, but she was glad she had been warned; otherwise, she might have looked down at her hands, which could have been disastrous. Trying to ignore the sensation, she kept her eyes locked on the Hand, as if her very life depended on it, which it likely did. The spell moved through her veins, and up through her neck, to her head, and she felt it rush from her eyes. This doesn’t seem to be doing anything, but Sula insisted it be done before tracking the next link in her chain.



After the spell was released, Ticca didn’t wait to see the result. She reached back, grabbed the top of the roof line, and levered herself over the top, staying low and not allowing her own cloaks to flutter. Once over and out of sight from the market, she hurried until she was a few streets away. Checking that she had not been spotted or followed, she lowered herself, unseen, into another small alley. Rapidly, she stripped off her thin, outer cloak and folded it into a tight bundle. The evening chill instantly began to bite through her normal cape, which had been hidden underneath. She carefully placed the folded cloak into her secure satchel, in the chain-lined pocket. Again, she marveled that a full cloak could become such a small package of cloth, that it easily fit inside one of her hands.

Now all I need to do is report to Sula, as instructed, that I can identify the Hand. Maybe tomorrow, I can start tracking him. Flipping her cape collar into a more respectable position, she pulled the hood out slightly over her head to keep off some of the rain, and stepped boldly out into the lamp-lit road. No longer wrapped in her hunter’s mindset, she allowed herself to contemplate recent events. Turning east, she started walking towards the docks. Her destination wasn’t too far; after all, Llino was built around its docks.

From listening to her uncle’s Dagger stories, Ticca knew Llino was about as interesting a place as any in the world to be. The Three Princes, who jointly ruled the kingdom, kept it tightly under control, just as their massive fleet kept the sea lanes and trade routes under control. Being a pirate was very hard work, and being a shipping merchant was equally hard, especially if your ships happened to be near a Three Princes’ ship without the proper tariffs paid. With hundreds of patrol ships and no other navy to contend with, the Three Princes ruled the waterways and demanded a high tax on everything flowing. Of course, the fact that your goods were well protected generally made it worthwhile. Llino, being at nearly the center of all the major empires with sea trade, was a natural stop and central trading location.

As she passed the white arches of The Wizards’ Guildhouse, she unconsciously shied to the far side of the street, as nearly everyone did. It never paid to be too close to a wizard. Ticca had never met a wizard she could call ‘nice,’ and stories of sudden executions by offended wizards made the unspoken rule of the common folk to give all wizards a comfortable space just sound thinking. Still, the building was beautiful to look at. Somehow, it was always visible, no matter the weather or light. Yet, it didn’t actually glow. If it had, she would have spotted the motion from the alley’s shadow, a moment sooner.

A strong hand closed hard on her throat, choking off any chance of calling for help. The attacker’s other hand didn’t waste time either; it grabbed her arm through the cloak and threw her deep into the alley. Ticca landed face first on the dirty, uneven cobblestones. A pain shot through her left side as the air and rational thought were momentarily knocked from her. Gasping for breath, she tried to move. She realized her right arm was being held twisted behind and so far upwards, she felt like her shoulder was about to be dislocated from the strain.

Her attacker was fast. He reversed his stance, never letting go of her right arm, as he jammed it painfully higher. He dropped one knee into the center of her back, putting his full weight down and preventing her from being able to take in a much-needed breath. All she could manage was a small squeak of pain.

“Who are you working for, missy?”

Ticca marveled for a moment at the oddly beautiful sound of that soft whisper.

“You tossed a spell from your perch. What was it?”

She heard the sound of glass tinkling. Fear, adrenaline, and years of training finally took over. Somehow, Ticca knew the elixir being pulled was deadly. With fear-fueled strength, she braced her right foot for leverage, and kicked her left foot up towards the back of her head. A crunching sound ripped the air as her foot hit something that gave in slightly, before she made full contact with her attacker’s body. He fell forward, letting go of her arm, as a small glass vial bounced away on the cobblestones.

I might as well make this look good, she thought. Swinging her right foot up to join the left over her head, she moved her freed arm to the ground, and completed the reverse roll by pushing with her arms, and rolling to her feet in a maneuver that would have made her trainer smile.

The attacker rolled away and started to stand. Noticing the telltale movements that he was pulling a weapon, she considered the small knives in her belt. It’s him or me. I don’t think I can beat him in a knife fight with this pain in my arm. ‘Action is better than reaction,’ her trainer’s voice said in her memory.

Her moment of surprise was slipping away—time was essential and short. Need to end this now. Have to use my right arm for the hook, because it’s hurting too much to brace with. Damn, this is going to hurt, but at least, it’ll hurt him more than me.



Grimacing against the coming pain, she jumped over her attacker, kicking off to spin as she launched. Her combat-trained body automatically followed through with a twist in the air, to land with her right arm looped around the man’s neck. She slid down his back, locking her right arm with her left. Just as she felt the pull on her arm, she twisted hard in the opposite direction with her weight leveraging against his body. As she tightened her arm ripples of sharp pain shot through her back and neck from the shoulder. Ticca clamped her mouth shut to keep from screaming out. Her momentum was arrested with a loud crack from the man’s neck.

His body jerked, and she thought she heard a hiss of surprise as they fell in a pile. Her nose confirmed he was dead a moment later. Her right arm and shoulder screamed with pain, her back hurt, and she was sure she was bruised over the majority of her body. But he was dead, and she wasn’t — in short, the best outcome possible.

Damn it, how did he spot me? She swallowed hard a few times to get control of her emotions and thoughts. Lady, he was going to kill me, wasn’t he? Looking over the first person she had ever killed, her heart raced and her hands shook uncontrollably. She wiped her hands on her pants as she breathed deeply, trying to find some balance. She looked at his tanned, rough-shaven face. Except for the angle of his neck, he looked like he was sleeping. It was definitely the Knife she had just spied on. I should get away from here fast. But first, I might need some clues as to who exactly he was, and he surely won’t need his gear anymore.

Making sure that no one was watching, she grabbed his boots and dragged him deeper into the alley. Once a reasonable distance from the street, she started checking him for valuables. The boots felt like some of the finest leather she had ever touched, so she pulled them off and tucked them under her cloak first. She noticed that one of the two pouches smelled awful and was soaked in something that fumed, with wispy smoke tails curling to the sky. She realized that it must have been holding more elixirs, and she had broken them when she kicked him. Ignoring the smoking pouch, she took the other one, and the belt it was attached to, as it also had a few knives and a short sword. He didn’t have anything else on him.

Ticca inched towards the alley entrance. I know it has only been a few minutes since he grabbed me, but it feels like it has been a whole mark, and his neck breaking was pretty loud. Why is the guard never there to help, but always to arrest? Her thoughts raced over the events as she passed the point where they had fought. On the ground, was a small glass vial. Picking it up carefully, she turned it over, inspecting the seal. The seal was tight, and there was a semi-clear, brownish liquid inside. This might be something interesting for later, she thought, as she slipped it into her own belt pouch. Thankfully, the shiny wet street was still not busy; no one was close by. No longer feeling the cold, and with a quick glance to insure no one was looking her way, she stepped out and continued on her original path in a confident walk.

With the attack replaying in her head over and over, she was surprised to find herself standing in front of her destination, the Blue Dolphin Inn. Collecting her thoughts, she stepped up to the door of the massive three-story, two-block-wide tavern. Her eyes momentarily took in the large platform jutting out of — and towering four stories over — the tavern, with its massive, gleaming, six-foot-wide, metal hoop set into the stone. Legend, and the tavern owner, claimed that it was a favorite moorage port for the Emerald Heart, Damega’s flying ship. The only thing that made her accept the story was that absolutely no one she knew questioned it, and many more had relatives or friends who claimed to have some connection to the Emerald Heart. Of course, Damega and his famous flying ship hadn’t been seen in many generations.

The Blue Dolphin’s large double doors were both closed against the evening’s cold. She easily pushed the left one open and stepped into the din. The scents and sounds of the room threatened to knock her back out into the street. The smoke was filled with many odors, including a hint of some less than legal substances. Of course, the room’s main smell was the sweet scent of copious amounts of hyly, being served from the large kegs behind the bars. Her nose adjusted quickly, although she still occasionally rubbed it as the smoke tickled it. The three large fires were well stoked, keeping the room warm. Two bards had taken up places at opposite ends of the large room, and were still in no danger of interfering with each other over the loud conversations.

Ticca scanned the tables, hoping to find an open one, which of course, there wasn’t. A handful of the tables had rather nice-looking daggers stuck into them, standing straight up. She noted all the Daggers sitting at those tables. Not recognizing any of them as friends, she moved stiffly towards the left-hand side of the room. Finding a place at a communal table, she sat down. Within a few minutes, one of the serving girls came by with a tray of hyly mugs. Ticca helped herself to one and ordered some of the evening’s meal. The girl nodded and moved off.

Sighing loudly, Ticca took a full mouthful of the sweet liquid. As she swallowed, she enjoyed the warm, burning feeling that spread rapidly through her body. Without looking around, she took a couple more deep draughts, leaving the mug almost empty. As the warmth of the room, the melodic lute music, and warm hyly seeped into her bones, the aches of the attack and the numbing cold of the night abated, while the fight continued to replay in her mind. It took a while to relax. Shoving the feeling that everyone was watching her aside, she let the music and mood of the room soothe her.

Smiling, she straightened her back and began identifying the room’s occupants. A traveling merchant or six were always here, and tonight was no exception. The local merchants were feeding them and plying them with hyly, looking for the best deal on whatever stock they’d brought in. Of course, there were the dozen or so Daggers, all trying to upstage each other with drinking, wrestling, and knives. The card players’ tables were all over full tonight, with dozens of spectators, signaling that some big game was playing out.

Just as she was a little relaxed, a loud thunk announced her food had arrived and made her nearly jump out of her seat. Under the table, her hands had already drawn her dagger and knife. Looking up, her heart racing, she saw it had been Ellar, one of the many servers, who’d brought her meal.

Relax Ticca, relax, the dead stay dead, and it’s safe here. Ellar was very young, maybe twelve years of age, and had been acting increasingly shyer around her for the last few weeks. She looked directly into his eyes and smiled warmly in thanks, as she slipped her weapons back into their sheaths. He turned a bright red, gave a nod, and dashed behind another table with his large tray of plates. His reaction somehow made her feel almost human again. Her mood finally lifted as she watched Ellar retreat. She started giggling. Yep, he has definitely taken to me. Looking at the food, she was surprised to see it actually consisted of some very good cuts of meat, and there were two small loaves, instead of one. I guess there are benefits to giving him a little smile. She grabbed her knife and began eating the fine meal for which this evening’s work was sure to compensate.

It was no surprise that as she was finishing the meal and a second mug, Sula appeared and sat across from her. How does she do that? I would have sworn she wasn’t even in the room a minute ago.



“You’re eating well tonight.”

“With the bits you pay, I can finally afford to not starve.” Looking into Sula’s dark eyes, she smirked. “Course, I’m doing a lot better than your previous thugs.”

Sula looked directly at her and tossed the same insult she had been using since Ticca’s first rapid success. “Yes, using an inconsequential thug has worked out.” A hint of humor tinged the emerald pools of Sula’s eyes. “You can track the next link.”

That was not a question. She obviously can detect that bit of magic she insists I use, Ticca thought, not for the first time. I know she doesn’t follow me. But her information is sometimes too good, especially about what to expect or look for. Again, Ticca worried about exactly what was playing out. Sula had a lot of coin, and the senior Daggers acknowledged her as a serious client. I hope I am working for the right side. My gut says I can trust Sula, but there is something unique about her.



“When you’re done, meet me in your room.” Sula stood. Her clothes were nondescript, neither rich, nor poor. Her cream-colored blouse was loose cut, but not so loose as to hide her obviously large, well-proportioned breasts, as she leaned in closer to say softly, “You might consider a bath and change of clothes first.” Her green skirt matched her eyes and swept all the way to the floor, yet it showed off both her very fine female figure as well as her graceful moves, as she glided away into the crowd around the bard.

Stunned for a moment, Ticca looked down at herself. The whole front of her shirt and pants were caked in drying scum. Her cloak’s edges showed that it, too, was in need of a cleaning. Oh my. I didn’t even notice the alley sludge. I must have it all over my face and neck, too. No wonder, I haven’t had to fend off any drunks yet. Looking around, she realized that nobody cared; after all, dirt was part of life here. Still, it was a little embarrassing, especially after working for cycles to establish herself as a real Dagger.

Shrugging, she decided it was too late to do anything about it. No rush tonight, and I earned this. She leaned against the wooden back of the bench, which was smoothed and rounded from years of customers doing just this. Ticca slowly finished the remains of her meal and savored the last half of her mug of hyly.

Standing, she maneuvered over to the bar. Genne, the owner, came over, after a minute. He looked her over very slowly from head to foot. Any other man, and I’d be pulling my dagger for taking that long a look. But from Genne, I know it’s an assessment of performance. “Trust d’work was good tonight. D’ya wanna bath or jus’ t’bed?” She felt taller at his tone. He thinks I did well enough tonight.

Smiling with satisfaction, she asked, “Is the water hot?” She pulled a pence from her purse and held it where he could see it.

“Ah, d’boy c’n add more coal if’n ya want.”

She handed over the coin with a smile. “I want. Let Ellar know I’ll be there shortly.” Genne closed and opened his hand, and the coin was gone, replaced by a silver key stamped with a pattern. Taking the key from Genne’s palm, she turned and started climbing the six-foot-wide stone steps that started next to the bar, and circled all the way up to the platform four stories overhead. Where the coin had vanished to, she wasn’t sure. I know Genne was raised in this inn. His family has owned the Blue Dolphin for generations, and he is an important part of Dagger actions here. Still, he must have had an interesting past, to be able to pull little tricks like that.

She climbed three stories to the pair of large, warehouse-style, sliding doors at the top, which had an aging sign warning people to clear the platform as fast as possible, should the Emerald Heart pull into port. She smirked at the sign. As if that would ever happen again. She walked down the quiet hall to her room. Seeing her hair check still in place in the upper corner, she unlocked the door. As she opened the door, her left hand gripped her knife hilt, and she cautiously checked for intruders before stepping in.

A little paranoid tonight, she thought as she lit the small oil lamp that served as the only light source in the room. She pulled out some cleaner clothes from her pack on the floor. Laying the newly-acquired boots, belt, and pouches on her bed, she exited again, putting the hair check in a different spot, after the door closed. Turning to the stairs, she saw a couple of people heading down the opposite hallway. She locked the door again and went back down to the baths.

She found the door with a matching symbol to the key Genne had given her. She unlocked the door and stepped in quickly so as to not let too much steam out. Ellar was there, pouring some steaming water into the tub. Finishing, he turned to go down the back stairs to the kitchens, and let out a small squeak of surprise at seeing her in the room, which made her giggle warmly.

“I...I...I... Um, I’m sorry m’lady. I... I didn’t hear you come in.” He obviously wanted to move, but his body was frozen in fear.

“Ellar, relax.” She sighed and stepped toward him. That unfroze his body, and he practically jumped through the back door.

“I...the... I mean, the bath is full an’ hot, lady. Jus’ put your clothes through the panel, and I’ll have them clean for you by morning.” At the mention of clothes, he went an amazing shade of pink. He closed the door so quickly, it caught his foot, which he rapidly extracted.

Smiling, she stripped and put her clothes through the panel, into the waiting basket on the back wall. Then she slowly stepped into the very hot water. After a good cleaning, she examined herself. She had a large bruise that went all the way around her arm, where her attacker had grabbed her. Her right shoulder was slightly swollen, with a number of broken blood vessels causing more areas of darkened flesh. Most of her front was also a patchwork of discoloration. She was sure her neck was just as ugly, and the constant ache in her back told her there was a very large purple area on her back, where he had planted his knee.

She massaged her shoulder and back in the hot water, then relaxed and soaked in the warmth for a time. When the water became cool, she stepped out and rubbed herself down with the coarse towel. Feeling much better, she dressed and went back up to her room.

The hair check was right where she left it. Unlocking the door, she checked the room again, and her gaze fell on the small pile of stuff she had left. Sula should be coming up in a little bit. Now is as good a time as any other. Besides, if I don’t keep busy, I’ll fall asleep.



Since she had light and time, she could see right away that the equipment she had taken from her attacker was not simple fare. The belt was a very fine grade of leather, expertly stitched. The inside of the belt was a soft cloth, in which were various evenly-spaced pockets and bulges. Removing the knife sheaths and pouch from the belt, she knelt on the floor and laid the belt out the length of her bed, with the cloth side up. Feeling along the stitching, she located each item and carefully removed it, placing it on the bed above the pocket it had come out of. Once done, she looked over the assortment of tools. They were all metal with a dull, black patina. She tested each one. Some were very flexible and smooth edged, others had teeth, some were sharply pointed, and others had stiff, but thin, points or teeth of various sizes.

I’ve heard of thieves’ picks, but these are amazing. I doubt this is a beginner set, or even a common set. She went back down the row of tools, picking each tool up and examining it carefully again before putting it back in its assigned pocket. Not sure what I should do with these. I am pretty sure, getting caught with them would be a criminal offense. She rolled the belt up and put it on the bottom of her pack. I am not even sure if I can sell them for anything, or even where it would be safe to try to sell them, except at the Night Market.



Next were the knives. There were five total: four small, identical-looking ones, and one that might be considered a sword, as it was too long to really be a dagger. It was made of an unusual metal with dark, wavy lines running irregularly down the length of the blade. It had the same black patina as the thieves’ tools. It is very light; adjusting for the length, I could use this in a knife fight as easily as a fighting dagger. The knives were typical small knives that could be used as hand tools or thrown. These, she knew how to use. She checked the balance and edge of each knife, smiling the whole time. Very fine knives, I can use these for sure. She spent a little time figuring out how to best arrange the extra knives on her belt. This might work, or I could get one of those cross-chest belts with some hold points for them. Her eyes twinkled, imagining how she’d look with four fine throwing knives on a cross belt. I’ll definitely look a bit more experienced, or at least, more impressive, that way.

She pulled his pouch over. It, too, was very fine quality. She admired the clasp, which was silver with a geometric pattern. It was slightly distressed with age and use, giving it an antiqued look. This is nice; I like the pattern and the look. Opening it, she sat and stared in disbelief. It’s empty! Where did the things I felt in it go? Looking around her room, she couldn’t help feeling a little worried. If someone got in here and stole this, why not take everything else? Why leave the pouch? Her mind was buzzing with a new rush of adrenaline, when a knock on the door made her jump. As she went to the door, the real worry dawned on her. Whoever did this was able to put my hair check precisely where it should be, and at exactly the right length!



The next knock was louder and broke her out of the stupor she was in, staring at the closed door. Shaking her head, she put her key in the door. “Yes?”

Sula’s voice came through the door. “Was the bath hot?”

She opened the door, and Sula stepped inside. Closing the door again, she tried to regain her composure. “Yes, it was extremely hot, and I really needed it.” She locked the door, leaving the key in the lock.

Sniffing the air, Sula nodded. “Yes, you did. So what happened to get you so filthy and not even notice it?”

Shrugging, she stepped back to the bed and plopped down on it. “I was mugged on the way back by the Knife from three days ago.” Sula’s eyes brightened. Is she curious or mad?



“You were tagged. Are you sure it was the Knife?” Her voice was as steady and calm as ever but her eyes were slightly narrowed.

“Absolutely positive; he asked who I was working for and what the spell I tossed was.”

“What happened? Would you please tell me every detail?” It sounded like a question, but it was an order, like many of the other things Sula said. She always sounded so polite and never demanding, but there was never any doubt, one should do as she asked. Sula sat down in the room’s only chair, by the small table. Her back was as straight as a sword, feet tucked just so, and her hands were folded perfectly in her lap.

She has to be from a very high family. That kind of relaxed perfection is trained over a lifetime. Shrugging, Ticca explained, starting at the market. She had been expecting this, and had put together the narrative while bathing. Sula listened patiently and only interrupted to ask for more details, or to double-check a fact. When she was finished, Ticca reclined leisurely on the bed, and Sula sat, thinking quietly for several minutes.

“This might not be a total disaster.”

“Look, there was no way anyone could have been more careful,” Ticca started, defensively.

“No, no. That isn’t what I mean,” Sula cut her off. “He must have been better than we estimated. He probably only picked you up because of the spell. That he sensed it, is a real surprise.” She held her hand up to prevent Ticca from interrupting again.

“If the Knife sensed the spell, then the Hand might have sensed it, too.” She shook her head. “I doubt he had time to tell anyone, which is the one really good luck point here.” Looking at Ticca, her eyes softened for the first time in the cycles Ticca had known her. “You’ve never killed anyone before.”

Again, it was a statement, not a question. Ticca couldn’t help it. She looked down as her throat closed up, and her eyes watered at the thought. She tried hard not to let Sula see the slight tremor that occurred in her hands, as she first looked at them as the hands of a killer.

Reaching over, Sula put a hand on her knee very gently. “I am truly sorry. But you should know you did the right thing. I am sure he would have killed you without any remorse.”

Sula withdrew her hand and pretended to think for a few minutes, giving Ticca time to regain control.

Ticca straightened up. “It was bound to happen sometime.” Instead of the never-you-mind tone she was aiming for, it sounded more like a squeak.

Smiling, Sula pretended it had come out as Ticca had intended. “May I please have the spell vessel back?”

Ticca pulled the small, bronze-colored cylinder from her pouch by the bed. In the light, it looked like an ordinary metal tube, but when holding it, Ticca could feel where her fingers should go, and it was sized perfectly for her hand. Ticca knew that was no accident, as Sula had measured her hand the day she hired her. She handed it over, and Sula carefully accepted it without actually touching it. Instead, she took it using a shiny white cloth, which she then wrapped around it carefully and tightly, before putting the package in her belt pouch.

“May I please see this elixir the assassin was going to use on you?”

Ticca produced the glass vial and handed it over.

Sula examined it carefully and sniffed at the seals. After holding the vial upright and tapping it, she pulled the stopper off. Ticca jumped up in surprise and moved away. Sula looked at her with amusement. “If I was going to kill you, I’d do it someplace less obvious, and in a way that would give you no chance to react.”

“Yes, well, that stuff is likely dangerous, and you just broke the seal.”

“True, but this particular vial is designed to be opened and resealed many times.” She continued to examine the liquid, very carefully smelling it from a distance before putting the seal back into place. “Vanedicha.”

“Huh?” Ticca looked curiously at the resealed vial and sat back down. Tonight has had way too many surprises.

“Vanedicha is a poison that induces a kind of trance if a small amount is inhaled. It kills, if you actually get a large dose.” Surprisingly, Sula handed the vial back. “A couple of drops on the upper lip under the nose are enough to cause one to become like an empty shell for about three marks. When you start to wake up, you are amazingly cooperative, forthcoming, and honest for about a mark. Three or four doses within a week will cause death. It is very sweet, and will mix with hyly or a sweet wine almost imperceptibly, and cause a painless, sleeping death in about three minutes.”

Ticca sat there holding the vial, staring at Sula. “How...? Why would you...? Am I to use…?” was all she could manage to say.

A charming, musical laugh filled the room. “Oh my dear, no. I just don’t want you misusing it or experimenting with it.”

Shaking her head to clear it, she stared at the lady. “Why not take it?”

“Well, that would be impractical. It does answer some questions, though.”

“What questions?”

“For one, if he had told anyone of you yet, and the answer is no. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be trying to capture you.” Sula’s smile turned a little knowing. “If he had, they would have told him to kill you outright.” Sula stood up. “I have to report in myself, and there are a number of things to be done.”

Ticca stood, as well. “I’ll pick up the Hand tomorrow and start tracking him.”

Sula walked over to the door and held up a hand. “No, I think it best if you find something else to do for a while. We have to determine if the Hand sensed the spell.” Sula considered a moment. “It will take up to a week, possibly a cycle, to determine if anything has changed unexpectedly. In the meantime, it would be best if you went about your business as usual, so as to not attract undue attention. In fact, it might be good for you to take on small tasks while we check on the results of this evening’s turn of events.”

Ticca felt a sharp pain of concern. “You mean I should put up my dagger?”

Sula reached into her purse and produced a fistful of something, holding it out. “Yes. However, I am in no way finished with your services. I promise I’ll be a repeat client.”

Ticca held out her hand, and Sula opened hers, dropping four small, gold coins into her hand. Ticca’s mouth dropped open. “Four crowns! Are you serious? I was only expecting a cross.”

Sula smiled. “Of course, I am serious. I want you to keep a room here at the Blue Dolphin, where I can find you when I need you. After all, only the really talented Daggers can afford to rent a permanent room at the Dolphin.” Sula turned and unlocked the door. “Doing so will let me find you, and will get you some nice local jobs with silly nobles, both of which will likely help when I come looking for you again.”

With that, Sula slipped out of the room, gently closing the door behind her.

Ticca locked the door. She laid out the coins on the table. Touching them in order, she counted again. Four crowns so she can find me again! If I get a small room here, this will last almost six cycles. If I start Daggering, I can probably earn enough to stay here as long as I stay alive. Touching the coins, she thought, Gold crowns. Now I know she is nobility. Even high-earning merchants don’t normally carry gold.



Ticca took the coins, put them in the new pouch, and set it aside. She looked at the glass vial on her bed. How did Sula know all that about the poison? Where could someone with such an obviously good upbringing go to learn such things? Shaking her head, she picked up the vial and examined the stopper again. So I can open and close this many times. With an average dose being only a couple of drops, there is enough here to last almost forever.



She put the glass vial on the table and picked up the new boots. She loved beautiful boots, and these were unbelievable. The leather felt soft and warm. She ran her hands over every inch, examining all the beautiful handiwork. The stitching was fine and even, running together in an endless string. The interior was lined with an unusual kind of fur. She wasn’t sure what it was. Being raised as a trapper and skinner made her wonder how far these boots had come. A real shame, they were made for a man’s foot. I bet they’d be comfortable and warm year round. Looking at the boots more closely, she noted that they really weren’t much bigger than her own.

Slipping her foot into one was like putting on a well-worn and loved glove. It fit perfectly. She slipped on the second. They fit like they had been made for her alone. How can this be? It was dark, but what are the odds, a random Knife bent on capturing and killing me would have feet exactly the same size as me? She stood up and moved around the room. They really did fit, and they felt amazing. The unique fur lining made them very comfortable, and it was on the interior bottom too, which she thought was odd, as it would wear quickly. But it didn’t compress as much as she thought it would, and felt almost like walking on soft, grassy ground.

I am too tired to reason this through. Feeling warm, clean, well fed, and comfortable, she lay down on the bed and fell asleep, still wearing her new boots.