Mistworld (Deathstalker Prelude) by Simon R. Green Page B

the moment he drew a weapon on her, but here in her private booth there was no one to help her. Cyder wasn’t particularly worried. It would take a lot more than Jamie Royal to worry her. She reached casually for her goblet, and even managed a small chuckle.
    “Come on, Jamie. You’re not the only one who can work things out. Who else would take care of all your debts in return for one memory crystal? Put the knife away; you’re in Thieves Quarter, remember? I don’t give a damn who anyone works for, as long as their money’s good.”
    She sipped slowly at her wine, studying Jamie warily over the goblet’s rim. He nodded abruptly, and his knife disappeared back into his sleeve. He pulled his threadbare cloak about him, and tried for some kind of dignity.
    “We all do what we have to,” he said flatly. “I’ll be back in an hour for the crystal. Don’t waste my time with a duplicate.”
    Cyder nodded, and Jamie left without saying goodbye. Cyder finished the wine in her goblet, her lips thinning away from the dregs. With fewer ships than ever touching down at Mistport, good wine grew scarce, along with everything else. Cyder had run the Blackthorn tavern well since she’d won it in a poker game, but unless things improved soon, she’d probably lose it to her creditors. With so little around worth stealing, she barely made enough from her fencing to pay the bills as it was. Which was why Cyder dealt with Empire agents. Hard times breed hard people.
    She rose gracefully to her feet and swept out of her private booth. The fight between the two Wampyr was over and the loser was being dragged away. Cyder smiled and nodded as she made her way through the crowded bar, bestowing a cheerful word here and a merry wave there, her long, silvery hair tossing from side to side. It was a long way to her private stairway at the back of the tavern, but somehow she kept on smiling. Keep the customers happy, love, keep the customers happy .
    Cat ran swiftly across the tiled and gabled roofs, jumping casually from level to level over drops that would have turned the stomach of any observer. More than once he climbed easily up sheer walls where the untrained eye would have sworn there were no foot-or handholds to be had, and his white-clad figure became nothing more than a dim blur in the curling mists as he drove himself unrelentingly on. He was late, and he knew it. After escaping from the Siren, he’d followed his normal routine and found himself a safe hole to hide in while the immediate hue and cry blew over. He’d slept through the day and awakened to find it already evening. Throwing off the Siren’s attack must have taken more out of him than he’d realised. He’d checked the time by the Main Square clock, winced, and then headed for the Blackthorn as fast as he could. Cyder didn’t like him to be late.
    He ran nimbly across a slanting, snow-covered roof and threw himself out into space across a dark, narrow alleyway. The ground was a long way down, but Cat didn’t care. Heights had never bothered him. He landed easily on the steep tiled roof opposite, and padded carefully down to the edge. He sank down on his haunches, glanced quickly about him, and then slithered over the edge of the roof to hang by his heels from a precarious outcrop of guttering. The stout wooden shutters below him were closed and bolted. Cat hammered on them with his fist, waited impatiently, and then hammered again. There was a long pause. Cat had just drawn back his fist to try again when the shutters flew suddenly open, almost taking his head with them. Cat took a firm hold on the two solid steel hoops set specially into the stonework above the shutters, and swung lithely down and in through the window. Cyder helped him in, and then leaned out the window to look quickly around. The street below was deserted, and all the nearby windows were still securely shuttered. Cyder pulled her shutters closed and slammed the bolts home.
    Inside, a blazing