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“Of course it was Leofric,” said Osric, helping himself to a cock. (Leofric was his sometimes partner. Also a consummate sex pest.)

“You’ve taken care of the Painswick merchant?” asked Tristane.

“I have,” said Osric. “Dismembered and left on display in the window, as requested.”

“Excellent. Your steward can collect payment at the Dog’s Bollocks.Are you looking for another job, or would you like some time off to enjoy the fruits of your labour?”

“What else have you got?”

Tristane slid an envelope towards Osric. “A grievance between gentlemen. London. Our regular fee for the killing, with a fifty percent bonus if you make it look accidental.”

Osric took the envelope. “Done.”

“The client has indicated that a drowning would be preferred, but they leave the final decision to you.” Tristane scribbled a note to herself, then asked, “How are things otherwise?”

The question put Osric on alert; Tristane didn’t do chitchat.

“Fine,” lied Osric. “Why do you ask?”

“You weren’t in on Thursday,” said Tristane. “I’d wanted to introduce you to the new recruits. Did you forget?”

Tristane fixed Osric with a sedulous eye. Osric’s mouth went dry around his pasty.

“Shit,” said Osric.

“Effectivement,”said Tristane.

“Sorry. I had another thing come up.”

“Was the thing that came up your penis?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Tristane sat back in her chair. The perfect isosceles triangle that was her hair swung with the movement, then settled back into its sharp black angles. “You were seen at the Randy Unicorn. Was there some emergency? You were overdue for a ball massage, perhaps?”

“Ah,” said Osric. “Yes. The Randy. Iwasthere. You’re right. All my apologies—I forgot that I had another commitment.”

Tristane studied Osric in silence. Lying came easily to him, however, and he met her gaze with a look that conveyed that he was sheepish due to a poorly scheduled rub and tug—and not that he had missed her event because he had biffed off to hot springs at the full moon with aHaelan in the harebrained pursuit of a cure for an incurable disease that would kill him if Tristane didn’t.

“Sorry,” said Osric again, producing an abashed grimace for good measure.

Osric rarely displeased Tristane. She therefore compartmentalised her annoyance and did not further probe his ill-timed testicular massages.

She returned to the subject of the new recruits. “A promising lot. With them trained up, I don’t think it’ll be possible for the Dreor to ever catch up with our numbers again.”

Osric whistled. “They really haven’t managed to replenish their ranks since the Winter War.”

“No. As far as I’m concerned, they’re functionally extinct. I’ve always said they’re too selective as an Order. There are only so many individuals with the right build, the right propensities, and the right…mind.”

“Or lack thereof.”

“Exactly,” said Tristane. “However, I can’t be too smug. We’ll be losing one of our number soon.”

“Oh?”

“Noldovite.”

“What about him?”