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“I needed help and she was kind enough to take me in,” said Fairhrim.

Cerys, bolstered by Thoughts and Prayers, plunged through the brawl towards them to keep abreast of the situation. Osric jumped when he discovered that Madam Miffle was beside him. He asked her, in a startled whisper, how in Hel’s name she had got there, and she answered, “Tunnels.”

Fairhrim gestured her two guardians away with a low wave of her hand. Cerys and Madam Miffle backed off, and, incidentally, did not charge Choking Hazard their outrageous fee for conversation with Fairhrim, which was distinctly unjust.

Choking Hazard did not notice any of these subtleties because he was staring atMake It Bounceon Fairhrim’s arse.

“What are you drinking?” asked Choking Hazard.

“Oh, nothing tonight,” said Fairhrim. “It’s my first night out. I’m not to drink or take any clients.”

“Madam Miffle’ll forgive me for getting you a drink. I’ve given her enough custom over the years.” Choking Hazard gestured to the barkeep and ordered Fairhrim a double whiskey, too.

He snatched the drinks in one hand, and Fairhrim’s arm in the other, and brought both to his table.

Osric gave them a few minutes, then joined a game of cards at the next table. He noted that Fairhrim was being watched by a great many eyes; every woman in the place found excuses to pass her table and assess her well-being. Cerys was particularly watchful, to the extent that Choking Hazard raised his hands and said, “I’m not fucking doing anything.” Cerys patted him on the head and moved along.

Osric did not think of Making It Bounce.

Fairhrim did not appear to like the whiskey, but sipped at it gamely as Choking Hazard described his favourites of Madam Miffle’s girls, and what he liked to do with them, and then, in vulgar detail, what he wished to do with Fairhrim.

“You got a dress?” he asked. “A big, poufy dress?”

“Erm—I’d have to have a look—”

“Right. You check. I want you to dress like a princess. You look like you just stepped out of a fucking fairy-tale castle.”

(What an idiot. Fairhrim lived in a fortress.)

Choking Hazard shouted towards the bar for a plate of something to eat. The barkeep shouted at him to go fuck himself.

“Speaking of castles,” said Fairhrim, shuffling a bit closer to Choking Hazard, “did you hear that someone attacked Swanstone?”

(Subtle, Fairhrim. Very subtle.)

“Where did you hear that?” asked Choking Hazard.

“Some men were discussing it in here earlier,” said Fairhrim, with the vaguest of gestures around the pub.

“Which men?”

“Erm—I’m not sure. I think they’ve left.”

Fairhrim wasn’t good at playing stupid, but this performance was, apparently, passable enough for Choking Hazard. “No,” he said. “I hadn’t heard that.”

The topic should have come to a natural close at that juncture, of course, but Fairhrim hadn’t got what she wanted. She allowed none of her frustration to show on her face; Osric saw it in the twist of a lace glove under the table.

Choking Hazard dragged Fairhrim’s chair closer to him, so close that her thigh rode up against his. He stopped her from pulling away with a hand on her knee.

There was a sudden stillness among the ladies in the room. Osric noticed it only because he had, himself, gone still, as he decided where to amputate Choking Hazard’s arm because he had touched his Haelan.

A woman passing behind Choking Hazard raised a tray over the back of his head, ready to bludgeon him with it.

Choking Hazard, oblivious to all, said, “You’re shy. I like that. We’re going to have fun, soon as your minders let you off the lead.”

Fairhrim removed Choking Hazard’s hand from her person; he grabbed her again. She squirmed off her chair; he snatched her thigh and held her to him.

Osric should have enjoyed her discomfort—he did like to see her suffer. Instead, he found himself seething with a low churn of rage. His blaecblade itched to draw a deep line across Choking Hazard’s oily neck.