Calliope came to the arena again the next day, and this time I was there. I watched her berate Chapel as he tried to reason with her. I watched her show of disrespect until finally there could be no more watching. Chapel saw me walk toward them from the shadows of the arena wall.

"Malachai," he gasped, his temper high and his face flushed from arguing, "I'm glad you're here. I need you to find Dismal."

I saw how he stepped into my path and blocked my way to the woman. He forced a smile. "There's no trouble here, just a lot of hot air. Nothing that I can't handle. But I need you to find Dismal."

The woman shouted her outrage, but I paid no attention. I stared at Chapel, impressed as always at the way he met my eyes.

--One day, Chapel, it will be me she berates and not you. On that day I will not care if you step in my path. I decided how I would kill her two years ago, Chapel, on the day we first met her. Perhaps, one day, I will show you.

--One day. But not today. Today I will pretend that you need me to find Dismal.

"I'm sure you can take care of it," I told him.

Warned him.

"I will look for Dismal."

Pride is a funny thing. When I looked for Dismal I saw a juggler boy with a ruined leg. He juggled like no one I had ever seen. Did he take more pride in his skill for his lack of a leg that was whole? I suspect he did. This is foolish. There is no pride in weakness.

Respect is a funny thing. A Thaecian woman disturbed his routine but he kept on like a master. He showed himself better for her interference and became greater than he was before. But the outcome means nothing: she wronged him. Yet when his show ended the juggler boy walked away with her, and there was no anger in him.

Pride and respect are funny things. I suspect that few people understand them. I have pride in myself and my actions. No one who fails to accord me respect goes unpunished.

Why is that hard to understand?

It took me some time to find Dismal, for he had been working in the Red District posting signs that announced the upcoming matches. The Red District is a winding nest of alleys whose residents will admit to nothing. They lie if pressed. Recent rumor made it worse

-- there was talk of a murder at the gates, and one dead... three... an entire caravan. Some claimed a Bane had been released into the city. Foolish talk, but it scared people and made my search difficult.

When I found Dismal he was in trouble. The people of Maruk are cursed beyond deserving and misfortune smothers Dismal like a sickness. There were three of them, and Dismal was crumpled before them, his posters scattered about the street. One thug shook Dismal's purse in his hand.

They did not know of my approach because I did not wish it. I dropped the first with a fist to the base of his skull, and hurled the second over my shoulder and into the gutter. The third was very fast and I was busy with his comrades. I couldn't feel the sting of his blade across the back of my hand, but I knew I'd been cut.

Respect.

Pride.

I know these things. They are my life and my soul. Blood beaded from the cut on my hand and dripped down my fingers. When pride and respect are assaulted there is no room for mercy.

Perhaps the man saw the look in my eyes or perhaps he was already afraid. Perhaps he merely answered the call of his companion

-- the one who crawled from the gutter and shouted, "Telli! Let's get out of here!"

The knife slipped from my sleeve and into my hand before the man had turned. But I let him run for one second, two, measuring him. I drew back to throw.

"Malachai, don't!" Dismal croaked at me. Dismal is a weakling and a fool.

My knife creased the man's shoulder and clattered into the cobblestones, and then the man was around the corner with his companion and they were gone. I helped Dismal to his feet. He gently dabbed at his bleeding nose.

"Hell, Malachai, I thought you were going to kill that guy!"

As if, in the midst of our schemes, I would ruin everything by murdering a thief in a back alley scuffle. As well to hand my head to Calliope on a silver plate. Pride demands that insult be avenged, and it would be. Not then, but someday.

"Chapel needs to see you," I told him, and I retrieved my knife. There was blood on the blade, as I wished. I am no spell-binder and I never will be, but I know some of the dark secrets of the dweomer. With my hunting magic and a drop of his blood, Telli could never escape me.

In a few days, there would be a mysterious death with no killer ever to be found. Telli would die and the people of the Red District would hunch their shoulders and whisper of a Bane loose in their city. Foolish. Banes do not kill with knives.

DRB

I Don't Believe the Hype
II Beauty and the Beast
IV A Quiet Little Conversation with a Few Friends
V The Lurker in the Shadows

Next: Half a Life II: A Long, Strange Day

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