I nodded at Terence on the other side of the nondescript door, hoping he'd understand a signal of readiness. We were in another alley, this one marginally less dark but equally pongy.

Pennylast was a mess of a town, grown up like urban mould and an unkempt haircut around what started as a few market stalls at a crossroads. It was about as organised as an angry mob and the Watch, whilst well established by now, was still new enough that some questioned its authority.

Like any frontier town, Pennylast had enforcers before it had police.

I took in the sigil carved into the door we were flanking. Two hands encompassed a building - possibly protectively, definitely with the ability to crush. Was this a bad idea? Yes. Was it a dangerous idea? Yes. Was I going to do it anyway?

"Terence," I whispered. "We're moving fast to a room up the stairs at the back. Follow me and hit anything that tries to kill us, but don't stop. Fists at first but blade if you have to."

He smiled and his razor stubble pulsed on his cheeks like spiky chainmail. His silver hair framed those deep, dark eyes on its way to tickling his shoulders - shoulders so bunched with muscle, they looked like knotted ropes in an orgy. Lindon was the prettiest of the Companions, no doubt, but Terence emanated raw, visceral grunt in a way the elf could only dream of. Could somebody be both terrifyingly dangerous and ruggedly handsome at the same time? My tummy said yes, and it wasn't the only part of me.

"Go!"

Even as the word left my throat, he was moving. Leading with a shoulder, he turned into the door and it flapped inward like a curtain. The crash reverberated around the alley like a bin lid percussion band. Cats squealed, vagrants moaned and questioning voices shouted out. Yep, speed was going to be our only option. Terence reached into the building and his fist came out holding a guy in black leather formal armour by the hair. The guy's mouth opened to shout and got two barbarian fingers stuffed in it.

He snorted. "Fngan cmff!"

Terence smiled in response and hurled the guard spinning to the ground, spouting vomit and choking noises as he went.

Not a moment to lose! I plunged into the opening, sliding my fighting dirks into my hands as I moved. The corridor beyond passed in a blur of dark shades and surprised sound effects. The thumping behind me told me Terence was keeping pace, so I forged ahead through a small bar with no windows and such a strong odour of vodka, I almost passed out. Falling back on instincts, I allowed distant memory to guide my feet - through a store room, another hallway, and into a brightly lit lobby with a giant staircase.

At the front of the building, a grand entranceway was dominated by sun and a wall of security guards who thankfully hadn't reacted yet. Two more stood either side of the bottom of the stairs. Without slowing, I ran full-tilt into the second one, knocking him backwards to polish the tile floor with his arse. I turned to head up the stairs and caught a glimpse of the other guard being hurled towards a group of onlookers like a ragdoll frisbee. Ouch.

The stairs took me up and to one side, where a thin man in a very neat butler's outfit met me with a silver tray in his hands. He took one look at my approaching form, glanced at my face, and backed out of the way, hands held aloft. I winked at him as I barrelled past and tried not to wince when I heard Terence deck him behind me.

A final corridor took us to the rear of the first floor and a door marked 'Staff Only' - my destination, and a place I feared more than most. As I approached, slowing to a walk, a guard slipped from inside the room and closed the door, positioning himself before it. He was holding a sword in that way that looks casual but just means he's been holding one so long, it might as well be part of his hand. His jaw was set firm, cheeks pocked and skin webbed with a patina of scars. I wagered this guy had been fighting since he and his twin both wanted the same tit to suckle on. He wasn't about to let me in.

As I closed, he tilted his head slightly to one side and raised his eyebrows, apparently not believing I really wanted to fight him. He was right, but it wasn't going to stop me. I raised my dirks threateningly and, as he placed himself in a stance, swept my leg up to knee him in the balls. He winced and folded slightly, one hand dropping, which gave Terence the chance, when I ducked out the way, to land a fist on the guy's temple.

I inclined my head towards the door and a barbarian foot sent it flying open. We burst into the room, weapons brandished, and I did a little adding up while everyone was still adjusting.

"Well, smack my arse with a laughing hobbit," said a voice so rich, it could be rendered in chocolate. "I never thought I'd see the day."

We were in a room carpeted with plush rugs and draped in leather - leather curtains, leather maps and leather ... let's call it adult apparel and leave it there. The guy who spoke reclined behind a solid desk in an ornate wooden chair with definite throne-like elements. He was broad and built like a suit of armour, but soft of face. He had a smile full of gold and a warm heart protected by a soul of black ice. One minute gentle, the next homicidal - a real scary chap. I know all this because he also happens to be my ex-boyfriend.

Of more immediate concern were the four guards now surrounding us with weapons drawn and senses of humour buried so deep, no light ever tickled them. They were ready to chop us up for pet food at a moment's notice and only two things stopped them. First - Terence is bigger and scarier than a yeti on a diet of magic mushrooms, and he's got half as much empathy. Second - the man behind the desk clearly knew me, and these guys weren't going to risk slicing me up until they got at least a nod of approval.

All of which was simultaneously tense and empowering.

"Hi there, Don. Got a minute to catch up?" I tried for a winning, cheeky smile while brandishing two dirks and matching glares with the armed men around me. I'm not sure I succeeded.

"Got one question," said Terence into the thick silence that followed.

"What's that?"

"What's a Cloister Sister and how were you one - before, with the mad one?"

I sighed so hard, I felt my nostrils flare. "Really - you're asking me about that now?"

The guy behind the desk sat back, folding hands across his stomach, and filled the room with the sickly bass of his words. "I got all day, honey. I can wait - why don't you go ahead and answer your impressive friend."

"You could say I used to go to school with her." I shrugged. "It was a long time ago - it's not important."

Terence scowled. "Was important to her."

Ancient feelings tugged at my stomach. You know when you think you're over something, then some git asks you about it in a way you can't sidestep? I've dished out spankings for less, but Terence is ... well, let's just say, he'd either enjoy it or not even notice.

"It was a school for ... troubled girls, run by nuns." The four guys with weapons aimed at us were starting to smirk. "Can we talk about this later? I feel like you just pulled all my armour off and these are not guys I'd choose to get naked with. Sorry fellas - no offence." I turned to address the guy behind the desk. "Come on, Don. Is this really necessary?"

"Damn, honey - you ask me that with a straight face? I still got the scars from last time I pissed you off."

I shrugged. "Who says I'm pissed off?"

He grinned and there was a spark there of old times. "I bet at least three of my staff regret your visit here already. They probably think you're a teeny bit peeved. Come on, honey, tell Uncle Don what's wrong."

"I ... I got shot at. And some folk got killed with magic. Really nasty magic."

"And what do you want Uncle Don to do about it?"

I deflated inside. "Damn it, I came in here to be angry and demanding and willing to cut your grinning face clean off your skull if you didn't help."

"Boss?" One of the guards inched closer, his weapon point wobbling.

Don smiled. "Let her talk, but don't let down your guard just yet. She's unpredictable, is my Rozzy."

"I need to know." I turned a slow circle, weapon points ready. As friendly as Don managed to sound, I knew he'd grab and tie us up the moment we let our guards down. His entire business was mitigating risk. "Are you invested in the redevelopment of Belly Row?"

He smiled, one hand lifting to stroke a short, salt and pepper beard. "Oh, you mean those murdered folks. I heard they just got offed because they took a buy-out deal for their house."

I widened my eyes at him sarcastically.

"Fine," he sighed. "But it really bugs me when people don't ask the question they actually want answered. If I didn't know you better, I'd say you've been hanging out with watch detectives. To answer what you asked, yes - I have a stake in the redevelopment. If it comes through, my organisation will make a tidy profit. However," he held up a finger. "I'll do just fine if it doesn't, too - I always hedge my bets. You know this."

We matched gazes for a while until I nodded in concession.

"Thank you." He shifted in his seat. "So, to answer what you actually want to know, no - I didn't have them killed. Magic isn't my style. I'd have sent the boys to make them a ... better offer." He smiled broadly. "Dead men don't make me money."

I snorted. "You should join forces with the Carmen Union - they seem to share your values."

"I'll pretend you didn't say that." He shifted in his seat. "I don't like this magic business. It leaves a bad taste in the mouth."

"And about fifty arrows through the gullet." I was pleased to see him wince - a convincingly unprepared reaction. "Come on, Don, you know where I'm going with this. Someone wanted the other folk on Belly Row to get the blame for this, but magic like that doesn't come cheap and shit for sure none of the neighbours have that kind of power."

He shrugged. "I can see where your thinking took you. Someone with vested interests, lots of cash, and absolutely no conscience arranged this." He grinned. "You're looking for a crime boss, alright. I think you just picked the wrong one."

Crap!

"Frankly," he continued, "I'm more concerned about you being shot at. Like it or not, I still consider you under my protection. I can't help you with your investigation - families is families, as it were, and there are rules - but I promise you by the dirt we walk on, I'll find whatever toe-rag took a pop at my Rozzy. I'll deliver him to you presently."

A commotion sounded in the hallway outside the door - marching feet and clanking metal. The four guards looked back and forth frantically, unsure which threat to respond to, and I tightened my grip on my dirks, ready to seize any opportunity.

Uncle Don rolled his eyes. "What now? Can't a man enjoy some quiet reflection in his office?"

An impressive moustache entered the room, followed closely by Sergeant Mastik. He stopped abruptly when he saw me and I enjoyed the sight of ten marching watchmen trying to avoid a pile-up on the back of their boss.

"Hmm," he said, squinting. "Okay, I'm going to ask that everybody here, whomever they may be representing, drops their weaponry immediately." He sighed as several clanks sounded behind him, closing his eyes momentarily in obvious pain. "Not you, constables. I was referring to the combat-ready inhabitants of this room prior to our entrance." I waited until each watchman had picked his weapon back up before lowering my dirks slowly into their sheaths. Don's guards, after checking with the man himself, followed suit. After several significant looks that he completely ignored, I told Terence to sheath his own weapon.

"That's better," I said, rolling my shoulders to a chorus of clicks. "Much longer, and I've have been stuck like that, arms out like a statue of a dancing loony." I smiled at Mastik's calculated expression. "Not sure I'd take to life as a scarecrow."

"What do you want, Mastik?" said Don, arms held out to his sides. "I don't know why you think there's anything criminal going on around here. Your people are always watching me - when would I have a chance to do naughty things?"

Mastik reached up to twirl his facial hair. "Naughty people do naughty things," he said, his tone almost distracted. "It's been my experience that they always find a way." He beckoned a finger in my direction. "Can we speak out in the corridor?"

I gestured to Terence and waved to Uncle Don. "I think we're done here, so I'll take the opportunity to leave without having to give anyone a good kicking."

Don winked at me. "Burst in here again, and your friend Mastik won't be escorting you out. He'll be soaking you up off the floor with those skirts you're hiding behind."

We shuffled past the squad of watchmen and I did my best to keep the relief from my face. This job wasn't doing anything for my nerves, and I was dredging up altogether too many ghosts from my past. If I wasn't careful, I'd soon run out of good will.

"It seems," said Mastik once we were alone, "that our investigations have brought us to a similar conclusion. What brought you here?"

I smiled. "I think we annoyed and threatened the right people, since I managed to get shot at. It's becoming clear only a crime boss fits the bill for being behind this." I struck a thumb in the direction of the crowded office. "There's more leather in there than a bovine fetish club, especially with your men in attendance, but I'm pretty sure the guilty party's not present." I couldn't help grinning at his pained expression. "How about you - what leads drew you to this place?"

"We have a man back at the yard with a knack for understanding the criminal element. He opined that our killer, or at least the one behind the killing, felt entitled and resented the targets whilst being dismissive of them. Whoever it was needs the poorer classes to enable them, but has no respect for their lives." He smiled, his expression that of somebody in on an exclusive truth. "That told me we're after somebody rich but likely from poor roots - so no aristocrat." He paused a moment, glancing twice at Terence and shaking is head. "I thought briefly of merchants, but most merchants rely on all classes to sell their goods. They would have no reason to be so dismissive of the less well off ... I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Does your colleague have his badge pinned through his nipple?"

The barbarian thrust himself forward proudly, shoving his badge in Mastik's face (hey, look - another sentence I wish I could retract!). I nodded. "Well, that is his normal work attire, so it makes some sort of sense. He's very proud of that star. He thinks it means free food and drink everywhere in town."

Mastik sighed. "As do a worrying number of my comrades."

"So," I said, snapping his attention back to me. "Ruling out aristocrats and merchants brought you to the same conclusion as me - organised crime. And if we rule out Uncle Don, that really only leaves us one possibility, no matter how much I wish otherwise."

"Just so. Still, I do need something resembling proof." He looked as happy about that fact as a blacksmith who's proudly finished a sword, only to get an order for a thousand.

I smiled and it felt cold. "I don't."

A twitch that might have indicated a smile tugged at one corner of Mastik's lips. "Well, I need to question Uncle Don - at length. I estimate it will take me a long time to get around to my next suspect. You and your team should continue your own enquiries. Please, please," he widened his eyes at me and lowered his voice, "make sure you carry a big stick."

I nodded my understanding. "I keep my enemies close, and my big sticks closer. Look after yourself, Sergeant."

Terence and I left by the main entrance and I did my best to ignore the sullen glares of several employees. An additional squad of heavily armed watchmen occupied the lobby, holding several people in place with pointy metal and angry expressions. The whole scene was about as comfortable as a barbed wire toilet seat after a drunken spicy food binge.

As we emerged into the sun, my barbarian colleague turned to me. "Who do we have to kill?"

"Thank you for waiting until we were out of earshot - you're learning, my friend." I pointed along the street. "We need to meet the others and figure out a plan because the person we need to kill," I met his eyes, "is someone I've tangled with before. It's-"

"ROZ, COME QUICK, I NEED YOU," roared a voice directly into my brain.

"Dirt molests a donkey!" I shouted. "Lindon, is that you?"

"YES, IT WORKED! I WASN'T SURE I COULD DO THIS."

"Whore's bells, elf, you need more practice! Talk to Terence, will you? He might be able to take it."

The barbarian winced, raising meaty hands to cover his ears. A wetness on my upper lip turned out to be blood trickling from one nostril. My ears were actually ringing, but inside my head. Yeah, I know that doesn't make such sense, but sense is the first victim in our line of work.

After a few moments, Terence stopped wincing. Plugging one nostril with a thumb, he blew out a bloody clump that looked ready to propagate a new species. I swallowed the heave rising through my body. "Come on then - what did the little Lindon in your head say?"

He turned, blinking, to look at me. "Trouble."