McKenzie emerged from the drang house carrying a large, jangling sack in one hand and dragging the inert form of an armoured man with the other. Smoke was already starting to issue from the upper windows. If the wind was right, a lot of people were about to get a free hit.

Onza pulled the carriage up right outside – the windows were covered, and she was wearing a scarf to obscure her features.

The door swung open and Cemas emerged dragging the struggling mage behind him, wrapped up in the thaumatonet. The man was gagged, and protesting desperately and volubly. McKenzie stepped smartly out of the way, wary of the thaumatonet.

"Don't be ages," he told Cemas as he strode past. The man made no response – he was either extremely quiet, or a mute. McKenzie hefted the bag of stolen gold into the carriage, hefted the unconscious man in after, and then removed a cloth from a pocket in the door.

Onza looked slightly uncomfortable.

"He's called Daran," McKenzie said.

"What? Who is?" Onza asked him.

"This geezer here," McKenzie indicated the open carriage door. "'Run, Daran, for fuck's sake!', I distinctly heard a bloke shout at him before I threw a knife into him. Daran's knife, as it happens, took it off him while he was trying to stop me. Bit braver than the others, is Daran here, or maybe just crazier or more stupid. You'd be amazed how often they all add up to the same thing."

"Why do I need to know his name?" Onza asked, affecting scorn.

"'Cos I want someone else to, besides me. Spread the guilt a bit," McKenzie said, as he wiped blood from his hands with the cloth. "Look: I've got covert intervention all over myself. Left it all over the walls and floor, too. It's hell to get out of carpets, is covert intervention."

"Are you trying to make some sort of point?" Onza asked. She was aiming for 'breezy unconcern tempered with sarcasm', McKenzie thought, but she was actually hitting 'profound discomfort'.

"Not really," McKenzie sighed, and chucked the towel back into the carriage. "Not as much fun, is it, when it's not a bunch of fucking zoo animals."

"Did everything go according to plan?" Onza asked him, voice a bit steadier.

"What fucking plan would that be? I went in and killed a bunch of random people. Yay. All hail the conquering fucking hero," he said drily, then reached into the carriage and jerked something loose from Daran's belt. A flask – he opened it, sniffed it, and then took a drink. "Good man, Daran. Thanks. You want some?" He held it up to Onza.

"What is it?" She asked suspiciously.

"Alcohol," McKenzie said. "Strong. Doesn't taste too bad. Daran's finished with it, I reckon."

"Isn't it a bit early to be drinking?" Onza asked him, turning away.

"You didn't just kill a dozen or so people in furtherance of the rather shady goals of a dodgy character in return for unspecified help in rescuing someone who might not even need it and might not even deserve it," McKenzie told her. "I reckon it's an okay time for a drink."

"You always seem to," Onza commented.

McKenzie was about to reply when his phone chirped. He dug it out of his trouser pocket – he was wearing 'local' clothes, mostly black, with a few bits of leather armour underneath a cloak. He had a shortsword dangling from his hip and a crossbow slung over his back, although he'd only used the former, and then only for the look of the thing.

"You weren't supposed to bring that," Onza said, looking at the phone.

"Sue me," McKenzie replied.

It was the mysterious source again: "In the spirit of co-operation: a known associate of the vampire Jenata just delivered a message to the Melindronian embassy purporting to be from you. Contents unknown. Reciprocate this spirit of co-operation by keeping this intel to yourself."

"Hmm. Well fucking fancy that," McKenzie commented, then replied. "Consider it reciprocated: I'll shut up. PS this phone is not a secure channel, but as *you're* probably the people it's not secure from and as a thank you I offer you this: L the W is leaving earth and coming here, if you didn't know already"

That, he thought, couldn't possibly harm him, but it could hurt Lemuel's cause a bit.

The reply came almost immediately: "Received with thanks. You are correct in that your phone is not secure, but also correct that it's not secure only from *us*. However, we seem to be approaching a friendly working relationship here, no? We'll be in touch again, if you survive".

McKenzie smirked. "You end your texts that way far too often. Think positive FFS. PS, a friendly working relationship depends on not fucking with anyone back there that I wouldn't want you to fuck with. If you've been listening in you'll know who I mean.

There was no reply to that. McKenzie wondered if he could trust this enigmatic source of information. They'd been right so far, if short on details. It couldn't hurt to cultivate this contact, whoever he/she or they were – best case scenario, they had a way home they were willing to share, sell or rent. He wasn't getting his hopes up, though.

Cemas emerged, alone, from the building. There were actual flames, now, and people in the street were starting to notice that something bad was happening.

McKenzie pocketed his phone again. "Your carriage awaits," he said sarcastically to Cemas, who ignored him completely and just got into said carriage. McKenzie followed him in and closed the door. Onza cracked the whip, and away they rattled.

Cemas rolled Daran over. The man's eyes flickered open.

"Morning," McKenzie saluted him with his own flask, feeling sick, and not from the strong spirits.

Cemas produced a crossbow bolt from his clothing and drove it into the man's neck. Daran gasped and died.

"And goodnight," McKenzie said, taking another drink. "Something the fuck is wrong with you, by the way," he told Cemas.

Cemas ignored him – he placed a number of cloths underneath the corpse to soak up the blood, then fussed with the fletching on the bolt. He carefully smeared some blood on it, then wiped his hands on the cloth McKenzie had used earlier.

"Can't fault your attention to detail, though," McKenzie said, sniffed, and then finished the contents of the flask. Cemas frowned, took it from him, upended it to dribble the last few drops into the man's mouth, closed it and re-attached it to the man's belt.

"A fucking craftsman, I see," McKenzie commented. The carriage rattled on to their next destination.

- o O o -

Heska was accustomed to summons from her new mistress in the art. Usually, a deferential servant would discreetly attract her attention and inform her that Her Wisdom would like to see her at her earliest convenience. If the matter was urgent, the servant would indicate, via a slight stress on the word 'earliest', that Heska had best wrap up whatever she was doing and head for the lifts. A really urgent summons usually came in the form of Her Wisdom's disembodied voice asking her to attend upon her immediately.

This must be even more urgent than that. Heska had been signing official paperwork. Suddenly she found herself, quill still in hand, stood in front of the Archmage.

"The curse is dying," the Archmage said. She was scratching a pattern into the wall of her office with a knife.

"Um-, that is good news, Your Wisdom," Heska replied, somewhat taken aback by her mistress' sudden urge toward vandalism.

"Yes - but I have just received that message." She pointed to a piece of parchment which was lying on the floor - Heska picked it up. It was a Melindronian diplomatic message, marked as extremely urgent and in the strongest cypher. Heska was a powerful mage, but she had never been as quick of mind as Danandra, who could encrypt and decrypt these messages without recourse to ink and paper. Nevertheless she had a go.

"He... is... com- He is coming," she said, a moment later. It wasn't a long message. "I take it there is no doubt that it is 'him' that the message refers to?"

"None, in my mind," Xixaxa replied. "The curse is dying. Slowly but surely. It is already within it's last bastion, if you will, with the forces of my magic and McKenzie's fury raging away at the walls, powered by the energy of the failed portal between worlds."

"Then may I enquire - why the haste?" Heska asked.

Xixaxa scratched in a particularly intricate design. "He could repair it," Xixaxa said. "Dying is not dead."

"Then we are to attempt a working to counter any such effort?" Heska asked.

"Not from here," Xixaxa answered. "We must find the others and hide. We must all stay away from the white god," Xixaxa replied. "Together, we may be able to protect ourselves from being retaken."

The Archmage finished her design on the wall, drew the dagger back, and then thrust it into the stone itself. It was like all her magic, Heska noted: not showy, with no heralding flash of power - just absolutely efficient and effective. Using the dagger's hilt as a handle, Xixaxa opened a door that had not previously been there. Will I ever achieve such effortless power? Heska thought, wistfully.

"Come - let us find the others, and hide them," the Archmage said.

"You have opened a door to Vyrinios?" Heska was amazed.

"Yes, and we must go through it, now," Xixaxa told her. "Time is of the essence."

As if to underline her point, the sound of nine dolorous bells could be heard - from through the door.

Heska nodded, and they stepped through.

- o O o -

"This is from a Narzi," McKenzie said, aiming the crossbow.

"What?" 'Lord' Kambar asked.

"I said this is from a Narzi," McKenzie repeated - but he couldn't be heard over the shrieking racket Kambar's concubines were making.

"Sorry, I'm afraid I can't make out a single word!" The fat mage said, cupping a hand to his ear.

"Oh, for fuck's sake..." McKenzie lowered the crossbow. "Willya shut up for a minute?" He snapped at the women. "Ain't nobody here to kill you, so calm the fuck down!"

There were seven women, all of them beautiful, all of them scantily clad, and all of them chained to the fat mage's chair by ornate but solid-looking chains and collars. One of them - slightly older, and slightly less screamy - took heed of his words and shushed the others. Kambar liked a change, it seemed - they were all a variety of different ethnicities and figures.

'Fat mage' didn't really do Kambar justice as a description. He looked like one of those unfortunate people that couldn't stop eating, and ended up being winched out of their bedrooms in a sensationalist medical documentary. He had chins beyond counting, his body was basically a roll of fat, and his skin was oily and greasy. McKenzie had actually gagged when he'd kicked the door open - the man produced a unique smell. He was clad only in a silk robe, and reclined - quite at ease - in a large golden chair which hovered slightly above the ground. Apart from sour sweat, the other thing he reeked of was magic.

"Thank you," McKenzie told the slave girls, and then aimed the crossbow at Kambar again.

"You were saying?" Kambar asked.

"This is from a Narzi," McKenzie reiterated grimly.

"Sorry, who?"

"The Narzi?" McKenzie attempted.

"Haven't heard of him, I'm afraid."

"Fuck. Um… The Atari?" McKenzie ventured, lowering the crossbow and wrinkling his brows as he searched his memory.

"The Azani?" The fat mage asked.

"Bingo. Him. Yep," McKenzie raised the crossbow again.

"Thank you. That will save me the trouble of torturing that information out of you," Kambar told him. He had a bizarrely high, piping voice for a fat man, although the presence of the girls suggested he was not an eunuch.

McKenzie squeezed the lever, and the bolt shot out of the crossbow to spang off a shield, inches from Kambar's heart.

McKenzie sighed. He hadn't wanted to go anywhere near the man. The smell really was repulsive.

"I must congratulate you - you're the first assassin to make it this far in well over a year. I had nearly become bored," Kambar told him.

"You could've maybe had a bath to pass the time," McKenzie suggested.

"Mersatizan!" Kambar snapped.

McKenzie felt a sudden, crushing pressure all around him - accompanied by the roaring of magic.

"Now," Kambar said, "you will tell me-"

McKenzie shrugged the magic off - it sparked into him. Kambar snarled, and sent a bolt of red light slamming into McKenzie's chest. That dissolved into sparks, too, with the usual tinging rush.

McKenzie jerked the action on the crossbow and slotted a new bolt into it, but that one too bounced off a shield and embedded itself in the ceiling.

"Fuck it," McKenzie said, and drew his shortsword. "I didn't want to do this up close. No offence, but you fuckin' stink."

"Wait!" Kambar said, trying to shield his face with his arms. "What would the Azani have of me? I have not violated the new agreement! Please - let us discuss this!"

McKenzie stepped forward and rammed the sword through shield and flesh into Kambar's heart, then stepped back. The man grabbed at the hilt, then screamed and sobbed in his oddly high voice for a few moments before he was still. It wasn't pretty.

The chair slammed to the floor under all the dead weight, spilling it's occupant's newly lifeless carcass to the floor of the audience chamber. The women were screaming again, and McKenzie retched - either from the smell or the sudden rush of disgusted pity Kambar's plaintive sobbing had woke in him, he couldn't tell. He swallowed the vomit back.

"I think he finally got the point," McKenzie quipped, but it was empty and hoarse.

The screeching was giving him a headache. He rubbed his temples. "Please, pretty please with sugar on top, shut the fuck up?" He asked, loud enough to be heard.

The sensible one quietened them again. "Thanks. Come here." He beckoned her over. Hesitantly, she approached.

"Please, sir, I beg you, do not hurt us. We are captives here - slaves. We had no part of Lord Kambar's crimes against you, whatever they were," she said.

"Lemme see that collar," he said.

The girl - she looked vaguely south asian, to McKenzie - lifted her long dark hair away from her neck. There was a padlock holding the collar closed. McKenzie grabbed it and twisted. The sharp metal dug into his hand, and he gave vent to a muttered 'ow fuck!', but the padlock broke and the girl was free. She blinked in disbelief and threw the collar to the floor.

"Thank you, sir," she said.

"You're welcome. Next!" He said.

It took only moments, but the other six padlocks had the same sharp edges as the first, so McKenzie kept up the muttered swearing as he worked.

"He uses chanting to break our bonds," one of the slave girls whispered to another. "He must be a powerful warrior mage."

"All done," McKenzie said, after he had broken the last lock. It made him feel a bit better about the cold-blooded murder he'd just committed. The girls huddled together, staring at him.

"This is the part where you escape," he reminded them, and then grabbed hold of the hilt of his sword, still protruding from Kambar's substantial corpse. "The guards are all dead - I'd piss off before shift change and more turn up, if I were you."

"Sir, we are not ungrateful, but where would we go?" The first girl said, showing him the brand on her arm. "We are slaves - to those who know what to look for, this mark shows me to be a run slave, without rights, and free for the taking."

"Do I look like a plastic surgeon?" He asked her, tugging at the sword. It was stuck fast, and the dying man had smeared it with liberal amounts of his own blood. McKenzie retched again.

"Please, sir, a cleric could heal these marks," the girl said.

"Do I look like one of those either?" He asked, then remembered something, and, with an irritated exhalation, stopped pulling at the sword. "Show us your arm then."

McKenzie called up Sharinta's healing spell or prayer or whatever it was, put his hand over the girl's arm, and allowed a bit of quintessence to trickle out. The girl gasped and yelped, but when McKenzie removed his hand, there was a bruise rather than a slave mark. She laughed, and threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. "Thank you sir!"

"Yeah, well, don't thank me by cutting off the circulation to my head," he muttered, disengaging her arms, then smiled. "I've always wanted to say this: form an orderly queue, ladies."

It took a bit longer than breaking the padlocks had, but only because each of the girls seemed to want to call down the blessings of various gods on him, or, in one case, take a few moments out for a short session of hysterical-but-relieved sobbing. McKenzie hurried them along as best he could. When he was done, he picked up a small but sturdy chest that was hanging around in a corner of the room and smashed it open on the floor - gold coins tumbled out.

"Well then, on top of being free looks like you've all come down with a sudden case of rich, ladies. Congrats, etcetera. My advice, you grab what you can, get some clothes and weapons off the dead guys outside - no shortage of them - and head for the Melindronian embassy: they'll usually take in freed slaves, I hear tell, and I'll bet that if said slaves also happen to be smoking hot women loaded down with gold, then you can strike out 'usually' and replace it with 'enthusiastically'," McKenzie said, then gave up on the shortsword as a bad job. He wiped his hands on Kambar's silk robe instead, and turned to leave.

"Wait!" One of the girls said - a tall brown-haired one who rivalled Hennara in the cleavage stakes. "I would thank you in my prayers, sir, who are you?"

"My name's not important," McKenzie told her. "I'd hurry, if I were you."

"Prayers! Hah! I would thank you in my bed - do you have a name now, mage?" Another one looked up from her gold-gathering activities to inform him.

McKenzie gave a bark of laughter. "I am Spartacus," he said, and left.

"Thank you Spartacus!" Several of the girls called after him.

McKenzie left the late Kambar's audience chamber and headed downstairs - it was a sizable building he'd stormed. He stepped over several dead bodies on the way: those of Kambar's guards who'd stayed and fought.

Cemas was in the main entrance hall, arranging Daran's corpse with a discharged crossbow in one hand. He took out a flask and poured it's contents underneath the dead man's neck - it was blood - then stood back to see if he'd achieved whatever effect he was hoping for.

"You done there, Moriarty?" McKenzie asked him. "Or will fooling CSI Vyrinios take a bit longer?" With the seven girls freed, he was feeling a bit better about Kambar, and able to convince himself the fat slave-owning fucker'd had it coming.

Cemas sniffed, then nodded.

"Then let's fuck off before the rozzers turn up," McKenzie said, and headed out.

- o O o -

Someone, either Leni or Iyanus, had decided they wanted Cally to have some basic comforts, at least - blankets had been shoved in through the door. She woke up underneath them now, to the sound of a key in the lock.

"Rise and shine, little whore," a rough voice said, accompanied by a metallic scrape and a sloshing noise.

"She en't so little," another voice leered.

"Iyanus has commanded that you wash and make yerself pretty," the first voice said. "Here's warm water. You got five minutes, then we drag you out whatever state you're in."

"That's hardly an inducement to obedience, is it?" Cally replied, propping herself up on her elbows. "The rational choice would be to do nothing, and still have my clothes on in five minutes time."

Two guards stood in her doorway. The younger one was gaping. The elder sniffed. "That's down to you, but he's gonna take it personal if you disobey. You wanna live to go back to your whore friends, you wanna do as we say."

"Then close the door, and I shall be quick," Cally said. In truth she would apppreciate a wash.

"Close the door, the whore says." The older guard laughed. "We won this duty at cards last night. This door is staying open."

Cally shrugged. "Then this whore is staying unwashed - and you can explain to your master why you stopped me from carrying out his request."

That got the door closed. Cally washed as best she could, then rapped on the door. It was opened, not by the would-be voyeurs, but by a pair of very large men.

"You're to come with us," the first one said.

"You don't say," Cally said. She'd decided she was no longer playing the terrified prostitute caught up in events beyond her understanding. One of the men took hold of her arm, and they escorted her back upstairs.

In his large chamber, Iyanus was seated at a table, upon which was a snowy white tablecloth, golden cutlery, and a very large, empty silver platter. His usual attendants, including Leni and the golem, flanked him. Her captors forced her down into a chair across from Iyanus, then backed away.

Having decided to shed the role of helpless captive - Leni had probably confessed all to Iyanus anyway - Cally found herself unable to stop a bit of her sister from stealing into her comments.

"Awfully sorry," she said. "I'm completely unable to decipher the meaning implied by laying the table for breakfast with an oversized but empty plate. Perhaps you could make it obvious to me as part of a threat?"

Iyanus regarded her coolly. "I see - because you're still alive, you've come to the conclusion that this is a fucking bluff, and I'm only allowed to give you a good scare. Not true, girl. Get that into your head now. Since you've asked, though, I will spell it out. You've got one last chance, and if you ain't got anything useful to tell me, I'm having you for breakfast. So: where is McKenzie, where are his associates, why did he spare your life, what are his weaknesses. Talk now or die."

"Very well," Cally said. "If you truly want information, then there are a great many things you should know."

Cally called a shield into being - it was a pale pink, and sparkled just an inch or so above her skin.

"Firstly, my name is Callena, not Hennara. I am not a prostitute, but a High Priestess of Arctan. Sharinta, who you seek, is my sister. I am placing the girl Hennara - and in fact everyone in the Unsheathed Dagger - under my protection."

Iyanus wasn't fazed by this - he picked up a golden knife, reached across, and prodded at the shield.

"Well I never," he said. "A word with you, Violentia my dear, if you would." Iyanus sat back. Leni approached, slowly and unwillingly. "That true?" He asked her.

Leni nodded. She wasn't wearing her sword or armour, Cally noticed, not even a dagger - just the padded surcoat that went under her assortment of plate and mail. Presumably she had been forbidden to wear them.

"Looks like I just inherited all your possessions in the afterlife, then. Why the fuck didn't you tell me!" He demanded.

"I was trying to use her to get to McKenzie," Leni said, but it was clear to Cally that she was extemporising. "She had to believe that I really was keeping her identity a secret, boss, so that she would-"

"I don't keep you around for your strategic insights, you lying fucking bitch," Iyanus snarled, then addressed his minions. "Deal with that bloody shield!"

Cally spent the next minute smiling serenely while blades, bows and magic slammed into her shield. None of it troubled her - there was nobody here with the power of Mahrak, or even Danandra, who might stand a chance of penetrating it.

The golem put an end to it. "Hold!" He said.

"What?" Iyanus snarled.

The golem addressed his employer. "A High Priestess of Arctan, when she is standing between an innocent and harm, commands a great deal of power. She clearly believes she sits before you protecting someone who needs it - and her god must agree. No power you can command, Iyanus, will trouble her - but neither will she trouble us: she is sworn to defend, not harm."

"The golem speaks truly," Cally said "I am honour-bound to do no harm unless it be in the defence of the innocent, and I see none of them in this room, so you are quite safe. On the other hand, I'm off the breakfast menu, it would seem."

Iyanus grunted, and put down the knife he was holding. "I can always scare up someone to eat. Say your piece, cleric - and you can start with where your sister and her friend are."

"They are both beyond your reach," Cally replied. "Believe me on this."

"Does your sacred vow extend to not lying?" Iyanus asked sarcastically.

"It does not." It was the golem that answered.

"Tell me about this McKenzie," Iyanus said. "What do you know about him, Sister Righteous?"

Cally ignored the jibe, and stared at the troll.

"You don't know the nature of the man you seek, Iyanus," she said, levelly. "Nobody does, but I know this. He is invulnerable, immortal - he cannot be killed by any means I know of. He has nothing to fear from the knives and poisons of assassins, and the most powerful magics known to man are nothing to him: they simply make him stronger. I would sooner be at war with the entire world than have this man as an enemy, and he is an implacable one, make no mistake on that. You cannot stop him, you can only slow him down. Abandon this futile search, Iyanus. You will only find one thing: your death." A lot of this was guesswork, but Cally wanted Iyanus to be scared.

Then Cally turned to Leni, who was still stood next to her new master. "Leni, last night you came to me and asked for my help. I offer you this. Break your oath, accept the penalty and walk out of here alive. When next I see McKenzie, I will tell him you have gone and counsel him to drop his vendetta against you. I can offer you no more."

Iyanus looked at Leni again. "'Trying to get to McKenzie', was it?"

Leni sighed. "No, not really. Fuck you, Iyanus. Your protection doesn't seem to be worth shit and we're nowhere nearer finding McKenzie or Danandra - and believe me, if Cally is here then Shar won't be back for months." Her initial outpouring seemed to stiffen her spine, even though Iyanus rose to his feet with suppressed rage written all across his trollish features. "And y'know what? She's right. Even if we somehow find McKenzie, what the fuck are we supposed to do with him, exactly? I can guaran-fucking-tee you that the walking wall there only thinks he knows how to stop him for good. When it comes to it, I ain't seen him stopped yet. We're fucked, Iyanus. Time to move onto a new hunting ground."

A few of the hangers-on in the room actually gasped. Iyanus, though, did something surprising - he actually seemed to consider Leni's words. Could it be that we're actually persuading him? Cally dared to think.

"Goodbye, Cally. Remember your promise - ask McKenzie to leave me the hell alone." With that, she turned to leave.

She didn't get very far, though. As she walked past the golem, a huge stone fist swung into her jaw. Leni blinked, and then collapsed, making the floor shake. Everyone gasped at that except Leni - she was unconscious.

"I didn't tell you to do that, Allshield," Iyanus said.

"No, you didn't," Allshield replied. "She stays here. She cannot be allowed to endanger this Arrangement, and neither can you. I will remind you that the Terms do not include an exit clause. You will see this out to the end."

This was greeted with a stunned silence. Iyanus blinked.

"It will not be a good end," Cally said.

Iyanus looked at her, and she was sure she saw pleading in his eyes, but he said nothing.

Allshield replied in his place. "That is not my concern," the golem said. "Neither are you - you are not covered by the Arrangement. You may leave whenever you wish. I will not advise the Client to interfere further at the Unsheathed Dagger - I have no desire to risk a confrontation with a High Priestess of Arctan and neither will I further interfere with the existing Arrangement we have with that establishment. My advice is not always heeded, however."

"You are wise, master golem," Cally told him, rising from her seat. "I pray that this wisdom will convince you to bring your Arrangement to an end."

"When you speak to the demon McKenzie, tell him his obligations remain the same - to deliver your sister and the she-elf to the Guild Hall. If he is as much of an unstoppable force as you say, no doubt he will find a way, and I do not care if it takes hours, months or years."

"So be it," Cally said. She turned and walked purposefully toward the exit, then stopped, turned around and returned. She picked up a golden butter knife from the table.

"Carriage fare," she said, slightly apologetically. "This outfit doesn't have even a single pocket so I couldn't really bring any money, and, well, look, I'm taking this, OK?"

Then she really did leave the room.