Cale gave the assassin a stare.
Riven chuckled in response.
"Well, while you do that," the assassin said, nodding at Varra, "I'll get to work."
* * * * *
Cale walked beside Varra, following her lead while he kept his eyes and ears alert for any sign of the mercenaries. Like Riven, Cale thought it unlikely that the men would return, but he'd been wrong before.
Fortunately, the sellswords didn't show themselves, though orcs, drunken sailors, bugbears, and slaves marched past. Diseased, reed-thin men and women-human, goblin, and even orc-lingered in alleys or lurked in sewer mouths, coughing, smoking, watching them with the dull eyes of the damned. Voices and the tread of boots carried from the bouncing catwalks and bridges strung high above them. Cale had to adjust his technique to evaluate danger in three dimensions. He found it discomfiting.
Cale hadn't bothered to disguise himself against discovery by Azriim and the other slaadi. He would have to rely on the darkness and crowds to give him anonymity. A disguise would have required an explanation to Varra, and might have dissuaded her from allowing him to escort her. And Cale felt a strange attraction to the woman. Souls akin, perhaps.
Varra used no torch or candle, instead choosing roundabout routes lit by lichen, glowballs, and torches. She seemed unafraid of the street, and Cale knew enough not to attribute her fearlessness to his presence. He admired her mettle. In truth, he admired her.
They walked in silence for a time.
"I told you it was unnecessary," she said after a while. "Those men won't be back. It's happened before."
Cale only nodded.
"It's not far now," she said, filling the silence between them.
Cale, who spoke nine languages, found himself somewhat at a loss for words. Except for Thazienne and Shamur Uskevren, he had not had much interaction with women in recent years.
"How long have you lived here?" he finally managed.
She gave a soft little laugh and said, "A long while." She looked at him sidelong as they walked. "How long have you been here? No. Why are you here? You don't belong here. I can see that. Your friend might, but you don't."
"He's not my friend," Cale replied, though he was not so sure. "We just . . . understand each other. And work together. Why are you here?"
It was clear to Cale that Varra didn't belong in Skullport either.
She smiled fully, an expression that illuminated her face, and said, "You first."
"Business," Cale replied. To ensure that she didn't take him for a slaver or worse, he added, "I'm looking for someone."
"Aren't we all," she said, but otherwise had the sense to ask nothing more. Cale appreciated that.
"And you?" Cale asked.
She waved a delicate hand in the air and said, "Where else would I go?"
Cale could think of nothing to say to that.
"Where are you from?" she asked.
To his surprise, Cale thought first of the Plane of Shadow but he immediately righted his thinking.
"Westgate," he replied. Her face showed no recognition. Surprised, he wondered if she had been born in Skullport. "A large city overlooking the sea," he explained. "Far from here."
He put his hand to Weaveshear's hilt as two ogres plodded by. Only their stink proved offensive.
"It's sunny in Westgate, I expect?" Varra said.
Cale supposed it was, at least sometimes. Of course, he had done most of his work in the night.
"Yes," he replied.
Her expression grew wistful, even as she absently stepped over a body that was either drunk or dead.
"I haven't seen the sun in ... a long time," she said.
Again Cale found himself with no words. The silence sat between them as they passed one rundown, rickety building after another, and one rundown, rickety human being after another.
After a while, he asked, "Why do you stay?"
She gave that same quick laugh then said, "I was born far away, too far to easily return." Her voice dropped and she added, "I've nowhere else to go. This is my home now."
Before Cale could respond, she pointed to a dilapidated, moisture-swollen flophouse leaning dangerously against the cavern's wall. A rothe pen stood to its right; a fungus garden to its left. Unlike most of the structures in Skullport, another building was not built atop the flophouse, though Cale could see movement in some of the caves and recesses higher up the cavern wall.
"That's it," she said. She stopped and turned to face him. "Thank you for the escort."
Cale thought again how pretty she was, how beautiful she might have been with appropriate food, dress, and a softer life under the sun. Tempting though it was, he knew he could not help her with those things, at least not just then. He had other, more pressing business.
"My pleasure, lady," he said.
He gave his best bow, smiled, and turned to leave. She caught his cloak sleeve.
"I have a fire pit inside," she said, with only a hint of self-consciousness. "It's warm. I share lodging with two other women, but they're probably still. .. out."
At that moment, under Varra's gaze, Cale didn't need a fire pit to warm him. He felt an inexplicably powerful compulsion to take Varra in his arms and it almost overcame his better judgment. Almost. He smiled at her and gently took her hand. It was soft and feminine, despite the harshness of her work. He noticed for the first time that only a few shadows were leaking from his flesh. It was as if she kept his darker nature at bay.
"This is not a good time," he said. "I have something important that I must see through to the end."
A coffle of slaves trudged past, chains ringing. Cale noticed a ragged looking human staring at him, all the while wearing a crazed smile. The human looked familiar, perhaps the same madman who had accosted him on the street when they had first arrived in the city.
Varra pulled him back to himself by touching his cheek and staring into his eyes. She smiled, the first smile he had seen that touched her eyes. Seeing her face light up like that, he almost changed his mind.
"A man of secrets," she said. "But with a darkness about you that is plain."
Cale could not deny it.
She held her smile and said, "Does the man of secrets have a name?"
Cale flushed, feeling the fool. He had failed even to introduce himself. He started to say his name but quickly caught himself.