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nodded, summoning a tight smile, and he stirred himself enough to raise a hand to wipe the spilt wine from his chin. “The prelate’s, too?”
    Tad grinned with relief, and nodded. “Yes. I’ll leave the rest here for you. In case you’re thirsty later.”
    Tad set the beaker down on the stone floor, within reach, but not so close he might knock it over by accident. “I’ll be back at first light. Mind you rest.” He left his patient picking at a chunk of bread and made his way back to the kitchens, pausing to wipe his eyes on the back of his hand. Surely the Goddess would spare the soldier now, after all he’d been through? She could not be so cruel. Tad offered up a guilty prayer, hoping the Goddess hadn’t heard him doubting her, but he didn’t think she’d heard anything at all. And, worse, he didn’t think she cared to make the soldier live.
    He had to act. There was no doubt his patient’s condition was worsening. And he could think of only one thing to do.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    The meeting had been going on all evening. Drew flung his book to one side. He was in no mood for foolish stories. Not when something of such importance was happening in Jervin’s office at the far end of the hall. The one room in the house Drew had never been permitted to enter.
    Not for the first time he wished he had the nerve to just barge in there. How could he help Jervin with the business if he didn’t know the half of it? He’d heard enough snippets of conversation – only that day he’d been on the point of returning a book to the library. For some reason – Goddess knew what – he’d hesitated before pushing open the door which he’d found ajar. Perhaps some instinct had warned him there were people in the room already.
    Then came a man’s voice, raised. “This wasn’t part of our deal. News, you said. I should let you know if anything important came up.” Rekhart, Drew guessed.
    “And so you have, most reliably. I don’t see what your problem is. I pay you generously, do I not?”
    “Of course. But I must be careful.” It was definitely Rekhart’s voice. “Carrying word to you is one thing. Tampering with records… Well. The chances of getting caught are severe. I daren’t–”
    Behind Drew a door handle rattled and he jumped back from the library door. He hurried on to the stairs and began to climb them, hoping it was not apparent he’d just been eavesdropping.
    He risked a glance back from the half-landing. It was only a servant, shuffling along the hall with an empty log basket. The man never so much as glanced in Drew’s direction. Wasn’t that the way of it: Drew’s fate was to be always invisible. With a grimace he continued up the stairs.
    Drew had spoken with Rekhart a few times and found the leader of the city watch to be pleasant-natured, easy to talk to. He knew he had known Weaver for many years, and had remained on good terms with him despite the price on Weaver’s head in Highground. But hearing Rekhart question Jervin like that troubled him. This wasn’t an isolated incident. This wasn’t the first time he’d had reason to doubt Jervin’s… He hesitated to use the word honesty, but he could not deny Jervin had displayed a certain lax attitude towards the law at times. He knew Jervin had a past – he’d worked his way up to this grand house from nothing. A childhood in the slums of the biggest port in the Peninsula was bound to have left indelible marks on Jervin. Of course, he had to be driven to have achieved so much. But now he had, Drew reasoned, he might be expected to focus on the more positive aspects of his life, to pause long enough to enjoy the fruits of his labours. He might step away from the less savoury business that had brought him to this point, surely? How could a man of his urbane tastes and sophistication not wish to do so?
    Yet Rekhart must have had good reason to take issue with the terms of his agreement with Jervin. Drew was not so naive he expected the