The cowl had no face to crack a smile.

     You misunderstand the nature of employment, it said in Downey's head.

     He bridled at this. Assassins were never employed. They were engaged or retained or commissioned, but never employed. Only servants were employed.

     'What is it that I misunderstand, exactly?' he said.

     We pay. You find the ways and means.

     The cowl began to fade.

     'How can I contact you?' said Downey.

     We will contact you. We know where you are. We know where everyone is.

     The  figure  vanished. At the  same moment the  door  was flung open to reveal the distraught figure of Mr Winvoe, the Guild Treasurer.

     'Excuse me, my lord, but I really  had to come up!' He flung some discs on the desk. 'Look at them!'

     Downey carefully  picked up  a  golden circle. It  looked like a  small coin, but -

     'No denomination!' said Winvoe. 'No  heads, no tails, no  milling! It's just a blank disc! They're all just blank discs!'

     Downey  opened his mouth to say,  'Valueless?' He realized that  he was half hoping that this was  the case. If they, whoever they were, had paid in worthless metal then there wasn't even  the glimmering of a contract. But he could see this wasn't the  case. Assassins learned  to recognize money early in their careers.

     'Blank discs,' he said, 'of pure gold.'

     Winvoe nodded mutely.

     'That,' said Downey, 'will do nicely.'

     'It must be magical!' said Winvoe. 'And we never accept magical money!'

     Downey  bounced  the coin on  the desk a  couple of times.  It  made  a satisfyingly  rich thunking noise.  It wasn't magical. Magical  money  would look real, because its whole purpose was to deceive. But this didn't need to ape something as human  and adulterated as  mere currency.  This is gold, it told his fingers. Take it or leave it.