“Asking for more trouble than he can handle.”

The grin broadened. “From Nigel or you?”

“Both.”

“Then walk across the street and stop him. The Crown’s still holding a table for us.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?”

“Being here wasn’t his idea.”

“So someone paid him well. Wouldn’t be the first time. Let’s go and let the man earn his money.”

I didn’t budge. “How much would it take for you to break into Nigel’s at night?”

To his credit, Phaelan didn’t have to think long. “More money than most in this city can lay hands to.”

“Exactly. And Quentin’s terrified of necromancers. There’s more involved here than money, meaning whoever hired Quentin scares him more than Nigel does. Quentin’s been trying to keep his nose clean and someone won’t let him—and I don’t like it.”

“So ask him who it is.”

“I did.”

“And?”

“Quentin bought a new set of picklocks last week and started keeping to himself. I started asking him questions. He started avoiding me.” I indicated the assortment of armaments and dark leather that made up my evening ensemble—all topped by a ridiculously large and hooded cloak to keep Quentin from recognizing me had he spotted me. As an added precaution, my hair was contained in a long braid and hidden under the cloak. “Hence the cloak-and-dagger routine.”

“So if he won’t tell you what he’s up to, you’re just going to follow him while he does it.”

I nodded. “Exactly. And pull his backside out of the fire if need be. Afterward, we’re going to have a little chat.” I glanced back at the alley entrance. Phaelan hadn’t brought any of his crew with him. That was surprising.

“You alone?”

“My men only want to end up in an alley after they’ve been drinking all night—or if they’re waiting for someone. Even if they knew they’d be sharing that alley with you, I’d have a mutiny in the making.”