“It’s finished, then?” Naulg asked, ignoring the distraction of the doxy nuzzling his ear.

Arvin reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulled out a leather pouch that had been sewn shut with small, tight stitches. Keeping it hidden under his palm, he slid it across the table, leaving it beside Naulg’s mug.

Naulg prodded the pouch with a finger and watched it bulge as the coil of twine inside it twitched. “Are there words that need to be spoken?”

Arvin shook his head. “Just cut the stitches and slip the pouch into a pocket. It’ll do the job.”

The doxy whispered something in Naulg’s ear. Naulg laughed and shook his head.

“Be patient, woman. We’ll be alone soon enough.” Then, to Arvin, “Good. The middler already has your coin. You can collect it any time. I’m sure the goods will perform as promised.”

“When will you be… using it?”

“Tonight,”-his grin broadened and he winked at the doxy-“much later tonight.”

He picked up his ale and raised his mug to salute Arvin; his wide, sweeping gestures suggested he’d already had one too many.

Arvin nodded. He could guess what the twine would be used for-assassin vine almost always went for the throat-but maybe Naulg had something else in mind. Maybe he just meant to use it to bind someone’s wrists.

Arvin twitched his mouth into a grin and covered his discomfort with a hearty joke. “Just be sure you don’t let pleasure get in the way of business.”

Naulg laughed. ‘ “Idle hands make merry,’ ” he quipped.

Arvin smiled. “You mean ‘mischief,’ ” he said, correcting the motto that had been drummed into them at the orphanage. Then he tsked. “Brother Pauvey would weep for you.”