It was just an outline of a figure. Moonlight whispered along the curves of cloth from cheek around the shoulder and down to the hip. A building kept the rest in formless darkness. Ewan stood in his own sheltered corner of an opposite alleyway. The outline slipped away into the deeper hollow created between the quiet houses. Straining his senses, he kept watch on the dark within the dark. A flush of tension filled his belly as he measured how far he could push the edge of waiting and not lose the mark.

Ferret?s information had led him directly to the meeting. Ewan wished he had a chance to investigate Ferret more. The absence of that hissed at his conscience. There had been no time to do so. In the Holding Houses he built trust, confident that they would do their own research into a person, and there very few acted alone.

But in the world of the Tunnelers, the very concept was individuals working together. They kept their lives apart, reporting in secret places, meeting in only waystations and Tunnel junctions. Ewan walked a fine line of faith in their people ? Maze?s and Compass?s people. They were not his. He used them and they used him. They were his eyes and ears, and he their weapon.

He was many people?s weapon. It burned at his mind that he had not been sent to the mystical wherever Sylvia had gone. There was only so much of him.

A slow breath and closed eyes, he brought himself back into the moment, pulling the fluttering pieces of his mind into the purpose of this night, this hour, this place. The shadow had disappeared, and Ewan moved to the stairs dripping their icy melt to the basement of the old warehouse. From that room a Tunnel door hid in a lower wall. Through it Ewan reached the direct route to the far side of the street and the nearest outlet to the upper world again where the informant, according to Ferret?s information, was going to pass the list of new customers to the merchant?s lackey.

Ewan listened to the walls, felt the weak brush of air across his skin. Every sound of his clothing, the tug of straps holding his weapons he measured in his mind and compensated to quiet it. Navigating the Tunnels was not unlike navigating a forest. A certain tree was a certain stone, the river a piping, everything had a sign in its maze and only familiarity and the mix of the senses would indicate where a traveler was in the twists and turns.

It was all there in his mind, and he stopped at the stone, pressing at its juncture. Holding the edge of the small entrance revealed, he slowly swung it into the room and stepped inside. A lighter shade of darkness, moonlight puddled blue light through a high set window decorated with dainty cobwebs. Two breaths to assess the sounds, and then Ewan moved to the door. Another two breaths, no sounds, and he stepped through and took the stairs back up to the street level.

The smell reached him first. It was a tangy sweet smoke, the scent of an intoxicating herb. The breeze picked it up and carried it to him, and on its coattails were the words. ?He?ll deliver by messenger. No mysteries.?

?Then why?re we meeting at night to exchange lists? Could have sent this on by messenger, too.?

?Stop asking questions. Way he wants it done. All these names together on one page? That?d be right dangerous in the wrong hands. But if just one messenger gets caught, only one goes down ya see? Others kept safe. Now get on home. I?ll see my half done.?

It was that half Ewan needed to follow. Coming just close enough to see which voice belonged to which figure, he watched the two depart ? one to the alleyway and the other the front door. Ewan became the second shadow at a distant pace to the one out the front door. His hands itched and his body burned. The pulsing desire to strike down his prey fed the pace of his steps and heightened his perception as he twinned the travels of the man in front of him.

The man stepped inside a well kept stone house, just one among many in the garden and gated little corner of the city where the middle class kept up their appearances. Ewan circled around to the side, listening at windows he passed by for sound and looking for light. There was none. It was too odd by half. Either Ewan had done poorly and the man knew he was shadowed, or there was not to be a direct delivery of the list that night.

The backdoor would not do. Ewan examined the house, following its lines upwards until he saw the path to climb. All hands and no feet, boots too harsh a sound against the structure, he drew himself up the side by the tight, calloused grip of his fingers and then stepped to the edge of what he assessed was an attic window. A slip of a knife against aging sealant, and the window was released. Two breathes listening for the world inside, and in its silence he stepped.

Attic that it was, Ewan took extra care in his crossing to the door, twice having to backtrack around an unexpected obstacle of furniture or teetering boxes of ephemera. With the door locked, Ewan took out a pick and made the tumblers dance until they released the lock.

Another two breaths, measuring out the danger in those breathes as the short hallway revealed nothing to him. The stairs were only a few steps away, steep into the reaches of the living house below. The door there showed no light beneath its frame but the hazy possibility of more windows letting the moon shine in beyond.

Ewan heard the breathing and the soft steps beyond that door. Someone was there. Two breaths and he had to choose to go beyond that door, perhaps give in to the itch and the song for death, or step back and lose the opportunity to track the list to its source, catch the merchant out, and have the threat be done.

He smiled.

When Ewan felt his conscious self climbing out of the half memories and dizzy dreams of a sleep forced on him, he knew two things for certain: his hands and ankles were bound and he wore nothing.

Working the cottony feeling from his mouth by chewing on the edge of his tongue, Ewan brought himself into the painful consciousness of his situation. A spike of pain flashed from the side of his head as he sat up, drawing his chest from the cold of the stone floor. With his bound hands, his fingers probed the blood crusted injury. From the angle and shape, a kick to the head.

Further exploration of his face and neck and the tally of his injuries added severe blisters, various cuts, and the spotty remains of a partially burned away beard with its own sharp agony of blisters.

Both eyes could see and except for a ringing to his ears, he could hear. He heard the approach of steps and found the doorway. A barred window opened its shutter to a hazy glimpse of eyes and then shut again.

Ewan sat with his arms looped over his knees, trying to keep as little of himself against the chill of the floor as possible. There was nothing in that room to give him any hope of assistance or comfort from his body?s misery.

His captor had taken no chances. This was certainly new.

The clatter of chains and a thunk of a bolt unlocking turned Ewan?s eyes to the door again. Two men stepped inside, but not beyond the first step of the door. ?So he is awake.?

Recognizing the voice, Ewan was impressed once more that now he had a face to go with it there was no memory of him. This man had kept his dealings so well concealed as to not have gained the notice of the Tunnelers or the Holding Houses. On a brief consideration, Ewan wondered if some of his other contacts would recognize him. It was not likely he would get the opportunity to ask.

?I will be safe, no need to remain, Theral.? His bright eyes joined in the welcoming smile and did not stray from Ewan even though he spoke to the man at his side. ?Ewan and I have things to discuss.?

Another interesting turn to the events, Ewan did not hide his amusement at having his real name known. When Theral had left he set a bag upon the handle of the door that gave a lazy thump against the metal braced wood when the door closed. A rattle of chain and thunk of a bolt again, and Ewan was locked away with the grinning man.

?As you can see, Ewan, I have taken some precautions against your rumored abilities. I am not sure why you carry some of the things you do, a whistle that does not work for instance, but that cloth. Oh yes, that is very interesting. I can see why the rest of your body is so well protected. Those scars are quite old. I am sure you appreciate the necessary addition of a few more.?

The strange mixture of bravado and overzealous preparation seemed to make the man a little giddy. Ewan thought he heard a giggle out of the man on the last few words. ?I think you over estimated me, and a shame you lost a man for it.?

?Oh, come now,? he pouted. ?Give me my cleverness on that. What better way to catch you off guard than to plant explosives on every single one of the men patrolling the house that night? I have to say I was a little disappointed that you did not puzzle that out. I hope you do not continue to disappoint, I am a very busy man and hate to waste my time.?

The aches and pains were drawing more pronounced measures of his awareness, but Ewan knew this type. ?Far be it for me to take more of your time. I will have my things and go.? It was a simple, expected rejoinder. If he could continue to disappoint, maybe there would be a chance lapse in the man?s plans.

Whatever the man?s designs, he was not giving in to the ruse even briefly. The laugh drifted out in a soft appreciation. ?Yes, play your game, Ewan. That is what I am here to do. My people have watched you for some time. One even caught you about your dealings of the blade to one fellow. It was interesting, he thought, that you killed the man and then waited and watched. I realized that you were learning, perfecting you craft from each kill. Well, then, we do need to learn something new from your death, you know, otherwise?well, why?? With a smile like a schoolboy charming his teacher, he crouched down with his back braced against the wall.

Ewan sat back on his heels and nodded. ?Every death should teach something, if at all possible. I do have my doubts that you will learn something I do not already know, so do not let me influence your choice.?

With a drumming of fingers against each other, he laughed. ?Oh, come, that cannot be so. I?ve heard of your flair for removing obstacles from the path of some nebulous Good, but we?re here in my den. Let?s prowl the darker corners.?

A laugh ached his head. The blow still troubled his focus bringing distractions of pain. ?I like dark corners.?

Hopping to a stand, the man strolled from one corner to another. ?I?m glad you?re comfortable with the accommodations. I was pleased myself with the discovery. Of course getting you here was the key. You spread yourself too thin, this time. Too many places to be. Now,? his pout formed again beneath smiling eyes, ?you should not think you are too important. Not yet, but you started to get those Tunnelers into training. Their ability to be nuisances was growing. If you got it in your head to start adding more people, another Holding House? Problems are best dealt with while small, would you not agree??

The rhetoric was all part of the game. His captor paraded around Ewan, finger tapping at his bottom lip, and Ewan let himself relax into his own silent observations. Footsteps were deadened on the stone floor meant something solid beneath, except for in a few places ? likely a drain of some type. Yes, there it was in the corner, just a small, fist sized metal hole punched plate where water, if there had been any, would run clear of the room. It explained the slight angle as well.

?So, what should we do??

?Let us exchange more pleasantries, truly get to know one another. It seems to be working well so far, except I lack your name.? Ewan affected a smile and hoped to see some affront in the man.

The sharp gaze was there only a moment, the pinch of a mouth from smile into frustration. Yes, the man had been affronted. Ewan did not know him and that gave Ewan the upper hand in the game of importance. With his back turned to Ewan, a sign he saw no threat, and it was true there was little Ewan could do that would not get him killed a moment after. Right then, the simple satisfaction of killing his captor was not enough.

?Isaac Page.? When he turned the man was smiling again. ?So right of you to adhere to the formalities. I was getting ahead of myself eager for the discoveries.? Isaac walked to the satchel hung from the latch of the door. He drew out an arrow and looked at Ewan past its deadly line. ?What about this one? Have you done this?? Isaac walked forward and without hesitation punched it into Ewan?s chest, just to the left of the sternum and into the thick wall of the heart beating beneath.

The pain surged upward and clawed at Ewan?s thoughts, driving panic into him. He breathed, he heard the rush of blood pounding in his ears, and he breathed again. A tight swallow and he smiled. ?You already knew I would survive that, or you would not have started with it. As long as you do not pull it out.?

Isaac was watching the fletched end of the arrow wiggle with each pulse of Ewan?s heart. ?I have never seen it before, so I could not be sure. You have, I gather??

?Yes.?

The disappointment was fleeting, just a ghost in the corner of an eye. ?Well, we will think of something. How long can you go with that thing in your heart?? His finger twitched in time with the arrow.

?A few hours. I will not be of much service to your other experiments after, I am afraid.?

?Oh, do not worry about that. I have a very capable surgeon on hand and a mage if necessary. Oh do not scowl. I know you do not like being healed by magic.? It was not exactly that, as Ewan had been healed by magic before. He just only trusted very few in that talent. Isaac continued with an eager rubbing of hands. ?Planning your capture took too much effort to lose you on the second day. And you?re fun. I like you.?

Ewan smiled and bowed his head at the compliment, feeling the pain wash anew, and he fell into it. It would be, as he had been told, not the last experiment. He should get his rest while he could.