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A chipped specimen was plunked down on the dirty table in front of him. With great anticipation, Abbis uncorked a new bottle of Thallonian ale and poured to the goblet’s brim. Then he poured some more for himself as well, spilling a little.

He chuckled at his clumsiness. No doubt, his reflexes were dulled a bit by the liquor and-

“You’re an easy man to find,” came the rasping voice of the Cordracite, his faceted eyes blinking at him.

Abbis glanced up at him. “I have no reason to hide…” What was the name? he asked silently.

He is called Shabik, Wyl supplied just as silently.

“No reason at all, my good friend Shabik. Sit down and join me in a celebratory cup!” Abbis demanded.

He tried to push the overfilled goblet of ale in the Cordracite’s direction without spilling it. It wasn’t a very successful maneuver. Oh, well, he thought, I can afford another bottle or three.

“Thanks, but I don’t drink,” said the Cordracite. He didn’t make any move to sit down, either. He just stood there, blinking. “I’ll take my money now, if it pleases you.”

“It would please me if you would do me the honor of sitting at my table,” said Abbis, his voice rising.

The Cordracite frowned at the remark. Still, he sat down on the crude bench opposite his employer.

“There,” the Thallonian said approvingly, “that’s better.” He fumbled in his pocket and produced a pouch full of the agreed-upon sum in slips of latinum. “Your work was excellent, incidentally.”

“Of course,” said Shabik.

His tone was supercilious; it grated on Abbis’s nerves. He watched as the Cordracite opened the pouch and counted the slips of latinum. Then he looked up at his employer.

“Will there be additional jobs?” he asked.

Abbis took a sip of his Thallonian ale. “Not at the moment,” he said. Recalling something he’d just learned, he couldn’t help chuckling. “Actually, you may be out of business soon.”

Shabik blinked again. “What do you mean?”

Abbis shrugged. “I guess you haven’t heard. The water supply of the capital city on Cordra Three was poisoned by a fanatic-and for free!” He laughed again, this time with greater vigor. “If this keeps up, it may be I won’t have to part with latinum anymore!”

Shabik didn’t look amused. His antennae bent forward, as rigid as lances. Leaving his ale untouched, he got up from his seat. “If you change your mind, let me know. If not, we’ve never met.”

And he left without another word. For a moment, Mendan Abbis watched the assassin make his way through the crowd. Then he grunted, drained his goblet and reached for the one the Cordracite hadn’t bothered to taste.

“It is remarkable,” he told his companion. “Now even the victims have victims. Truly, war can’t be far away.”

Wyl narrowed his eyes as he smiled. “I am pleased for you,” he remarked. “I hope you are pleased with yourself.”

The Indarrhi had a habit of spouting cryptic phrases that meant nothing to Abbis. Was he pleased with himself? He sprawled in the chair, the alcohol warming him, and thought about it.

Yes, he decided, he was very pleased. He was pleased with Bin Nedrach, he was pleased with Shabik, and he was pleased with all the other professionals busily executing his orders.

He was doing the job he had set out to do. He had chosen his henchmen well. His timing had turned out to be impeccable. So what was there not to be pleased about?

Abbis drained the goblet that had been scorned by Shabik and filled his own again. His world was growing warmer and fuzzier around the edges when a big, ungainly-looking alien brushed against his table and knocked over one of his ale bottles.

An empty one, the Thallonian noted. But it didn’t keep a spurt of anger from filling his throat. He was on his feet and his sword was in his hand even before he realized he’d drawn it.

“Oaf!” Abbis bellowed at the alien. “In your clumsiness, you knocked over an entire bottle of Thallonian ale!”

Though large, the alien clearly wasn’t the belligerent sort. He shrank away from Abbis, lifting appendages that were not quite paws