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one isn’t weighted right.”
    “We’ll check it out tomorrow night.” Amaranthe tossed the fob to Akstyr, then considered the numbers on the damp note.
    “Why don’t I research that while you take the others to the gambling house?” Books could use a break from his belligerent-minded brethren. A long break.
    “Sounds good,” Amaranthe said. “I like a man who volunteers to do research.”
    He straightened, pleased at the thought of proving himself useful.
    “I’ve run into trouble at the real estate library before though,” she said. “Why don’t you take Maldynado? Even if there aren’t any assassins lurking on the upper tiers—” she tossed a significant look at Sicarius, “—Maldynado can distract the clerk if you need to sneak out with documents.”
    Books had his mouth open to complain that Maldynado was the
last
person he wanted to spend more time with when his brain circled back to the first thing she said. “Real estate library?”
    “Isn’t that where you were planning to research? That’s a lot number, isn’t it?”
    Books scrutinized the note, but he knew little about real estate, so he had no idea. His shoulders slumped. He read and wrote six languages, had taught world history for a decade, and could find anything in a library in under a minute.
He
was supposed to be the expert on research. If he wasn’t that, what was he in this group? “Well, there were a number of possibilities that came to mind, but that’s certainly on my list of items to check.”
    Amaranthe smiled, brown eyes knowing, but all she said was, “If that
does
match up with a lot on record, see if the other number represents a recent appraisal.”
    “Right.” He tried not to feel disappointed that his scrap of paper was not something more interesting. Like that cipher he’d mused about. He would have enjoyed a cryptographic challenge, but real estate? Enh. Worse, he had to take Maldynado.
    “That’ll get you out of tomorrow’s fun.” Amaranthe winked at Books.
    “What fun?” Akstyr asked suspiciously.
    “The rest of us can dig out the as-built drawings for the aqueducts and figure out where those bodies came from.”
    “Looking at pictures all day?” Akstyr grimaced.
    “Oh, I’m sure there’ll be some field work.” Amaranthe’s eyes twinkled. “Got any magic tricks for waterproofing boots?”
    “Uhm, maybe?”
    Without comment, Sicarius left the room. Unless the team was planning a mission, or he was leading training, he never spent time with the men. It would not surprise Books if he randomly killed everybody in their sleep some night.
    Basilard and Akstyr returned to knife throwing. Books fiddled with the sheet of paper, though his thoughts were elsewhere, particularly on how he could sneak out in the morning, leaving Maldynado behind.
    “You doing all right?” Amaranthe asked him.
    “I’m fine.”
    She nodded for him to follow her to a quiet area of the room, near the warmth of the furnace. “You look glum.”
    “That’s my normal expression.”
    “I’ve noticed. With those perennially dour faces, you and Basilard could start a convincing crematory business.”
    Books shrugged. “I’ve just been wondering if…perhaps this was a mistake. I’m not sure how I…enhance the group. Research skills, I thought, but you’ve proven adept in that area yourself.”
    “Only in matters where I have previous experience. I studied business—including real estate—in school before my father died and I had to drop out. Please don’t underestimate what you have to offer.”
    “It’s not only that. I’ve little in common with a band of mercenaries, so I don’t fit here, not like I did at the University. But, of course, I can’t go back there.”
    “Having a record as someone who cavorts with outlaws isn’t usually a draw for employers,” Amaranthe agreed.
    Books prodded the corner of the coal bin with his boot. “Maybe I should leave the capital, find a small town where nobody knows me.