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holding the scabbarded blade that came with my job. I took it down and unsheathed the blade, checking the edge for nicks and straightness, then pushed it smoothly back into the scabbard.
      "What are you planning to do?" she asked.
      "I'm going to talk to her, and find out what she knows."
      "You don't need a sword to talk to her," said Blackbird.
      "As you pointed out earlier, I need to be ready for anything. Who knows what she's capable of?"
      "You sound like Garvin."
      "Yeah, well. Maybe it comes with the job," I said.
      "To the man with a scythe, everything looks like grass."
      "I thought it was hammers and nails?"
      "A nail that's hammered is still a nail, with care it can be pulled and hammered flat and may be used again, but once the hay is cut, there's no re-planting it. Not every job needs a sword, Niall."
      "Yeah, but there's never one handy when you need it, is there?" I walked to the door. "I'll be back later."
      "Try not to get killed," she said.
      "Thanks for the vote of confidence." I closed the door behind me.

THREE
     
 
    Angela's house looked like any other semi-detached built between the wars. It had bay windows and a small arched porch sheltering the front door. There were pins for the gate-hinges in the brick wall where the short driveway emerged into the road but unlike its neighbours, the iron gates which had originally fronted the other houses had been removed.
      The house had skipped the fashion for whitewashed rendering and survived as plain brick. As I walked along the opposite side of the road I noted the net curtains hung for privacy, the shrubs in the front garden which had been recently pruned and the brass padlock on the side gate. It suggested cared-for and careful. There was no car on the front drive, but that was true of many of these houses in the middle of the day. It didn't tell me whether there was anyone home.
      Strengthening my glamour, I diverted attention away as I reached the end of the street, then crossed to the other side. Reversing my course, I walked back towards the house. The gardens at the rear backed onto one another, providing a possible escape route for me, as well as for her. I wondered what Garvin would do in these circumstances, but then he rarely did anything this trivial and he didn't work alone. He'd have another Warder backing him up at least.
      I began to wish I'd asked one of the other Warders to come with me and watch the back of the house; no amount of magic meant you could be in two places at one time. Still, this job didn't warrant a team. It shouldn't need more than one Warder for a lone woman with no history of violence. More than that would simply scare her, and scared people were irrational and dangerous – there was no reason to turn this into a fight.
      Reaching the house again, I looked for signs of occupation. There were empty milk bottles on the step, but they could have been there for days. All the windows were shut, and given the heat of the day that would indicate that no one was home. Maybe I could let myself in and wait for Angela to return.
      Movement at the upstairs window caught my eye – not empty then. There was a vague figure behind the net curtains. With my glamour concealing me I should not stand out, even for someone watchful. I continued walking until I reached the end of the street.
      With the house occupied, it was more complicated. I couldn't guarantee it was Angela and I wasn't sure if there was more than one occupant. It increased the risk and added uncertainty. I could sneak around the back and try and see who was in, but I had no way of knowing whether she might have set wardings around the back of the house in case of unwanted visitors. The front was safer; anyone could approach the house from the front – milkman, postman, cold-callers. It made sense to stay where the traffic was.
      I turned back on myself again, wondering if any of the houses opposite were