Chapter Eight
‘Impossible,’ said Konrad.
‘Fact.’
‘Well then, where is he?’
Tasha rolled her eyes. ‘She is… not here.’
Did Konrad imagine the abrupt shift from exasperation to shiftiness? Guilt, even. ‘Where is she, then?’ Konrad said. ‘For that matter, who is she?’ His thoughts flew back to Balandin’s description of an altercation in the street. Stout woman. Middle years. Was that who Tasha meant? But how could she possibly have found a woman so imperfectly described — and whose description she hadn’t even heard?
‘Fine,’ said Tasha. ‘I’ve found your murderess and also lost her, but you can get her back, can’t you? You’re the Malykant. You can walk faster than most men can run. There’s no getting away from you.’
‘You lost her.’
‘I spooked her,’ Tasha admitted. ‘She ran away.’
‘From
