The Izmodeians seemed to be a pretty big ethnic group in Vyrinios: their quarter was more like a half. They'd also gone to some lengths to achieve that just-like-home feeling - although the architecture of the homes and mid-sized buildings might have been basically Vyrinian underneath, they'd been enthusiastically painted just like McKenzie remembered from his first few hours on this planet, and any woodwork had been traditionally carved to within an inch of it's life, too. To the extent that anything on this world was familiar to McKenzie, this was: he actually felt his spirits rise a little as the carriage trundled past the colourful houses and shop-fronts.

He told the driver to stop soon after they entered the quarter - he hadn't told the man his exact destination, and given recent experiences he didn't want him to know, either, in case the information leaked out. He'd been lucky, he supposed, that he hadn't specifically mentioned the Snow Leopard Inn to the first driver, either - McKenzie assumed that Mak-whoever had probably asked, in no uncertain terms, what the guy knew about his plans for the rest of the day.

Most of the nearly-Tibetans flocking around the quarter spoke little or no Vyrinian, but that was no problem for McKenzie, who only needed to speak McKenzie in order to be understood anywhere.

"'Scuse. You know the Snow Leopard Inn, mate?" He asked an old man pushing a wheelbarrow.

"Five minutes walk that way, you can't miss it," the man said, with a grin. "Not many from here trouble themselves to learn our words, good son."

"I know - shameful, isn't it, good father?" McKenzie - who had never troubled himself to pick up any foreign phrases apart from 'another beer please' since 1800 - replied breezily, then set off down the street. Twelve bells could be heard ringing - he was late.

The old gaffer had been right - it was hard to miss the Snow Leopard Inn, on account of the actual snow leopard prowling around out the front. It wasn't chained up or caged, but showed no particular interest in attacking passers by or even in molesting the gaggle of goats penned up outside the butchers across the road (the goats looked nervous, but then again they were outside a butchers – random street predators were the least of their problems). Tellingly, none of the locals were running away shouting 'help it's a snow leopard' either. Eventually, as McKenzie approached, it found a dry spot underneath a table and flopped down.

Well, it looked like he wasn't late - when McKenzie tried the door, it was locked.

The leopard looked up at the noise. "Um, there's a nice puss cat," McKenzie told it.

"Don't be patronising," the leopard replied, sounding remarkably like Danandra - the accent wasn't Izmodeian, anyway, and the tone had an element of her usual acidity.

McKenzie blinked, taken, understandably, somewhat aback. Then his usual cynical skepticism reasserted itself, and he began to suspect a trick. Indeed there was a faint sense of magic coming from the cat.

"Sorry, oh mighty hunter of the lonely mountain peaks," McKenzie said.

"Don't be facetious either," the leopard told him.

"Thank you. Any more advice? I'm working on my interpersonal skills."

"Nobody likes a smartarse."

"Fair point. Do you happen to know when this place opens up? Got a meeting scheduled for twelve," McKenzie asked, reasoning that whether it was a woman throwing her voice, some other illusion, or an actual talking cat, it still might know when the door would be unlocked.

"It's late opening today," the leopard said, and sighed. "Or it was supposed to be, anyway. Is your name Kenzbar or McCrowzie, something like that?"

"Might be," McKenzie replied, going instantly on alert and reaching around for his gun. "Depends."

"Did I not just say that nobody likes a smartarse?"

"It was duly noted," McKenzie said. The cat glared at him, in that infuriating way only cats can manage. "Okay, yes, fine, I'm McKenzie. Hello, um, big talking cat."

The cat sighed and emerged from beneath the table, stood up, stretched, and turned into an Izmodeian woman - or girl, really, she was not much over twenty.

"My name is Onzanali," Onzanali said.

She looked a lot like McKenzie remembered Nibnandali looking, except taller, a lot stronger in build, and, to be fair, quite a bit younger. She wore - of course - a leopard-print dress, and somewhat bizarrely an apron on over it. She finished the stretch she'd began as a cat, with her arms up high above her head.

One or two people in the street had stopped to point, and a few more could be seen looking, but it seemed that this wasn't a particularly surprising occurrence hereabouts. Most of the looking was being done by the local young men, who were clearly less interested in the transformation than in the stretching.

"Smooth transition, Onzanali," McKenzie said, refusing to be surprised. This wasn't his first transforming animal, after all. "I had a friend who could do that, but she couldn't say anything while she was in her four legged configuration."

"Was your friend a werewolf?" Onzanali asked.

"Yup."

"The jaw isn't right for it, with wolves," Onzanali supplied, while she unlocked the door with a key she took from an apron pocket. "Takes a hell of a lot of practice for a leopard, too, by the way."

"How come you don't have the not-local accent?"

"'Cos I'm not-not-local. This leopard was born right here," Onzanali replied, pushing open the door - the Snow Leopard was a sizeable inn, with two levels, a stage, and lots of tables. "I imagine my brother will be along any minute, or possibly he's already lurking in the rafters somewhere like he does. Coffee?" She headed for the bar.

Brother? Interesting. McKenzie looked up - no sign of the helpful assassin up there. "Coffee would be ace," he replied. "And a double of something fuck-off strong, too."

"It's only just gone twelve bells. Bad day?"

"You have no idea," McKenzie replied. "Less than an hour ago I exploded."

"As in lost your temper?"

"I wish I meant it figuratively," McKenzie winced.

"Poor dear. You look remarkably well for it, though, if a bit - well, a lot - on the grubby side. Pull up a stool, McKenzie," Onzanali said. "That'll be four copper bits for the shot, though - this is a business, not my brother's personal hospitality lounge," Onzanali said.

"Here - keep the change, it was your brother's anyway," McKenzie put a silver coin on the bar, and received a glass half-full of something amber in return. "This isn't the traditional Izmodeian stuff, is it? I've had that before and it was-"

"Disgusting, I know," Onzanali interrupted, wrinkling her nose. "No, this is your standard-issue Vyrinian Firewater. Coffee'll be a few minutes. No hot water yet." She indicated a large copper vessel mounted in the inn's fireplace - copper pipes ran up and over to the bar from it, a complex bit of kit that belied the inn's otherwise quite rustic appearance. McKenzie glared at the copper vessel - a few moments later it was hissing.

"There you go," McKenzie said, then slammed back the drink and coughed.

"Ah, you're a mage," Onzanali nodded, and started coffee preparations behind the bar.

"Not really," McKenzie told her.

"Well you're doing a good impression of one."

"Greetings, good sister mine," came a vaguely familiar voice from above. McKenzie looked up just in time for an assassin to land almost silently next to him.

Onzanali didn't look up. "Hi Anj. Your twelve o'clock is here. He smells of burnt hair, is covered in mud and he's really odd, but I sort of like him. I'll get you some coffee."

"I'm really odd says the girl who was furry five minutes ago," McKenzie interjected, and then rubbed his hair and sniffed at his hand. Onzanali didn't respond.

'Anj' nodded his head at McKenzie. "Good brother Crowbar. You are welcome in this house."

"Thanks," McKenzie said.

"Follow me. Onzanali will bring refreshments." Anj said.

"Oh she will, will she?" Onzanali asked archly.

Anj visibly held his expression in check. "Our brother's soul knows rest at last thanks to this man, good sister mine. Remember that."

Onzanali also held her expression in check as she addressed her brother. "Sorry - I know you two were close even though I never met him, and I know how important you think the old ways are. But - no offence, McKenzie - make this a quick meeting and then get him out of here, will you? I'm about as involved as I want to be with your choice of career."

Anj's expression remained set. "We will not be long," he said, and then headed towards the back of the inn.

McKenzie followed him - he went down the side of the stage, through a door, and up some stairs to a small room with a table, chairs and a view out over the street behind the inn.

The assassin indicated a chair at the table. McKenzie sat down. If Anj was surprised by McKenzie's somewhat worse-for-wear appearance, he didn't betray it by word or expression.

"You must forgive my sister, please," Anj said. "She is young, and, unlike me, was born in this city. She does not honour the ways of our people."

McKenzie arranged a polite smile. "Yeah, happens all the time. She seems nice, though. Bit leopardy, to begin with."

"It runs in the women of our family. In Izmodeia, such women usually become priestesses, and are highly honoured. Here, she runs an inn," Anj told him, then sighed. "But Izmodeian women were ever headstrong and inclined to follow their own hearts."

McKenzie coughed. "Yeah, well, at least it's steady work." He wasn't really here to talk over an assassin's family problems.

'Anj' seemed to realise that, too. "I am Anjarong. I will not tell you my assassin name, as if this meeting was not occurring, there would be no way you would know it. Let us not introduce complications."

"I wouldn't worry, it's come to my attention recently that I'm spectacularly bad with names, but anyway, your call," McKenzie replied.

"I must convey to you again my gratitude. I knew, weeks before it was common knowledge in Vyrinios, that Mahrak the Undying had been destroyed - I could feel that my brother's torment was ended, and his spirit could start it's journey to join our ancestors," Anjarong said.

McKenzie stopped himself from making a glib reply. "I'm glad you've got closure," he said.

"I also count myself an ally of Nightwing, within the Guild. She is the leader of one of the factions which we do not have, a faction that believes our actions must be tempered by considerations of justice."

"Um, okay. You lost me in the middle a bit there, but I think I get the idea. She did say that she wouldn't kill just anyone."

"That is our belief. Her imprisonment, however politely it is being done, has not been an universally approved action," Anjarong said.

McKenzie filed this interesting tidbit away - he'd probably forget it anyway, but what the hell. "Is she unharmed?" He asked Anjarong.

"Yes - she is unharmed. She is under a sort of house arrest - the spirit of Revlius will allow her to go from room to room as she wishes, but will not allow her to escape or allow anyone but the High Assassin or his associates in to see her," Anjarong said. "The current Arrangement is at the behest of the troll Iyanus, who has taken over Aghkar's syndicate following Nightwing's successful Appointment with him. There is a large amount of money involved - it will take Iyanus many months to recoup what he is paying the Guild, but the stakes are high for him. He has managed to force through a deal between all the crime lords of the city, but they have made his participation in his own brainchild concomitant upon him finding Aghkar's killers. He is not a popular figure - the other lords would rather see a human in charge."

"This bit I know, and I know where he got his information on myself and my apparent targets, too," McKenzie said.

"There is more you do not know. Part of the Arrangement was also to keep him safe: from you, from rogue elements amongst his own ranks, and from other crimelords who might prefer a more direct solution to keeping Iyanus out of the position he wishes to hold on to. He has powerful protection - five deadly assassins, one of whom may be a match even for you. I must consider my honour, here - the one of whom I speak is another ally of Nightwing," Anjarong said.

"Then how come he's happy to be part of a deal that keeps her a prisoner?" McKenzie asked.

"He has his own sense of honour - while he might agree with Nightwing, he would not refuse a commission from the High Assassin, and he will die rather than fail in his duty," Anjarong said.

"You guys are proper weird," McKenzie said.

"We are assassins. We must have such rules, otherwise what are we but a mob of paid killers?" Anjarong said.

"He says that all the time as if there's a difference between 'assassins' and 'paid killers' apart from the posh address and the made-up names," Onzanali said. McKenzie whirled round - even though she was carrying a tray with coffee in mugs and platters of bread and cheese, he had not heard her enter: she was as noiseless as an elf. "If you're that jumpy already, by the way, you may want to skip the coffee."

"Do not pass comment on that which you do not understand, sister mine," Anjarong said: darkly, but with a certain amount of resignation.

"I think I understand about coffee, thank you brother mine," the girl replied, as she set the tray down on the table.

"You know well what I mean," Anjarong said. "It is known that this house is under the protection of the Guild - that is why you can sleep easily at night and fear no robbers."

"I fear no robbers, Anj, because I ripped the last one's arm off. Word gets around, when you do that," Onzanali told him. "Enjoy your coffee," she said to McKenzie, and left.

"I-" Anjarong started to say.

"Moving on," McKenzie interrupted.

"Yes," Anjarong nodded, and started pouring coffee. "There is little more that I am able to tell you. If I could help you more, I would."

McKenzie sighed, and jammed a bit of cheese in between two bits of bread to form a makeshift sandwich. "Thank you for what you have told me." A thought occurred to him as he took a bite - he finished his mouthful and said: "While we're here, though, does the name Lady Jenata mean anything to you?"

"It is said she rules the Vyrinian underworld," Anjarong answered.

"So she's like the local mob kingpin? Or would that be Queenpin?" McKenzie asked.

"No - by underworld, I refer to the undead, the unnatural and the were," Anjarong said. "The Lady Jenata is a vampire."

McKenzie sighed. "Of course she fucking is. Why wouldn't she be?" He muttered. "I've already had to deal with a zombie and a castle full of werewolves, frankly it's a bloody wonder that a fucking vampire hasn't popped up already."

"She is known to be ruthless, merciless and cruel," Anjarong informed him.

"Big turn up for the books there. She's also got my friend in her clutches, although apparently she wants her alive," McKenzie said gloomily, then remembered who he was talking to. "Oops. Probably shouldn't have said that."

"You have my word I will divulge nothing that is said in this room to the High Assassin," Anjarong said.

"Ta," McKenzie said.

"Do you know why the Lady Jenata has kidnapped your friend - I assume she is one of the same women you have been tasked with finding and delivering to your former associate to be eaten?" Anjarong asked him.

"Oof. Direct way of putting it. But yes, one of them," McKenzie supplied.

"Then I can tell you two things. First, it is not surprising that the Lady Jenata would choose to involve herself in this affair in this way, but not for the reasons you might think. If there is a figure less popular amongst the crime lords than Iyanus, it is Jenata. The others are all humans, and they fear her. It is conceivable, I suppose, that she wishes to gain leverage over Iyanus by holding that which he needs in order to maintain his position - or she could simply be aiming to usurp him - but expansion of her influence has never been a goal of hers in the past," Anjarong said.

McKenzie took a drink of coffee. Great, more bloody subtlety, he thought. "OK. Go on," he said out loud.

"Second, there is a thing not commonly known. The Lady Jenata was the subject of a botched Appointment. Several brothers and sisters were lost - she is now on the White List as a result of this."

"White List?" McKenzie queried.

"No assassin may accept an Appointment for her, without the permission of the High Assassin."

"Right. Who fucked that one up, then?" McKenzie asked.

"None other than the High Assassin himself, it is rumoured - just before he rose to the office a few months ago, and before you ask, yes, several of his key rivals were among the dead," Anjarong told him.

McKenzie, who had not been about to ask, nodded as if he had.

"She has no love for the Guild," Anjarong said. "If she knows of the Arrangement, it is not unlikely that she would try and sabotage it, to adversely affect the High Assassin's reputation."

"Oh-kay..." McKenzie said, already lost.

"Of course, there is a third possibility."

"Really?" McKenzie said, in a pained tone. He was still trying to figure out if they'd just covered one or two.

"Indeed - the High Assassin may have a private arrangement with the Lady Jenata," Anjarong said, musing.

"You said arrangement differently there."

"Of course. This would be an arrangement, not an Arrangement."

"Oh for fuck's sake," McKenzie muttered.

"You are right to be chagrined," Anjarong said, misinterpreting (possibly purposefully) McKenzie's statement. "Separately, they are deadly enemies. Working in concert, they would be nigh-on unassailable."

"Remind me what they get out of this?" McKenzie asked, unable to make a guess himself.

"She benefits by knowing she will not be the subject of any Appointment during his tenure. He benefits by ensuring the death of his rivals. They each gain a powerful ally," Anjarong said.

"So I might be up against a vampire and all her minions too. Today is starting to pall a bit, frankly," McKenzie said.

"That is by no means a given: the Lady Jenata's motivations are unclear. If she does not have an arrangement with the High Assassin, and wishes to see the Arrangement fail, then you might be able to enlist her aid in achieving your goals," Anjarong said.

McKenzie's patience ran out. "Capital Arrangement this, lowercase arrangement that. This is fucking well complex," he said. "Look, I've gotta rescue my friends somehow before some fucker beats me to it and they do end up being served to Leni and her fucking boyfriend on a platter. I don't do this Machiavellian nonsense, to be honest, Anjarong. I'm fucking brilliant at violence, though. So fuck it - I'm going to the guild hall, gonna hit this Bladehand twat with something heavy until he releases Jadhara and calls off this stupid bloody upper case 'A' Arrangement with the trolls or dies, in which case I'll start bashing down doors until I find Jadhara and then she can help me find Danandra and Sharinta. There. A plan. I'm loads happier now - thank you for the illuminating chat. If you've got any friends inside the guild hall, get 'em out and stay away from there for a while. If I take Bladehand out, any deals he's made die with him, right?"

Anjarong did not seem happy with this. "Not so - Arrangements, once agreed, are with the Guild, not the High Assassin. His successor might see fit to renegotiate, but precedents for this are rare."

McKenzie put his face in his hands as his prospect of a reasonably straightforward solution went out the window. "Are you lawyers or killers? Seriously."

"A little of both, it would seem. Also, consider that Revlius is a powerful magical entity. He has the ability to lose you in rooms for days, if he wants. How many doors can you bash down, McKenzie?" Anjarong asked.

"Dunno. This might be a golden opportunity to find out. Do you want to open a book on it? Put me down for ten quid on 'fuckloads'."

Anjarong ignored that. "Unless the answer is 'an infinite number', then Revlius will always be one door ahead of you. You could easily starve to death in the Guild Hall, if Revlius wished it."

"Fuck," McKenzie said. "Okay then, I'll start at the other end. Doing my absolute best to avoid hurting your mate, I'll take Iyanus and Leni the fuck out. Dead client equals dead Arrangement, right?"

"Again, not so. Once payment has been made for an Arrangement, the Guild will see it executed. If the original client dies in the interim, then his legitimate heirs or successors can request the Arrangement be terminated, if the High Assassin was to agree to it."

"You were spot on with your killers/lawyers answer, Anjarong, that sounded entirely legalistic and also included two separate euphemisms for killing someone." McKenzie ran his hands back over his hair and thought. "Okay, so leaving aside whateverthefuck this Lady Jenatter is after by holding onto Danandra - I got no idea where vampires hang out, so she'll have to bloody wait, frankly - we need a dead High Assassin and a dead client. Great. Can do. The Venn diagram of 'people society won't fucking miss' and 'people involved in orchestrating this fucking shitstorm' is fairly unequivocal. I gotta do something, or I'm gonna go fuckin' mental," McKenzie said, drank the rest of his coffee, and started to rise. "Thanks for your time, Anjarong. Bear in mind what I said about staying away from assassin HQ for a while, you seem OK and I wouldn't want you in the firing line."

"I would strongly advise you to open negotiations with the Lady Jenata, first. If she could be persuaded that your interests were aligned in this matter, you would have found a powerful ally. The unnatural community is a force to be reckoned with," Anjarong suggested.

"Like I say, dunno where she is," McKenzie said, keeping it to himself that Talius was seeking her out. "I'll let myself out. Thanks again."

"Wait!" Anjarong said.

"Really not my strong suit," McKenzie said, although he paused.

"If you will not consider contacting the Lady Jenata, there is one other possibility. Something I overheard in the Members' Club, before I left for this meeting. There was a disturbance, at the Unsheathed Dagger. Two of our brethren did not acquit themselves very well, and the High Assassin is not amused. I have no details - this may not even be connected to this Arrangement - but if you could get into the Unsheathed Dagger without being seen, you may be able to learn something to your advantage. Madam Listra, as you must know, is a friend of Nightwing's - she will help you if she can," Anjarong said.

Great, another bloody 'lead'', McKenzie thought. It might be worth a look, though, he supposed.

"OK, I will - against my instincts - put the violence on hold for the moment and check it out," he said. "Thanks again - but at some point, even if it's not today, this whole thing is gonna kick off. Don't be in the vicinity when it does."

"I understand," Anjarong said.

"I would say 'see you round', Anjarong, but, well, let's hope I don't, for a while at least," McKenzie said, and left.

He went back out the way he'd come in, past the stage and into the main room.

"Thanks for the coffee and the sandwiches," he told Onzanali, who was polishing the copper piping that ran above the bar with a great deal of energy. This was quite a sight to see - add in another round of stretching, and you could probably charge admission.

"You paid for it," she answered. "No idea what a 'sandwich' is, though."

McKenzie pointed to the half eaten example he was holding. "Two bits of bread, put something nice to eat in between. It's convenient to hold while you eat, see?"

"Hunh," she said. "Useful."

"Best thing since sliced bread," McKenzie said.

"Did you two get your business settled?" Onzanali asked him. "Actually, don't answer that. The less I know the better."

"Fair enough. You won't see me again, don't worry," McKenzie headed for the door.

He heard her sigh.

"Wait!" She said.

"Is saying 'wait!' in a dramatic fashion just as someone's about to leave a room a family trait, or something? Your brother just did exactly the same thing."

"I know, I was listening," Onzanali said.

"But the less you know the better?" McKenzie asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"A woman on her own in this city has to look out for herself," Onzanali countered, "and it doesn't hurt to leave people with the impression you're not a witness of any sort."

McKenzie shrugged. "It's your pub, you can eavesdrop and bullshit in it if you want to. So yeah - I'm waiting. For?" He hinted.

"Were you telling the truth? About how your friends are in trouble?" She asked him. "This isn't about killing someone?"

"Not for money in a pre-arranged fashion, no, but I'll be proper surprised if a few people don't wind up dead because of this. A few more, I mean - I don't think we're quite into double figures yet but it's heading that way," McKenzie answered her. "And yes, I have two friends and one recent acquaintance who I'm nevertheless saddled with responsibility for in very real danger over this. One of them is being held captive by your brother's lot, and another is currently the unwilling guest of a fucking vampire, would you believe it. If that doesn't qualify as 'in trouble', I don't know what does."

"Is my brother in danger?"

"You can ask him that yourself," McKenzie replied. "But probably, yes, if word of this little get together gets about. So I'd keep schtum and let me walk out of your life without having to complete a lengthy exit interview first, if I were you."

Onzanali almost literally bristled at McKenzie's tone. He half expected her to hiss, but she got herself under control.

"I can get a message to her," she told him.

"What? To who?" McKenzie asked, thoroughly surprised.

"To Lady Jenata," Onzanali answered.

McKenzie's much-abused mind finally made the connection between the fact he was talking to a wereleopard and that Lady Jenata was a big figure in what Anjarong had called the 'unnatural community'.

"Oh," he said.

"So?" Onzanali prompted him.

"So what? Sorry, I'm still processing that," McKenzie said.

"Do you want me to get a message to Lady Jenata?" She asked again, impatiently.

"Oh, that." He stopped and tried to think this through. A possible confederate of a possible enemy was asking him if he wanted a message taken to her, and had just overheard the entire conversation where he'd outlined his plans for the day, only the other guy in the conversation was her brother, so... His mind stopped - his subtlety buffer was full.

"Yes, fuck it, why not. Tell her everything you heard, if you want, I'm sick to the back teeth of all this fucking about. Tell her if she's in this game in order to fuck the High Assassin and/or Iyanus and Leni over then great, let's do lunch or something, but whether she is or not, if my friend is hurt she's a dead woman walking," McKenzie told her.

"You want I should rephrase the last part for you?" Onzanali asked him, with a raised eyebrow.

"Why?" McKenzie furrowed his brow as he mentally reviewed it. "Oh. Yeah."

"I'll pass the message on. How do I get any reply to you?"

McKenzie considered giving the name of the inn Talius had specified, but decided against it. If Jenata decided she'd rather like him dead, he doubted the innkeeper would thank him very much for adding an undead/were hit squad to the clientele.

"I'll check back here later," he answered.

"You just said I wouldn't see you again."

"Fine, suggest another bloody place then. I'm not local," McKenzie said, just about managing not to snap too much.

"Do you want this message delivered or not?" Onzanali asked back - and she was totally fine with snapping.

"To be honest, I'm pretty much indifferent. One less fucking complication if you don't, I'll find her myself when I haven't got like fifty eight million things to think about," McKenzie replied, this time not bothering to suppress the snap.

Onzanali dropped her hostility and smiled. "Okay, hero, calm down. I'll tell her and yes, you can come back here to find out if she wants to meet with you. Or maybe get attacked by vampires, I'm not promising anything."

"You changed your tune pretty quick," McKenzie said.

"Maybe I've got a weakness for mysterious strangers on mysterious quests," Onzanali replied.

"When you get to know me I'm really not that mysterious, and you know as much as I do about the current pain-in-the-arse problem I have to solve: I wouldn't dignify it with 'quest'," McKenzie told her, and headed for the door. "Nice meeting you, Onzanali. Tell my friend I said hi, if you see her at all while you're delivering my message, and pass on my apologies for exploding instead of rescuing her."

"You really are very odd," the girl said, as he left.

"You don't know the half of it," McKenzie said to himself, in the street, then set off in search of a taxi.