The spreadeagled monk was beginning to return to wakefulness. Sylvie leaned over him just long enough to check his pupils were reacting normally.

What was 'normal' with this guy, anyway?

His four limbs twitched just once, finding themselves thoroughly immobilised by the woody vines she'd grown in a hurry, and he looked at her. "I take it I failed," Weft said steadily.

"You could say that," Sylvie replied, and sighed. "Is it worth asking why you tried to kill me?"

"I was told to."

"Simple as that?"

"Simple as that."

"Right." It would be wrong to say she was developing a headache; Sylvie had been nurturing this one all morning, beginning with the loud alarm shrieks from her little two-headed companion, who had flown off to chase a brown-and-white magpie and hadn't been seen since, and growing worse as the sun came above the gorse and heather to shine in her eyes.

Being almost assassinated hadn't exactly helped matters, though. And now...

Not knowing what else to do, Sylvie put her meagre camp in order. She left until last the overshirt, trousers, belt and shoes she'd removed from her would-be murderer while he was unconscious. She didn't really want to touch them. Far too many ways to get cut.

Weft had noticed, of course he had, that he was stripped down to his undershirt and shorts. Sylvie still wasn't sure she'd removed all the weapons, but she'd wanted to leave him some dignity. Besides, she'd gummed his fingers together as an extra precaution. With any luck, he wouldn't get out of her little trap before she was long gone.

A nagging thought recurred to her and she turned back to the restrained assassin. "You know, one thing I have been wondering. Surely your superiors know you're," choose words carefully, now, "friends with Sebastian. Weren't they worried you'd warn him?"

"Or you directly?" he added. He seemed resigned. "No. I couldn't, even if I'd wanted to. Which I - did, very much."

Sylvie folded her arms and looked at him in case he'd elaborate.

"And if you're wondering, no, I wasn't slacking off or going easy on you. I made a genuine error, your magic was too good, you got me fair and square."

Except that it was completely by chance. It didn't bear thinking about. If she hadn't set up those silent alarms in case another wild stag came blundering by...

"Actually," Sylvie said, "I was wondering why you were sent in particular, instead of someone with no... emotional involvement in the case. Their cruel joke at the victim's expense, perhaps?" She didn't really think so, but... no, actually she wouldn't put much past these people. Not given the way Suitov talked about them.

"I don't think they think like that. More likely they were punishing me," Weft said matter-of-factly.

Sylvie raised an eyebrow. "For?"

"Take your pick. I'm a pretty lousy botcher, always making mistakes. I deserve it."

"Is that so?"

"Come off it, Sylvie. I just tried to kill you! I would think you'd at least agree with that one."

Sylvie shrugged and turned away. Give him time to stew. She had the strong feeling that now was an opportunity to get some answers she wouldn't normally hear.

Besides, she had a lithe, pliant and scantily-clad visitor tied up and he'd just said he deserved to be punished. Sylvie always did her best to be accommodating.