Chapter IV

Councils and Catfights

The Faceless Man known as Jaqen H'ghar by one lovely girl sat at an immense round table, half weirwood and half ebony. As with the main doors to the House of Black and White, a moon face was carved into the centre, straddling the line where the two woods met; weirwood on ebony, ebony on weirwood. This was the Chamber of the Faceless Council, and for the moment it was cool and quiet. The Lorathi assassin had arrived to the meeting early in order to get accustomed to the space. It could be an intimidating setting, and he had not been here for several years.

On this occasion especially, he wished to be calm and prepared, for the Council was gathering to discuss the trial undertaken the previous night by the acolyte known as the Cat; the girl whom the Lorathi had first known, and still thought of in unguarded moments, as Arya Stark. He wondered how they would react to the news that she had failed the test – at least in part. Perhaps they would regret allowing him to oversee the trial, though they had all agreed to it.

"A man would like to volunteer himself for this task," he had said.

"But, brother," his sister objected, "you have never been one of the girl's masters, and you are only very recently returned from your mission. Surely another would be better suited."

"This is true, but it seems like the natural conclusion of things. A man was, after all, the one who set the girl on this path. He should like to be there when she comes to its end."

"Such sentimentality does not become us, brother," said the one whose face was that of a kind old Westerosi man. He was known among the Faceless Men as the Elder, for he was by far the oldest member of their ranks. His words sounded like a warning, but there was a small smile on his face and a genuine fondness in his eyes. "However, I believe you are right. It seems only fitting. As long as no one has any objections, you may oversee the girl's test."

None had objected, and it had been decided. Still, the Lorathi wondered if they would blame his influence somehow. He hoped not, as he intended to propose something at this meeting.

Soon enough, his brothers – and one sister – began to file into the room and take their seats. There were twenty seats already arranged around the table, and many more lined the far wall of the chamber should there be need of them, but only a dozen Faceless Men were currently in residence in Braavos. The rest were away on missions and could not be present.

"Valar morghulis," the Elder intoned by way of convening the Council.

"Valar dohaeris," came the solemn reply.

"Let us not delay. Brother," the Elder said, turning towards the Lorathi. "Tell us about our Cat."

He did as he was bid, giving a full and honest report of the girl's performance during the test. He noted her hesitation in delivering the gift, but heavily emphasised the impressive skill she had shown. Her stealth and ability to observe without being observed were excellent, her Braavosi (which he had overheard when she spoke to the innkeeper) was without flaw, and her fighting skills far surpassed the level of a mere acolyte. The only thing he omitted from his retelling was the more personal elements of their conversation after he had revealed his identity.

He noted, with a flicker of something which felt like pride, that none of the Faceless Men looked surprised as he praised the Cat's skills. Clearly, they were all well aware of her prowess.

Of course they are aware, he thought. A memory surfaced of Arya Stark at Harrenhal, the knife in her hand dripping with the blood of Bolton guards, a gleam of triumph in her eye as she surveyed the ruin she had reaped. He had seen then what she could become: a weapon without equal. That was why he had given her the iron coin, taught her the words she would need to find the House of Black and White. And to find me, his subconscious added, but he pushed the thought away as quickly as it had arisen.

The Council fell into a ponderous silence as he concluded his report. He glanced around the table to try and read their reactions, but they were Faceless Men, all, and thus inscrutable. After a few long moments, the Elder spoke.

"There is no doubt the Cat is skilled. It is well known by us as well as her fellow acolytes, and has earned her respect and hatred in equal measure."

The members of the Council nodded in agreement, though the Lorathi was slightly concerned about that last admission. Respect was good, but it was a dangerous thing to be hated by anyone trained by the Faceless Order. He imagined the girl's enemies would find that out sooner or later, remembering her whispered prayer, the names she swore to strike from her list with bloody vengeance. He pushed that thought away as well, because he knew such vendettas were not permitted by the Order. Entertaining the idea was foolish.

"However, her hesitation is what concerns me," the Elder continued. More nods and murmurs of assent.

"It would seem she still struggles with becoming no one. After all this time, I have to wonder if she will ever be ready," their sister said. She was small and stick thin, looking for all the world like a child, though she was in fact over forty years old now. The last time the Lorathi had been at the temple, around three years ago, he had overheard some of the acolytes refer to her as 'the Waif'. He had been most amused, thinking it a very fitting title for the wisp of a woman. He had thought of his sister by that name ever since.

A heavy silence fell in the wake of her words. The Lorathi knew what they were all were thinking. The Cat, for all her obvious and unparalleled talent, would not be able to serve if she could not cross this last hurdle. It was time to make his proposal.

"A man will train her, if the Council permits it. He will make her ready."

Eleven Faceless Men turned to face him all at once, but he remained calm even under their scrutiny. The Elder, more than the others, looked thoughtful.

"You think this thing can be done, brother?" he asked.

"A man has said," the Lorathi replied. "He believes the girl is very close, and it would be a shame to allow such talent to go to waste."

"This issue was discussed many years ago, brother, when the girl was first initiated as an acolyte." The man who spoke now was one of the more seasoned members of the Order, though nowhere near the Elder in years. He was a large man, originally from Pentos, and though his head was bald, he still grew a beard in the forked style of that city. The Lorathi noted, however, that it had greyed some since he had last been in Braavos. "It was decided," the Pentoshi continued, "that since you were the one who, as you said at our last meeting, 'set the girl on this path,' it would be unwise to have you train her as well. Given the girl's past, how many mentors and father figures she has had ripped away from her, the risk of her becoming attached to you was too high."

The man to the Pentoshi's left chimed in. He was a beautiful Lyseni whose spun-gold hair had not faded as he entered his middle years. "Indeed," he said in a soft voice. "And you agreed with our assessment, brother. Besides, you are still young, and we have need of your talents elsewhere. Yes, it would be a shame to waste the Cat's talents, but to see you confined to the temple by your obligations as her master… That, too, would be a dreadful waste."

The Lorathi dipped his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. "A man did indeed agree to keep his distance from the girl, to not make himself known to her while he was in Braavos. It was not a difficult promise to keep, since a man has been away from the House for the majority of the girl's time here. Now, though, the last of a man's long missions is complete, he will be here for the foreseeable future, and, after last night's trial, the girl is aware of his presence. It will be difficult to avoid contact at this point, and doing so would likely only cause her to question why such contact is being avoided.

"Also, while a man agreed with the Council's decision five years ago, the girl has had much time under the supervision of other masters, and yet clearly still requires guidance. Perhaps a man's past connection with the girl is what is needed to get through to her, help her to overcome this last barrier."

Having said his part, the Lorathi sat back and let the Council discuss. They went back and forth for a time, almost everyone offering something to the discussion. The meetings of Faceless Men were not usually so animated; the matter of Arya Stark – the Cat – was evidently considered important by the Council. The only person who stayed silent was the Elder, though he listened intently and seemed to be weighing the options in his mind.

Eventually it was decided that a vote should be taken. The Lorathi, being the one proposing the issue, was not allowed to partake, which meant that there were eleven voters, an odd number that would allow for a decisive outcome so long as no one abstained. No one did, and the result was five against – including the Pentoshi and Lyseni masters – and six for – including the Waif and the Elder. Normally such a small margin would have been cause for further discussion, but though all Faceless Men were considered equal once they were inducted into the Order, the Elder's opinion held a good deal of weight amongst them. His vote in favour of the proposal was, in the end, what settled the issue, and the Council moved on to other things.

"The other issue we must discuss," said the Pentoshi, "is the acolyte known as the Boar. His skills are also of a very high level and the time for his trial must surely be approaching."

The Waif scoffed. The Lorathi looked at her, his curiosity piqued. He did not know of an acolyte who went by this name, but he must be noteworthy to have elicited such a strong reaction from his usually imperturbable sister.

"I am sorry, brother," she said. "I know the boy has been your apprentice, and you have honed his skills well, but I think we all know what the result of his trial would be."

"Please elaborate, sister," the Pentoshi replied, a subtle edge to his voice.

"Certainly, he would not hesitate as the Cat did. But if we are to criticise the Cat for her reluctance to give the gift, I think we would have to criticise the Boar for his eagerness."

"I must agree with our sister," said the Lyseni. "The Boar is even further from becoming no one than the Cat. His actions are still ruled by ego and temper, and he too often mistakes ruthlessness for cruelty. He is not ready."

Nobody tried to refute this statement. The Pentoshi looked mildly displeased, but even he could come up with no reasonable counter argument.

It does not bode well if even the boy's master cannot defend his temperament, the Lorathi thought.

The meeting drew to a close soon after that. "Valar morghulis," said the Waif this time as they all stood.

"Valar dohaeris," the Lorathi murmured, his voice joining with those of his brothers to echo around the chamber. The Faceless Men filed from the room as the echo faded, but the Elder remained behind and gestured for the Lorathi to come speak to him.

He approached and gave a small bow. "Master."

"I have not been your master for many a year, my boy," the Elder said, his wrinkles deepening as he smiled.

"And a man has not been a boy for many a year, yet his master still calls him so."

"Just so, my boy, just so." The Elder chuckled, the sound like logs on a crackling fire, and the Lorathi realised how very old his former master was becoming.

"You wished to speak with me," he prompted, dropping his usual Lorathi speech pattern for emphasis.

"Yes, indeed. I want to make sure you are prepared for this task you have volunteered for."

"A man has said he will do this thing."

"Hmm," the Elder mused. "The girl is talented to be sure, but there is fire in her. I am still not sure it can be tamed."

"There was a time when a man would have said the same of a certain boy he was training," he countered, referring to the time when he was still the Elder's young apprentice.

"This is true. You were all aflame… and such dark flames, they were. That fire in your soul, there were times I thought it would surely consume you. But you learned to control it. I do not know that you can control hers. I do not wish to see you burn again, my boy."

There was genuine concern in the older man's voice, his eyes full of intensity. The Lorathi found it… disturbing. He had always had a good rapport with the Elder, and their history as master and apprentice meant they knew each other well, but even so, such heartfelt admissions were rare. And what exactly was he warning him about, anyway?

Before he could question his old master further, the Elder brushed past him and headed for the door, signalling the end of the conversation.

"Take care, brother, and do not fail," he called over his shoulder, his voice betraying no hint of the emotion he had just divulged.

The Lorathi stood there watching as the Elder's ancient form retreated down the torch lit corridor, not moving until he had been entirely swallowed by the darkness. Their conversation had put him on edge, posed questions to which he had no answers. He filed them away for later consideration and left the chamber, pulling the heavy doors closed behind him.

His questions could wait. For now, it was time to go and find a certain Cat.

The girl proved more difficult to find than he had expected. It was past time for the acolytes to take their midday meal, so he went to the dining hall first. He scanned the room from the doorway but could see no trace of her long dark hair. He checked the kitchens, the main temple chamber, and the acolytes' classrooms, all to no avail, before it occurred to him to check the weapons room.

Perhaps a girl is honing those skills for which she is so respected and hated, he thought as he retraced his steps to the main temple chamber and took a set of stairs leading down.

He descended into the earth below the temple, his finely tuned assassin's senses registering the almost imperceptible changes in air temperature and pressure. On the main floor of the temple one could occasionally get a hint of natural light from a high, narrow window, or feel a slight breeze as someone entered through the large front doors, allowing a salty wind off the lagoon to sweep through the corridors. On the lower levels, though, everything was still. There was a heaviness to the air and, though the in-use corridors were lit by torches, the unused ones were left submerged in a true darkness that was almost palpable. The sun had never touched this place.

As he walked, he wondered what he would say to the girl. She had asked him the most obvious questions last night – Where were you? Why was I hired to kill you? Did I pass the test? – and he had answered her truthfully, though not always completely. In her state of shock, the girl had not pressed him for too many details. He doubted it would be so easy to evade her questions now that she had had time to mull things over.

The corridor he was walking along split. The left fork would take him to the weapons room, the right further into the bowels of the temple. He was about to turn onto the left-hand corridor, but stopped abruptly when he heard voices coming from the other direction.

"You're sure she's down here?" someone said. The voice was male, deep, a hint of eagerness underlying his brusque tone.

"Has to be," came another voice. Also male, but not as deep. "We checked everywhere else."

"Little bitch is probably hiding," said the first voice.

He frowned as he listened. Who were these people? Certainly, they were not Faceless Men, for no Faceless Man would talk in such an openly aggressive manner; it revealed far too much emotion. More importantly, were they talking about Arya?

Not Arya. The Cat. Here, she is the Cat, he told himself. He had to be careful about such things, especially if he was to train the girl to be no one.

He stepped into a shadowed alcove from which he could see the opening of the corridor. After a moment, he saw three figures wearing acolyte's robes emerge from the right fork and stalk down the corridor towards the weapons room. He thought the first voice he had heard likely belonged to the largest of the three, who appeared to be leading the other two. He peered around the corner and saw the three men duck into the weapons room. He heard the first voice say, "Ah, there you are, little Cat," before his voice could no longer be clearly made out.

So, she was down here, after all, and these men were after her. A small kernel of worry settled in the Lorathi's chest as he remembered what his brothers had said in the Council meeting about the Cat being hated by some of her peers. He followed the corridor towards the weapons room, resolving that he would not interfere with whatever was going on unless he had to. After last night, he knew the girl could handle herself. Still, he wanted to be close by in case she needed his help. The voices came back into his hearing range as he neared the doorway.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have places to be." The Lorathi would know her voice anywhere, strong and clear as always in spite of the three large men bearing down on her. "Tell your goons to move."

"I don't think I will," said the leader, his violent intent becoming clearer from the tone of his voice. "You see, I thought we could do a little training together. You are so skilled, after all, I'm sure there is much you could teach me."

"I'm not going to fight you," she replied.

Good. These brutes are beneath you, lovely girl.

He had reached the entrance to the weapons room and could see that the two smaller men - the 'goons', as she had rightly called them – blocked the door so that she could not leave. He hung back in the shadows so that no one would catch sight of him.

"I'd have thought you'd jump at the chance to prove yourself after last night," the leader taunted.

The Lorathi's eyes narrowed. How did this acolyte know about the girl's trial? He had spoken of it to no one outside of the Council Chamber. His suspicion built into anger as the acolyte's taunting continued.

"You know, I always knew you'd fuck up eventually, but to do it so spectacularly, and after coming so far… I mean, you've been here five damn years training to be an assassin, and it turns out you don't even have the balls to kill a man. My mistake, of course you don't have the balls. That's the whole problem, isn't it? Maybe if you'd been born with them you wouldn't be such a pathetic waste of flesh."

He broke off, laughing, the other two joining in, and the Lorathi saw the Cat clench her fists, signalling her rising anger. He could not blame her; he could feel his own blood heating, his own fingers itching to reach for his blade, to silence this vile man. The only thing that stayed his hand was his respect for the girl and her ability to fight her own battles, or walk away from them should she choose.

"Let me pass," she said through gritted teeth.

"I have to know. How many masters did you have to fuck for them to let you stay here this long?"

The poisonous words tumbled from the acolyte's grinning mouth, sealing his fate. The girl's grey eyes ignited, and the hairs on the back of the Lorathi's neck stood on end, a small shiver running through him as a wave of cold fury rolled off her. The two goons took a small step backwards, but they were not her targets. Not her immediate ones, anyway. She dropped her robe and turned to face her aggressor.

The man raised his fists, looking delighted that his prey had taken the bait. There was such hatred in those eyes, a feverish desire for blood. It occurred to the Lorathi that this acolyte was very likely the same one discussed by the Council earlier. The Boar. If the testimony of the other Faceless Men was anything to go by – and it usually was – this acolyte was skilled. That, coupled with his obvious advantage in size and strength, meant the Cat would have her work cut out for her in this fight. Then again, he knew what the girl could do. He lifted a hand to his cheek where the cut from their altercation still smarted. He had no doubt she could take on this Boar. Whether she could defend against the other two at the same time was less certain, but the goons showed no sign of moving from their position by the door. It seemed their role was simply to prevent her retreating.

As the two acolytes launched into their fight, however, it quickly became apparent that the girl had no intention of retreating. The Boar moved first, rushing at her with fists raised – likely in an attempt to make her balk – but she evaded him with ease, leaping out of his path at the last second so that he had no time to alter his course. He lashed around, hounding her across the room in a furious melee.

To an ordinary onlooker, it would appear that the Cat was being forced to retreat, but the Lorathi knew better. She was toying with the larger man, letting him pour his energy into chasing her around the room while she conserved her own, dodging, ducking and dancing just out of his reach, occasionally managing to dart inside his guard and deliver a few quick blows to his torso before leaping back again. The Faceless Man marvelled at the grace with which she moved; he had not been able to appreciate it last night, so occupied had he been with fending her off. Now that he was not on the receiving end of the girl's aggressions, he could be properly awed. She whirled around the room in a flurry of limbs, dark hair streaming behind her, face a mask of deadly focus. It was… magnificent.

He was mildly impressed that the Boar managed to keep up with the Cat's speed, in spite of his size. On top of that, he was certainly able to take a hit. He did little more than grunt when her blows found their mark. But though he was just fast enough to parry her attacks, he had not yet been fast enough to land any of his own.

No sooner than he had had that thought, the Lorathi was startled by a cry of pain from the girl. One of the Boar's fists had connected with her ribs. She had managed to mostly dodge it, so it had been but a glancing blow, but her face contorted in pain and she staggered sideways, clutching her side. The reaction seemed disproportionate, and he felt a twinge of guilt as he realised that she was likely suffering from their fight last night. He recalled that he had kneed her in her side. She had been winded from the blow and he had no doubt it would have left significant bruising across her ribs.

The Boar took advantage of her pain and swung a punch at her head, but the girl recovered quickly, ducking under his arm and stepping inside his guard, pummelling his ribs with a burst of ferocious punches. The Boar thrust his elbow backwards, aiming for the side that appeared to be causing her pain, but she spun deftly out of the way, bringing her leg up and slamming it into the back of his knees so that he dropped to the floor, leaving him at just the right height for her to deliver another devastating roundhouse kick straight to his kidneys.

The Lorathi felt a rush of wicked pleasure as the Boar bellowed. He knew exactly how much pain a blow like that could inflict. He tried to measure his reaction, to rule his emotions – for no one would certainly not care about the outcome of this fight – but found he could not, or rather, that he did not want to just now. The Boar deserved every ounce of that pain and more besides.

It appeared that the pain did not weaken the Boar, however, but enrage him. He pushed to his feet and rounded on the girl with a snarl. They began exchanging blows again, and for a moment he dropped his guard, letting the girl land a solid blow on his torso, but also freeing up one of his arms so that he could return one of his own. His fist smashed into her stomach, doubling her over, and before she could right herself, even catch a breath, he brought his other fist down across her face.

The Lorathi forced himself to remain still as the girl was sent sprawling across the dirt of the training room floor. His jaw was clenched tight as he watched her drag herself to her knees and spit out a mouthful of blood. The Boar was smirking, looking very pleased with himself as the girl spluttered.

Get up, he beseeched her silently from the shadows. She stayed down, but shifted slightly so that her injured ribs were exposed, an easy target. She glared up at the Boar, eyes like murder, daring him to come closer.

Obliging her, the Boar rushed forwards, lining himself up to kick her in the precise spot she had left open for him. Perhaps had he not been so blinded by his emotions, he would have noticed the trap she had laid, but instead he saw only the opportunity to inflict pain. The girl gathered herself into a crouch, a cobra ready to strike, and leapt not away from her attacker, but at him, dodging at the last second and sweeping her leg out to tangle with his. His momentum and huge size worked against him and he went down hard, a cloud of dust billowing around him.

He rolled over and tried to rise but she leapt on him, straddling his chest and pinning his arms to the floor. There was none of the hesitation she had displayed last night. As soon as she had the opportunity for the decisive blow, she took it, drawing back her arm and smashing her fist into his nose. There was a loud crunch and a spurt of blood. His head smacked against the floor and his eyes rolled back.

The goons went to step forward, ready to either help their leader or attack the Cat, perhaps both, but the Lorathi reached out and clamped his hands down on their shoulders. They spun around, fists raised, but their faces blanched when they saw his black and white master's robes. He jerked his head and they scurried off down the corridor, all concern for the Boar apparently gone. He moved forward to lean against the doorframe, though neither the Cat nor the Boar noticed him.

The Cat had stood up, moving back a few paces to allow her opponent to stand up again, if he was able. He did so after a moment, and stood glaring at her, his face covered in blood and lips peeled back in a snarl.

"Are we done here?" she demanded.

"You sure are," he spat. "No way the Council will keep you around now that they've seen what a pathetic little girl you are. You got this far with people thinking of you as the Cat, but now they're going to see that all you really are is a pussy, a mewing little cun—"

Before he could finish that last vile statement, the girl launched herself at him, leveraging herself on one of the benches – much as she had done in the alleyway last night – and jumping high. She wrapped her legs tightly around the Boar's head and neck so that the aforementioned body part collided with his broken mess of a nose. He staggered, his cry of pain and surprise muffled, and she used his shock and loss of balance to her advantage, throwing her bodyweight backwards, arching her torso and reaching her hands towards the floor, following the momentum through with her legs. It was an incredible display of agility and strength, and the Boar was once again sent tumbling – literally – head over heels. He crashed a few feet away, moaning pitifully, while the Cat gracefully rectified herself and brushed off her palms.

The Lorathi crossed his arms across his chest, struggling to contain the laughter that wanted to burst out of him. He ruled his face; as much as he wanted to cheer for the girl's victory, he needed to be the master now. He cleared his throat pointedly and the girl spun around, eyes widening as she caught sight of him leaning in the doorway, the slightest hint of a smirk on his face.

"Jaqen! Uh… how long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough that a man will not believe a girl if she says the boy was like this when she found him."

She flushed pink – well, pinker, since the fight had already brought a good deal of colour to her pale cheeks – and started trying to explain. He held up a hand to quiet her and moved into the room.

"A man can see very well what has happened here." He looked her up and down, eyes settling on her cheek where the Boar had punched her. "Is a girl badly hurt?"

She shook her head.

"Good. Then a girl will wait here for a man's return."

"Where are you going?" she asked, sounding worried.

He looked down at the Boar. A subtle downturn at the corner of his mouth conveyed his distaste, but he answered in a measured tone. "A man will take this boy to the infirmary so that he may have his hurts mended."

"I can help," she said.

"A girl will wait here. Do not move until a man returns."

With that he hauled the Boar to his feet – a considerable task given his size and half-conscious state – and marched him out the door. The girl must have assumed they were out of hearing range as they passed the doorway into the corridor, but the Lorathi's ears were sharp, so he heard her swear softly.

"Hells," she muttered, and his smirk returned.

The Boar maintained a sullen silence for the majority of the walk to the infirmary, though this was largely due to the fact that his brain had been thoroughly rattled and he couldn't talk without causing himself significant pain. The blood had stopped flowing freely from his nose, but the entire midsection of his face was swelling up. He looked like one of the bloated corpses they sometimes pulled from the lagoon down by where the braavos liked to hold their duels.

"It was self-defence, you know," the Boar mumbled after a while.

"What?"

"The Cat has it in for me," he insisted. "Has done since the day she got here."

Clearly, the acolyte had no idea just how long the Faceless Man had been watching and listening from the shadows outside the weapons room. He decided not to enlighten him just yet, instead fixing his gaze back on the path ahead and increasing their pace, forcing the injured man to walk much faster than he would have liked. In his peripheral vision, he saw the Boar scowl, clearly irritated by the Faceless Man's refusal to believe his lies. He kept pushing.

"I'm serious. I didn't want to fight her, but she's vicious. If I hadn't defended myself I might be dead right now."

"Yes, a man imagines the Cat would have little trouble killing a Boar should she wish it."

The acolyte did not react to the name, so the Lorathi was proved correct in his assumption that this man was, in fact, the Boar he had been told about earlier. After what he had just witnessed, he no longer wondered at his master's inability to defend him to the Council.

"So you agree with me then – she's rabid. Should be put down if you ask me."

"No, a man does not agree. In fact, a man finds your opinions on the Cat to be rather contradictory. Earlier you said how skilled she was, and how she could surely teach you much. Why would a boar wish to be taught anything by a rabid cat?"

The Boar's steps faltered and he gaped, realising what those words meant. Realising that he had been caught in a lie by a Faceless Master. His brazen attempt to lay blame at the Cat's feet had led him right into a trap, and now the snare was closing around his neck.

"You—you were there the whole time?" Again, the Lorathi said nothing, and the Boar's anger rose. "Who even are you? You're not any Faceless Man I know."

The Lorathi laughed humourlessly. "A man is disappointed. He thought surely an acolyte of this temple would know…" He leaned in, dropping his voice to a confidential whisper. "Faceless Men have a certain set of skills that allow them to avoid being known by others."

The Boar scowled. It was evident he did not enjoy being on the receiving end of taunts. The Lorathi turned on his heel and started towards the infirmary again, the order to follow implicit. After a tense minute of silent walking, the Boar spoke again.

"I don't care if you heard what I said," he declared. "I stand by it. That girl doesn't belong here. There's a reason we are called the Faceless Men."

The Lorathi rounded on him. "We? The last a man heard, you had not been given the title of Faceless Man. Were a man in your position, he would be less concerned with the doings of a certain Cat, and more concerned about his own place within this Order. When in the service of the Many-Faced God, the number of balls a person has is of little import compared to their skill."

He grabbed the acolyte by the arm before he had a chance to respond and hauled him around the last corner to the infirmary. The elderly physician's eyes widened as the Boar was shoved unceremoniously through the door.

"What happened?" the old man asked of the Lorathi, who had his back to them and was scanning the shelves.

"This boy was taught a valuable lesson by a fellow acolyte," he replied, all earlier hints of emotion vanished. His tone was now one of disinterest. "One he would do well to remember."

He grabbed a couple of paper packets from one of the shelves and walked from the room, but not before catching the murderous glint in the Boar's eyes.