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or any of your adventurous friends go out hunting more demons last night?”
    Smack, smack, swish .
    Garet dodged and countered with a backhand that drove Tarix back a step.
    “More demons? No, Master, I found the one quite enough for my taste.” Swish . “And smell.”
    Now it was he who was driven back as Tarix’s staff tested his guard. Each strike was as precise and swift as a bird’s wing.
    “Stiffen your wrist or you’ll lose your weapon,” she said, and quickly demonstrated how that might be done.
    Garet held up a hand for truce and picked up his stick.
    “Was there another demon, Master?”
    Instead of answering, Tarix feinted high and then swept his feet out from under him. At least he landed well, stick out to guard against further attack. The Red smiled and motioned him up. She leaned her staff against the wall and dipped a ladle into the water jar standing in the corner.
    “Ah, that is good! Yes, in the Seventh Ward, a Catcher Demon. Think of a Basher with longer arms and hooked claws.”
    Garet would have preferred not to think of such a thing. A Basher was one of the most dangerous demons, large enough and strong enough to batter down a small house or punch a hole through a courtyard wall. He had never met a Catcher Demon, and was not upset to have missed the opportunity.
    “Who got it, Master Forlinect?” Garet asked. He remembered the Red had been listed for patrols on the board lining one wall of the dining hall.
    “That is the hitch in the rope, as we used to say in the Sixteenth Ward. No one knows who killed it or will admit it if they did. All the Hall knows is that the carcass of the beast is still there, or was there, if my dear husband has moved himself smartly to shoo away the gawkers and dispose of it.”
    Garet stared at her. Every Master kept track of their kills—and the kills of their apprentices. It meant praise in the Hall and was a sign that you were worthy of your sash.
    “Gawkers? If people are nearby, that means the jewel is gone!”
    Tarix nodded and handed him the ladle. She stretched her arms above her head as he drank.
    “Ahhh, nothing like a morning training session to set you up for the day! Yes, the jewel was gone, chopped out of the demon’s head and spirited away.”
    “But Master, you know you can’t just ‘spirit’ a jewel away. They must have had . . .”
    “. . . a silkstone box, yes? Here, give me that ladle and let’s get back to it. It seems the Banes, or whoever they were, had a box to hide the jewel away. Otherwise we’d feel it still, or some patrolling Bane would have found it.”
    She picked up her trident. Once she had favoured the shield spear, but this weapon gave her extra stability when her leg tired.
    “Garet, where’s your rope hammer?”
    The younger Bane blushed. “I’m afraid it still hasn’t . . . recovered from its trip into the sewers. I washed and soaked it last night, but now it must dry and then be stretched again.”
    Tarix laughed, a sound of pure delight in the gloom of the training hall. A pair of Golds who had just come in turned to look at her before smiling and picking up weighted clubs to lift and roll about their shoulders. There were few Masters in the Hall as well liked as Tarix.
    “Well, I’m glad you left it behind. Poor Garet, sent down into that stench to defend the city! Take one of those claw-ended batons and try to rush me.”
    That Garet managed to touch Tarix once with the training weapon, leaving a small scratch on the back of her hand, was a sign of his improvement since becoming a Green. The Red trained him relentlessly, but Garet doubted he would have survived wrestling the Snake Demon the night before without the increase in speed and strength Tarix had brought about.
    Marick was waiting for him in the front hall after lunch.
    “Come on,” he said, looking left and right to see if anyone in authority could hear him.
    Garet resisted the pull on his sleeve.
    “Marick, I’ve got Black Sashes to train