with written instructions had dropped from a puffed sleeve into Daniel's lap before he'd been half an hour in the market.
"You know, master," Hogg continued, "there's professionals here in San Juan too. They're a whole lot cheaper than having your dick sewed back on might be."
Daniel passed an inset doorway on the left. He heard the balcony above him creak as someone's weight shifted, but nobody spoke. He and Hogg were past the bend in the alley now.
"Tell me, Hogg," Daniel said in a low voice as they proceeded. The third doorway, the note said. That would be the one to the right, beneath a second-story balcony. "When you were growing up on Bantry, did your family buy meat at the Servants' Store?"
Hogg snorted. "Not unless Pap was too hung over to walk his snares," he said. "And after I turned six or so, not even then. Who'd want to eat chicken when the tree hoppers were fat on nuts?"
He chuckled and added, "And aye, I understand. Who knows? The maid what passed you the note didn't look half bad herself."
Daniel stopped at the third doorway. It ought to be the right one, but . . . The note didn't say, Knock, or Whistle or whatever, and there wasn't an eyeslit in the heavy panel. Which was odd unless—
He looked up. There was a giggle from the balcony; a trap door in the balcony floor opened inward. Daniel caught a glimpse of lace, then a bundle of sticks dropped down unraveling as it fell. It was a ladder of battens hung on cords.
"Keep an eye on things if you please, Hogg," Daniel said in a low voice. He gave the ladder a practice tug. Then, with a quick glance around, he started up. He'd have swung wildly if Hogg hadn't belayed the bottom of the ladder, but the silk-and-bamboo construction was certainly strong enough.
The trap door wasn't meant for anybody quite so bulky as Daniel Leary wearing his dress uniform under a cloak. He squirmed, angling