Rhavel Sorn had left that reception with his drink unfinished, and Trafalgar had spent the whole of the next day waiting to find out what a frightened man does with a night.
He found out in a service passage under the second ring, four hundred paces from a warehouse nobody had put a trading name on.
The address had come out of Kesh's own tables. Three sealed windows, three deliveries in the cargo registers, all three ending at the same leased building on the outer edge of the ring, four doors down from a cooperage that had closed years ago.
They went at the ninth hour, when the yards were noisy enough to hide in and quiet enough to walk through.
The passages under that part of the ring ran in a grid, low-ceilinged and lit every thirty paces, built so maintenance crews could reach the overflow runs without crossing the loading floors. Trafalgar had walked two of them already. This was the first time he'd noticed how few exits they had.
