"You're lucky," I tell the unconscious messenger. "Had this happened yesterday, I would have killed you. Today, you just get a bump on the head and a bad headache."

I close the door. The door has a lock, but a quick glance around the room doesn't reveal the key. Bolin's probably got it on him, buried in some pouch or pocket. There's no time to dig it out. I have to get out of here. And I don't want to disturb his body.

Well, except for one thing. That weapon. I am not leaving a sickle lying around in here. I am absolutely sure someone planted it to mark me as Bolin's murderer. Whoever did it has another thing coming. I am no one's patsy.

A moment ago, I thought it was bad luck that I came back to kill Bolin right before Triel walked in. Now, I'm not so sure. If I hadn't been here, Triel would already be running back to Jet with the tale of how he found Bolin dead with a sickle through his skull. And that would be the end of my work for Jet. Most likely the end of my life. From that perspective, my arrival was fortuitous. But every moment I stay here I am pushing my luck.

Grabbing the handle of the sickle, I slide it back out of Bolin's skull. There is a wet sucking plop when his eyeball implodes as I pull the tip of the blade back into his skull. I hold the blade over the fire til the blood and other bits are burnt clean. The sickle itself is a cheaply made piece of trash. I'm surprised the forge fire didn't melt it immediately. I dump the blade into a bucket of water and set it back on the worktable to cool, next to my cuirass. Another piece of incriminating evidence I had better remove.

Strange. My cuirass is repaired. Bolin had started working on it as soon as I left and he must have worked on it without pause, finishing it just before he was killed. Why would he put aside his personal project - his work with the torture implements - to fix my cuirass? Maybe his talk of melting down the torture implements for the metal was a ruse, to throw me off his true purpose - to keep and use them. Or maybe he placed paid work before personal projects. Makes sense, for a greedy, unscrupulous dwarf. Or maybe he genuinely liked me and wanted to help a friend out, like he did with the rune. Ugh. Who knows? Stinkin' paradox of a dwarf.

A quick inspection shows that the dwarf's workmanship on my cuirass is first rate. Bolin didn't just repair it; he made it stronger. I slip the cuirass back on.

I ponder whether to toss the decoy sickle into the forge fire or bring it with me. After a few moments of deliberation, I decide to bring it. If the forge fire is not hot enough to melt the sickle blade, it could still be used to mark me as the killer. Best to take it away and toss it someplace where no one will connect it with Bolin's death. I slip it into my belt.

The torture implements aren't where Bolin had placed them when I was here earlier. Did he secrete them away somewhere after I left? Or did his murderer take them? Another mystery I don't have time to solve right now.

Another quick glance around the room. Everything looks in order, except the corpse on the floor. I don't see any other evidence lying around to implicate me. A talented healer might be able to see from the nature of the wound that a sickle was used. But the only healer in Elftown who could do that was Bolin. Someone proficient with a sickle might recognize the weapon by the wound, but the only person I know in Elftown who could do that is me. I should be safe.

For the moment, anyway. Bolin's murderer is a threat to me. And to Jet. Until I figure out who killed Bolin and why, we will both be vulnerable.

I pick up Triel and toss him over my shoulder. One good thing about food scarcity in Elftown. It makes dead and unconscious elves easier to carry. I crack the door and peer out. Hallway's still clear. Good. They have night shifts at the smelter, but there are fewer elves about. I leave as I came, through the back door. I toss Triel halfway over the wall, climb over, and then pull him down by the arms. Throwing him over my shoulder again, I disappear into the rain and darkness.

As I work my way through the back alleys toward Jet's hideout, I remember the satisfaction I felt after beheading Calmorien. The sense of justice. I thought that feeling would return after I satisfied my vow. But it hasn't.

Bolin killed Alvar. Bolin is dead. My vengeance is complete.

I should be happier about it.