The watchtower doors flew open as if forced from the inside. They made a loud noise and shook as if nearly ripping from their hinges. From the darkness within a woman and the swordsman—the one who had taken Sakura appeared. Behind them was a dirty little hunchbacked man, his hand around Sakura’s upper arm, and in his other a knife.

“Lawrence!” she called.

“Sakura!”

“Quiet, my sweetmeat,” the man hissed as he brandished the dagger. “Or I’ll cut you.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” the woman at the front said, not bothering to turn to the small man. “Take her away.”

“Wait,” Lawrence called. “We had a deal.”

“A deal?” the woman asked. “Do you mean to tell me, mage, that you intend to leave your ally with us?”

He said nothing, because of course that was not his intention. He wouldn’t let them do whatever it was they wanted to do to Haku if he could help it, but right now Sakura was the higher priority, and besides, The White Feather could take care of herself.

“I thought not.”

Beside the woman was a man in tattered robes. Beneath those was the cuirass of leather armor, vambraces, and shin guards. This swordsman looked like a vagrant rōnin samurai. Is he really some kind of legendary duelist? Is that what this is all about? He wants to kill Haku, to spread his fame?

The failed mage grit his teeth. Quietly he worded to Haku, “I’m with you.”

“I know.”

“Mmm,” the woman said, smiling. “Both of you are so yummy. Why not put your weapons down and give up.”

The swordsman stepped forward. “Do not get in my way, witch. The White Feather is mine.” Haku stepped forward several paces, moving away from Lawrence’s side so he wouldn’t be involved in their duel.

“Fine,” the woman that swordsman had called a witch said. “But this mage is mine. My price for assisting you—otherwise you can deal with them both.”

“Do as you wish,” the swordsman said from behind his mask, moving to meet Haku.

“What do you want with me and Sakura?” Lawrence asked. “She’s useless to you—she’s only a dancer. Let her go!”

The woman, tall and imperious, smirked. “Oh, but she’s so much more than that, silly mage. And so are you.”

What is she talking about?

“Kat,” she added. “Can you bring him to me?”

“Of course, mistress,” a young woman said, stepping out from behind the shadows where the machiya had kept her hidden.

“But don’t kill him, dear.”

“Of course not.”

This witch was not of the east, but her ally was, though from another region entirely, Lawrence could tell that much. She was probably another witch, just like her mistress.

The failed mage was on his guard and fully prepared for a magical duel. But could he take two of them?

The young woman came forward. Much like her mistress, she too was tall, had a bemused smirk on her face, behind which Lawrence knew was a very dangerous woman.

She let her robes fall to the ground, acting as though she were lowering her shift to reveal her naked body. But she wasn’t naked—not quite. She wore a leather raiment with a neckline so low, it reached to her lower stomach.

The failed mage raised an eyebrow.

The woman spread her legs as she reached behind her lower back, revealing a whip. The leather adorning her thighs and hips were slashed, revealing more of her skin, provocative cinches keeping the raiment right and secure to her body.

“More whips?”

“Oh, please,” Kat said, an edge of annoyance in her voice. “That courtesan knows nothing about whip craft.”

“Whip craft?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling as if hiding some lurid secret she wanted to tell him. She tossed her long hair.

The failed mage sighed. He didn’t want to kill this woman—had never killed a woman before. “Think carefully about what you’re doing,” he warned as he revealed his blade.

The girl laughed, then cracked her whip. “Let’s have some fun.”

“Fine.”