Martin shrugged, his mottled cloak shifting about him with a theater that no doubt pleased him but annoyed Katherine to no end. She rolled her eyes, really it was the only reasonable reaction. She met the eyes of a few of the others in the troupe, for troupe they were for all that they were as happy with instruments and greasepaint as they were with swords bows. They knew her though and not a few of them dropped her gaze and scuffed their feet. A good sign all in all. They were not the best of men, but they were not heartless bastards. There would be a way out of this that wouldn’t cost blood, she was certain of it. 

Talk, and gold. It would come down to that. 

“I don’t know what he wanted with them. I only know he wanted them and was willing to pay. Beyond that I didn’t give a shit.” 

“Poetry.” Muttered Katherine at his words as she moved towards Alexi who was looking pretty close to panic. That wouldn’t help a damn thing. They were outnumbered and the men didn’t know Alexi. She didn’t think they’d hesitate for long if he bolted. Bolts would fly and he would fall and Katherine would have failed in her duty, to see him safe. Crud. She heard the men shifting behind her at her movement and spared them a withering look and a hand gesture that told them to calm the hell down. Whether they complied or not she didn’t see since her attention turned back to Alexi. She forced her face to be calm to convey confidence. She was mostly certain this would all turn out ok, mostly, but she didn’t know him and she didn’t know if he would or could calm in the face of this situation. 

“Come now Sir,” she murmured softly, for his ears only as she put her hand over his were it rested, she imagined his knuckles were white under her fingers. She let her thumb stroke over the back of his hand, soothing, calming contact. For certain his eyes were rolling, broadcasting his panic for all to see.

“They are talking. That is a good sign. Surely you learned something of negotiation at that university of yours. Let’s see what we can make of this. All is not lost, not while we breathe and that posturing fool wants to find his way back to Florie’s bed.” 

She wondered if it would be as hard for Martin to try to kill her as it was going to be for her to try to kill him. It would be hard for her, no doubt, but as the pain twitched in her still healing gut she recalled that she’d done harder things.