Concerning the Queen of Knives

  Without any visible cue, two dwarves toddled around one of the caravans, each one taking an arm and dragged the body away over the moonlit dust.
  Cigars finally lit, Rhodius breathed a long fallow smoke stream, and turned his impressionless eyes to Hoell. "Thank you, my fellow. I am sorry you had to be involved in this most unfortunate night. If I may be of service in the future. . . ."
  Hoell didn't trust himself to speak. He mumbled a thank you, to which the ringmaster tipped a hat and strode off into the grounds.
  Kelly flipped the knife around a few times, catching the handle in this hand, then the other. Her smile wasn't unfriendly, but neither was it a thing to be trusted. It was of a thing in the darkness, telling you to beware, it's only warm for the time being. Hoell just watched her.
  "I see that you've met Nicholas," she said. "What wisdom did he impart?"
  "And ending," Hoell replied eventually. "All that mattered was the ending you make."
  Kelly laughed short and mellifluous. "That would be his style, old bastard." She made the knife vanish somewhere in her peacoat with a sleight-of-hand flourish, tipped her hat and turned to follow the ringmaster. Then she turned back. "Hoell," she called out. "No one can give you the world. They can only give you their part."
  Overhead, the moon shook free from the cloud cover.