There was only one thing to do. And it gave Daoud grim satisfaction to realize it. _I cannot kill Simon de Gobignon, but I have to kill his man._ He drew the Scorpion from its pocket in the hem of his cloak. Quickly and silently he unfolded it. A leather case held a sting for the Scorpion, a steel dart half again as long as his finger, coated with the same paste he had used to render Sordello unconscious. He pulled the string of twisted rawhide back with his fist, slipped the dart into place. The Frank took a step out of hiding. Daoud saw him as a big shadow at the corner of the building. He imagined the Frank's thoughts. He must be trying desperately to think of some way to warn his master before the cardinal's guards were roused. Daoud raised the Scorpion, but the darkness made the shot difficult. De Gobignon's man was too hard to see. "Pardonnez-moi, Messire," he said in the language he had not used since he was ten. "I have a message for Monseigneur the Count de Gobignon." He spoke in as casual and friendly a tone as he could muster. Daoud was close enough now to see that the man's hand was on his sword hilt. "Why do you speak of the count to me?" The voice was young. "Because you are his man," said Daoud, and he thumbed the notched wheel that held the bowstring in place. The string thrummed, the dowels sprang forward, and the dart buried itself in the Frenchman's body. To avoid hitting breastbone or rib, Daoud had aimed for the stomach. The Frank uttered a cry of pain and anger, and his left hand clutched at his middle as his right hand drew his sword. "You Greek bastard!" he groaned, and fell first to his knees, then on his face. So he had recognized him as David of Trebizond. He must surely die. Daoud rolled the unconscious man over on his back. His fingers quickly found the dart. Just a bit of it protruded from the Frank's stomach; his fall had driven it deeper. Daoud pulled the dart out, keeping his finger on the wound. He laid the dart on the ground and drew his dagger. He drove it upward just below the breastbone, striking the heart. The man's torso jerked violently, the body trying to save itself even though the mind was asleep. As Daoud pulled the blade out, blood flowed out after it, warm on his hand. He whispered a curse and wiped his hand and his blade on the man's tunic. This must look like a street stabbing, a man murdered for his purse. Daoud thrust his dagger into the body again, this time in the place where the dart had gone in. He felt for a heartbeat and found none. He sheathed his dagger, felt for the dart on the street beside the Frank, and put it back in its case. Case and Scorpion went back in the hidden pocket in his cloak.