Paris sighed as he told his story to the guardsmen, falling into a fine chair he had bought in Rome and had sent here, taking a small piece of pomegranite and picking at the seeds. He played his part of the hapless distraught Roman merchant who was attacked in his own home well. Plans formed in his mind, possibilites of what Tiger may indeed do if that assassin indeed got back to him. He would send more after him, he guessed, until either him or Paris was dead.

A new scent filled his nostrils, one not belonging to the three guardsmen. It was more feminine and it clashed with the jasmine incense but he gave no outward appearance that anything was amiss. "Are you quite done, Captain. The hour is late and I would like to retire before long." Paris said.

"Of course, it won't take my men long to find this bugular and apprehend him." The guardsman bowed slightly and walked out of his study.

After the door closed behind him, Paris stood up and walked over to the balcony overlooking the city. "You can come out now. I know you're there."