Phoenix

JHEREG

YENDI

TECKLA

TALTOS

PHOENIX

ATHYRA

This one's for Pam and David

Thanks for help in preparing this book are due to Emma Bull, Pamela Dean, Kara Dalkey, Will Shetterly, Fred A. Levy Haskell, Terri Windling, and Beth Fleisher.

Thanks also to my mother, Jean Brust, for various political insights, and to Gail Cathryn and Adrian Morgan for research work on Dragaeran history. Thanks to Robin "Adnan" Anders for percussive help, and, lastly, thanks to my house-mate, Jason, without whose taste in television this book would have taken much longer to finish.

PROLOGUE

ONE - Technical Considerations

Lesson One - Contract Negotiations

Lesson Two - Transportation

Lesson Three - The Perfect Assassination

Lesson Four - Handling Interrogation

Lesson Five - Returning Home

TWO - Business Considerations

Lesson Six - Dealing With Middle Management I

Lesson Seven - Matters Of State I

Lesson Eight - Dealing With Middle Management II

Lesson Nine - Making Friends I

Lesson Ten - Making Friends II

Lesson Eleven - Matters Of State II

Lesson Twelve - Basic Survival Skills

Lesson Thirteen - Advanced Survival Skills

Lesson Fourteen - Fundamentals Of Betrayal

THREE - Aesthetic Considerations

Lesson Fifteen - Basic Improvisation

Lesson Sixteen - Dealing With Upper Management I

Lesson Seventeen - Dealing With Upper Management II

EPILOGUE

All the time people say to me, "Vlad, how do you do it? How come you're so good at killing people? What's your secret?" I tell them, "There is no secret. It's like anything else. Some guys plaster walls, some guys make shoes, I kill people. You just gotta learn the trade and practice until you're good at it."

The last time I killed somebody was right around the time of the Easterners' uprising, in the month of the Athyra in 234 PI, and the month of the Phoenix in 235. I wasn't all that involved in the uprising directly; to be honest, I was just about the only one around who didn't see it coming, what with the increased number of Phoenix Guards on the street, mass meetings even in my neighborhood, and whatnot. But that's when it occurred, and, for those of you who want to hear what happens when you set out to kill somebody for pay, well, here it is.

Maybe it's just me, but it seems like when things are going wrong—your wife is ready to leave you, all of your notions about yourself and the world are getting turned around, everything you trusted is becoming questionable—there's nothing like having someone try to kill you to take your mind off your problems.

I was in an ugly, one-story wood-frame building in South Adrilankha. Whoever was trying to kill me was a better sorcerer than me. I was in the cellar, squatting behind the remains of a brick wall, just fifteen feet from the foot of the stairs. If I stuck my head out the door again, it might well get blasted off. I intended to call for reinforcements just as soon as I could. I also intended to teleport out of there just as soon as I could. It didn't look like I'd be able to do either one any time soon.

But I was not helpless. At just such times as these, a witch may always take comfort in his familiar. Mine is a jhereg—a small, poisonous flying reptile whose mind is psychically linked to my own, and who is, moreover, brave, loyal, trustworthy—

"If you think I'm going out there, boss, you're crazy."

Okay, next idea.

I raised as good a protection spell as I could (not very), then took a brace of throwing knives from inside my cloak, my rapier from its scabbard, and a deep breath from the clammy basement air. I leapt out to my left, rolling, coming to my knee, throwing all three knives at the same time (hitting nothing, of course; that wasn't the point), and rolling again. I was now well out of the line of sight of the stairway—both the source of the attack and the one path to freedom. Life, I've found, is often like that. Loiosh flapped over and joined me.

Things sizzled in the air. Destructive things, but I think meant only to let me know the sorcerer was still there. It wasn't like I'd forgotten. I cleared my throat. "Can we negotiate?"

The masonry of the wall before me began to crumble away. I did a quick counterspell and held myself answered.

"All right, Loiosh, any bright ideas?"

"Ask them to surrender, boss."

"Them?"

"I saw three."

"Ah. Well, any other ideas?"

"You've tried asking your secretary to send help?"

"I can't reach him."

"How about Morrolan?"

"I tried already."

"Aliera? Sethra?"

"The same."

"I don't like that, boss. It's one thing for Kragar and Melestav to be tied up, but—"

"I know."

"Could they be blocking psionics, as well as teleportation?"

"Hmmm. I hadn't thought of that. I wonder if it's possib—" Our chat was interrupted by a rain of sharp objects, sorcerously sent around the corner behind which I hid. I wished fervently that I were a better sorcerer, but I managed a block, while letting Spellbreaker, eighteen inches of golden chain, slip down into my left hand. I felt myself becoming angry.

"Careful, boss. Don't—"

"I know. Tell me something, Loiosh: Who are they? It can't be Easterners, because they're using sorcery. It can't be the Empire, because the Empire doesn't ambush people. It can't be the Organization, because they don't do this clumsy, complicated nonsense, they just kill you. So who is it?"

"Don't know, boss."

"Maybe I'll take a longer look."

"Don't do anything foolish."

I made a rude comment to that. I was seriously upset by this time, and I was bloody well going to do something, stupid or not. I set Spellbreaker spinning and hefted my blade. I felt my teeth grinding. I sent up a prayer to Verra, the Demon-Goddess, and prepared to meet my attackers.

Then something unusual happened.

My prayer was answered.

It wasn't like I'd never seen her before. I had once travelled several thousand miles through supernatural horrors and the realm of dead men just to bid her good-day. And, while my grandfather spoke of her with reverence and awe, Dragaerans spoke of her and her ilk like I spoke about my laundry. What I'm getting at is that there was never any doubt about her real, corporeal existence; it's just that although it was my habit to utter a short prayer to her before doing anything especially dangerous or foolhardy, nothing like this had ever happened before.

Well, I take that back. There might have been once when—no, it couldn't have been. Never mind. Different story.

In any case, I found myself abruptly elsewhere, with no feeling of having moved and none of the discomfort that we Easterners, that is, humans, feel when teleporting. I was in a corridor of roughly the dimensions of the dining hall of Castle Black. All of it white. Spotless. The ceiling must have been a hundred feet above me, and the walls were at least forty feet apart, with white pillars in front of them, perhaps twenty feet between each. Perhaps. It may be that my senses were confused by the pure whiteness of everything. Or it may be that everything reported by my senses was meaningless in that place. There was no end to the hallway in either direction. The air was slightly cool, but not uncomfortable. There was no sound except my own breathing, and that peculiar sensation you have when you don't know whether you're hearing your heart beat or feeling it.

Loiosh was stunned into silence. This does not happen every day.

My first reaction, in the initial seconds after my arrival, was that I was the victim of a massive illusion perpetrated by those who had been trying to kill me. But that didn't really hold up, because, if they could do that, they could have shined me, which they clearly wanted to do.

I noticed a black cat at my feet, looking up at me. It meowed, then began walking purposefully down the hall in the direction I was facing. All right, so maybe I'm nuts, but it seems to me that if you're in big trouble, and you pray to your goddess, and then suddenly you're someplace you've never been before, and there's a black cat in front of you and it starts walking, you follow it.

I followed it. My footsteps echoed very loudly, which was oddly reassuring.

I sheathed my rapier as I walked, because the Demon Goddess might take it amiss. The hall continued straight, and the far end was obscured in a fine mist that gave way before me. It was probably illusory. The cat stayed right at the edge of it, almost disappearing into it.

Loiosh said, "Boss, are we about to meet her?"

I said, "It seems likely."

"Oh."

"You've met before—"

"I remember, boss."

The cat actually vanished into the mists, which now remained in place. Another ten or so paces and I could no longer see the walls. The air was suddenly colder and felt a great deal like the basement I'd just escaped. Doors appeared, caught in the act of opening, very slowly, theatrically. They were twice my height and had carvings on them, white on white. It seemed a bit, well, silly to be having both of those doors ponderously open themselves to a width several times what I needed. It also left me not knowing whether to wait until they finished opening or to go inside as soon as I could. I stood there, feeling ridiculous, until I could see. More mist. I sighed, shrugged, and passed within.

It would be hard to consider the place a room—it was more like a courtyard with a floor and a ceiling. Ten or fifteen minutes had fallen behind me since I'd arrived at that place. Loiosh said nothing, but I could feel his tension from the grip of his talons on my shoulder.

She was seated on a white throne set on a pedestal, and she was as I remembered her, only more so. Very tall, a face that was somehow indefinably alien, yet hard to look at long enough to really get the details. Each finger had an extra joint on it. Her gown was white, her skin and hair very dark. She seemed to be the only thing in the room, and perhaps she was.

She stood as I approached, then came down from the pedestal. I stopped perhaps ten feet away from her, unsure what sort of obeisances to make, if any. She didn't appear to mind, however. Her voice was low and even, and faintly melodic, and seemed to contain a hint of its own echo. She said, "You called to me."

I cleared my throat. "I was in trouble."

"Yes. It has been some time since we've seen each other."

"Yes." I cleared my throat again. Loiosh was silent. Was I supposed to say, "So how's it been going?" What does one say to one's patron deity?

She said, "Come with me," and led me out through the mist. We stepped into a smaller room, all dark browns, where the chairs were comfortable and there was a fire crackling away and spitting at the hearth. I allowed her to sit first, then we sat like two old friends reminiscing on battles and bottles past. She said, "There is something you could do for me."

"Ah," I said. "That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"I couldn't figure out why a group of sorcerers would be suddenly attacking me in a basement in South Adrilankha."

"And now you think you know?"

"I have an idea."

"What were you doing in this basement?"

I wondered briefly just how much of one's personal life one ought to discuss with one's god, then I said, "It has to do with marital problems." A look of something like amusement flicked over her features, followed by one of inquiry. I said, "My wife has gotten it into her head to join this group of peasant rebels—"

"I know."

I almost asked how, but swallowed it. "Yes. Well, it's complicated, but I ended up, a few weeks ago, purchasing the Organization interests in South Adrilankha—where the humans live."

"Yes."

"I've been trying to clean it up. You know, cut down on the ugliest sorts of things while still leaving it profitable."

"This does not sound easy."

I shrugged. "It keeps me out of trouble."

"Does it?"

"Well, perhaps not entirely."

"But," she prompted, "the basement?"

"I was looking into that house as a possible office for that area. It was spur-of-the-moment, really; I saw the 'For Rent' sign as I was walking by on other business—"

"Without bodyguards?"

"My other business was seeing my grandfather. I don't take bodyguards everywhere I go." This was true; I felt that as long as my movements didn't become predictable, I should be safe.

"Perhaps this was a mistake."

"Maybe. But you didn't actually have them kill me, just frighten me."

"So you think I arranged it?"

"Yes."

"Why would I do such a thing?"

"Well, according to some of my sources, you are unable to bring mortals to you or speak with them directly unless they call to you."

"You don't seem angry about it."

"Anger would be futile, wouldn't it?"

"Well, yes, but aren't you accustomed to futile anger?"

I felt something like a dry chuckle attempt to escape my throat. I suppressed it and said, "I'm working on that."

She nodded, fixing me with eyes that I suddenly noticed were pale yellow. Very strange. I stared back.

"You know, boss, I'm not sure I like her."

"Yeah."

"So," I said, "now that you've got me, what do you want?"

"Only what you do best," she said with a small smile.

I considered this. "You want someone killed?" I'm not normally this direct, but I still wasn't sure how to speak to the goddess. I said, "I, uh, charge extra for gods."

The smile remained fixed on her face. "Don't worry," she said. "I don't want you to kill a god. Only a king."

"Oh, well," I said. "No problem, then."

"Good."

I said, "Goddess—"

"Naturally, you will be paid."

"Goddess—"

"You will have to do without some of your usual resources, I'm afraid, but—"

"Goddess."

"Yes?"

"How did you come to be called 'Demon Goddess,' anyway?"

She smiled at me, but gave no other answer.

"So tell me about the job."

"There is an island to the west of the Empire. It is called Greenaere."

"I know of it. Between Northport and Elde, right?"

"That is correct. There are, perhaps, four hundred thousand people living there. Many are fishermen. There are also orchards of fruit for trade to the mainland, and there is some supply of gemstones, which they also trade."

"Are there Dragaerans?"

"Yes. But they are not imperial subjects. They have no House, so none of them have a link to the Orb. They have a King. It is necessary that he die."

"Why don't you just kill him, then?"

"I have no means of appearing there. The entire island is protected from sorcery, and this protection also prevents me from manifesting myself there."

"Why?"

"You don't have to know."

"Oh."

"And remember that, while you're there, you will be unable to call upon your link to the Orb."

"Why is that?"

"You don't need to know."

"I see. Well, I rarely use sorcery in any case."

"I know. That is one reason I want you to do this. Will you?"

I was briefly tempted to ask why, but that was none of my business. Speaking of business, however—"What's the offer?"

I admit I said this with a touch of irony. I mean, what was I going to do if she didn't want to pay me? Refuse the job? But she said, "What do you usually get?"

"I've never assassinated a King before. Let's call it ten thousand Imperials."

"There are other things I could do for you instead."

"No, thanks. I've heard too many stories about people getting what they wish for. The money will be fine."

"Very well. So you will do it?"

"Sure," I said. "I've got nothing pressing going on just at the moment."

"Good," said the Demon Goddess.

"Is there anything I should know?"

"The King's name is Haro."

"You want him non-revivifiable, I assume?"

"They have no link to the Orb."

"Ah. So that shouldn't be a problem. Ummrh, Goddess?"

"Yes?"

"Why me?"

"Why, Vlad," she said, and it was odd to have her call me by my first name. "It is your profession, is it not?"

I sighed. "And here I'd been thinking of getting out of the business."

"Perhaps," she said, "not quite yet." She smiled into my eyes, and her eyes seemed to spin, and then I was once more in the same basement in South Adrilankha. I waited, but there was no sound. I poked my head out quickly, then for a longer time, then I stepped over, picked up my three throwing knives, and walked up the stairs and out of the house. I saw no sign of anyone.

"Melestav? I told you to send Kragar in."

"I already did, boss."

"Then where—? Never mind. " "Say, Kragar."

"Hmmm?"

"I'm being called out of town for a while."

"How long?"

"Not sure. A week or two, anyway."

"All right. I can take care of things here."

"Good. And keep tabs on our old friend, Herth."

"Think he might decide to take a shot at you?"

"What do you think?"

"It's possible."

"Right. And I need a teleport for tomorrow afternoon."

"Where to?"

"Northport."

"What's up?"

"Nothing special. I'll tell you about it when I get back."

"I'll just wait to hear who dies in Northport."

"Funny. Actually, though, it isn't Northport, it's Greenaere. What do you know about it?"

"Not much. An island kingdom, not part of the Empire."

"Right. Find out what you can."

"All right. What sorts of things?"

"Size, location of the capital city that kind of stuff. Maps would be good, both of the island and of the capital city."

"That shouldn't take long. I'll have it by this evening."

"Good. And I don't want anyone to know you're after the information. This job might cause a stir and I don't want to be attached to it."

"Okay. What about South Adrilankha?"

"What about it?"

"Any special instructions?"

"No. You know what I've been doing; keep it going. No need to rush anything." "Okay. Good luck." "Thanks."

I climbed the stairs to my flat slowly, unaccountably feeling like an old man. Loiosh flew over and began necking (quite literally) with his mate, Rocza. Cawti was wearing green today, with a red scarf around her neck that highlighted the few, almost invisible freckles on her nose. Her long brown hair was down and only haphazardly brushed, an effect I rather like. She put down her book, one of Paarfi's "histories," and greeted me without coolness, but without the pretense of great warmth, either. "How was your day?" I asked her.

"All right," she said. What could she say? I wasn't terribly interested in the details of her activities with Kelly and his band of rebels, or nuts, or whatever they were. She said, "Yours?"

"Interesting. I saw Noish-pa."

She smiled for the first time. If we had anything at all in common at that point, it was our love for my grandfather. "What did he say?"

"He's worried about us."

"He believes in family."

"So do I. It's inherited, I suspect."

She smiled again. I could die for that smile. "We should speak to Aliera. Perhaps she's isolated the gene." Then the smile was gone, leaving me looking at the lips that had held it. I looked into her eyes. I always used to look into her eyes when we made love. The moment stretched, and I looked away, sat down facing her. I said, "What are we going to do?" My voice was almost a whisper; you'd never know we had already had this conversation, in various forms, several times.

"I don't know, Vladimir. I do love you, but there's so much between us now."

"I could leave the Organization," I said. This wasn't the first time I'd said that.

"Not until and unless you want to for your own reasons, not because I disapprove." It wasn't the first time she'd said that, either. It was ironic, too; she'd once been part of one of the most feared teams of assassins ever to haunt the alleys of Adrilankha.

We were silent for a while, while I tried to decide how to tell her about the rest of the day's events. Finally I said, "I'm going to be leaving for a while."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. A job. Out of town. Across the great salt sea. Out past the horizon. To sail beyond the—"

"When will you be back?"

"I'm not sure. Not more than a week or two, I hope."

"Write when you find work," she said.

I can't tell you much about Northport (which ought to have been called Westport, but never mind) because I didn't really see it. I saw the area near the waterfront, which compared pretty poorly to the waterfront of Adrilankha. It was dirtier and emptier, with fewer inns and more derelicts. It occurred to me in the first few minutes, before I'd even recovered from the teleport that this was because Adrilankha was still a busy port, whereas North-port had never recovered from Adron's Disaster and the Interregnum.

Yet there were, once or twice a day, ships that left for Elde or returned from there, as well as a few that went up and down the coast. Of the ships leaving for Elde, many stopped at Greenaere, which was more or less on the way, taking tides and winds into account. (Personally I knew nothing about tides or winds, but as I also knew almost nothing about where these islands could be found, I had no trouble believing what I was told.)

In any case, I located a ship in less than an hour and had only a few hours' wait. I had arrived in the early afternoon. We weighed anchor just before dusk.

I sometimes wonder if sailors don't get lessons in how to do strange and confusing things, just to impress the rest of us. There were ten of them, pulling on ropes, tying things, untying things, setting boxes down, and striding purposefully along the deck. The captain introduced herself as Baroness Mul-something-or-other-inics, but the name I caught was Trice, when they didn't call her "Captain." She was stocky for a Dragaeran, with a pinched-in face and an agitated manner. The only other officer was named Yinta, who had a long nose over a wide mouth and always looked like she was half asleep.

The captain welcomed me aboard with no great enthusiasm and a gentle request to "keep your arse out of our way, okay, Whiskers?" Loiosh, riding on my shoulder, generated more interest but no comments. Just as well. The ship was one of those called a "skip"; intended, I'm told, for short ocean jaunts. She was about sixty feet long, and had one mast with two square sails, one with a little triangular sail in front, and a third holding a slightly larger square one in back. I settled down on the deck between a couple of large barrels that smelled of wine. The wind made nice snapping sounds on the sails as they were secured, at which time some ropes were undone and we were pushed away from the dock by a couple of shore hands wielding poles I couldn't have lifted. Shore hands, crew, and officers were all of the House of the Orca. The mast held a flag which showed an orca and a spear and what looked like the tower of a castle or fort.

Before leaving, I had been given a charm against seasickness. I touched it now and was glad it was there. The boat went up and down, although, frankly, not as much as I'd been afraid it would.

"I've never been on one of these before, Loiosh."

"Me, neither, boss. Looks like fun."

"I hope so."

"Better than basements in South Adrilankha."

"I hope so."

In the setting sun, I saw the edge of the harbor. There was more activity among the sailors, and then we were in the open sea. I touched the charm again, wondering if I'd be able to sleep. I made myself as comfortable as I could and tried to think cheery thoughts.

When I think of the House of the Orca, I mostly think of the younger ones, say a hundred or a hundred and fifty years old, and mostly male. When I was young I'd run into groups of them, hanging around near my father's restaurant being tough and annoying passersby; especially Easterners and especially me. I'd always wondered why it was Orca who did that. Was it just that they spent so much time alone while their family was out on the seas? Had it something to do with the orca itself, swimming around, often in packs, killing anything smaller than itself? Now I know: It was because they ate so much salted kethna.

Please understand, I don't dislike salted kethna. It's tough and rather plain, yes, but not inherently unpleasant. But as I sat in my little box on the Chorba 's Pride, huddled against the cold morning breeze, and was handed a couple of slabs with a piece of flatbread and a cup of water, I realized that they must eat a great deal of it, and that, well, this could do things to a person. It isn't their fault.

The wind was in my face the next morning as I looked forward, making me wonder how the winds could propel the ship, but I didn't ask. No one seemed especially friendly. I shared the salted kethna with Loiosh, who liked it more than I did. I didn't think about what I was going to do, because there would be no point in doing so. I didn't know enough yet, and empty speculation can lead to preconceptions, which can lead to errors. Instead I studied the water, which was green, and listened to the waves lapping on the sides of the ship and to the conversation of the sailors around me. They swore more than Dragons, although with less imagination.

The man who'd delivered the food stood next to me, staring out into the sea, chewing on his own. I was the last to be fed, apparently. I studied his face. It was old and wrinkled, with eyes very deep set and light blue, which is unusual in a Dragaeran of any kind. He studied the sea with a detached interest, as if communing with it.

I said, "Thanks for the food." He grunted, his eyes not leaving the sea. I said, "Looking for something in particular?"

"No," he said in the clipped accent of the eastern regions of the Empire, making it sound like "new."

There is, indeed, a steady rocking motion to a ship, not unlike my own experience with horses (which I won't detail, if it's all the same to you). But, within the steady motion, no two actions of the ship are precisely the same. I studied the ocean with my companion for a while and said, "It never stops, does it?"

He looked at me for the first time, but I couldn't read his expression. He turned back to the sea and said, "No, she never stops. She's always the same, and she's always moving. I never get tired of watching her." He nodded to me and moved back toward the rear of the ship. The stern, they call it.

Off to the left, the side I was on, a pair of orca surfaced for a moment, then dived. I kept watching, and it happened again, somewhat closer, then yet a third time. They were sleek and graceful; proud. They were very beautiful.

"Yes, they are," said Yinta, appearing next to me.

I turned and looked at her. "What?"

"They are, indeed, beautiful."

I hadn't realized I'd spoken aloud. I nodded and turned back toward the sea, but they didn't reappear.

Yinta said, "Those were shorttails. Did you notice the white splotches on their backs? When they're young they tend to travel in pairs. Later they'll gather into larger groups."

"Their tails didn't seem especially short," I remarked.

"They weren't. They were both females; the males have shorter tails."

"Why is that?"

She frowned. "It's the way they are."

There were gulls above us, many flying low over the water. I'd been told that this meant we were near land, but I couldn't see any. There were few other signs of life. Such a large body of water, and we were so alone there. The sails were full and made little sound, save for creaking of the boom every now and then in response to a slight turn of ship or wind. Earlier, they had made snapping sounds as the wind changed its mind more quickly about where it wanted us to go and how fast it wanted us to get there. During the night I had become used to the motion of the ship, so now I hardly noticed it.

Greenaere was somewhere ahead. Something like two hundred thousand Dragaerans lived there. It was an island about a hundred and ten miles long, and perhaps thirty miles wide, looking on my map like a banana, with a crooked stem on the near side. The port was located where the stem joined the fruit. The major city, holding maybe a tenth of the population, was about twelve miles inland from the stem. Twelve miles; about half a day's walk, or, according to the notes Kragar had furnished, fifteen hours aboard a pole raft.

The wind changed, sending the boom creaking ponderously over my head. The captain lay on her back, hands behind her head, smoking a short pipe with a sort of umbrella over the top of it, I suppose to keep the spray out. The change in wind direction brought me the brief aroma of burning tobacco, out of place with the sea smells I was now used to. Yinta leaned against the railing.

"You were born to this, weren't you?" I said.

She turned and studied me. Her eyes were grey. "Yes," she said at last. "I was."

"Going to have your own ship, one of these days?"

"Yes."

I turned back to the sea. It seemed smooth, the green waves painted against the orange-red Dragaeran horizon. I understood seascapes. I looked back for the first time, but, of course, the mainland had long since passed from sight.

"Not one of these, though," said Yinta.

I turned back, but she was looking past me, at the endless sea. "What?"

"I won't be captain of one of these. Not a little trading boat."

"What, then?"

"There are stories of whole lands beyond the sea. Or beneath them, some say. Beyond the Maelstrom, where no ships pass. Except that, maybe, some do. The whirlpools aren't constant, you know. And there is always talk of ways around them, even though we have charts that show only the Grey Rocks on one side, and the Spindrift Lands on the other. But there is talk of other ways, of exploring Spindrift and launching a ship from there. Of places that can be reached, where people speak strange languages and have magics of which we've never heard, where even the Orb is powerless."

I said, "I've heard the Orb is powerless in Greenaere."

She shrugged, as if this interested her not at all; nothing as commonplace as Greenaere mattered. Her hair was short and brown and curled tightly, although less so as it became wet in the spray. Her wide Orca face was weathered, so she seemed older than she probably was. The wind changed again, followed by ringing of bells that were tied high on what they called the head stay. I'd asked what that was for just before the boom hit me in the back. Funny people, Orca. This time I ducked, while someone said something about tightening the toesail, or perhaps tying it; I couldn't hear clearly over the creaking of the masts and the splashing of the waves.

I said, "So you'd like to take a ship through this Maelstrom, to see what's on the other side?"

She nodded absently, then grinned suddenly. "To tell you the truth, Easterner, what I'd really like to do is design a ship that can stand up to it. My great-great-uncle was a shipwright. He designed the steerage system for the Luck of the South Wind, and served on her before the Interregnum. He was aboard her when the breakwaves hit."

I nodded as if I'd heard of the ship and the "break-waves." I said, "Have you married?"

"No. Never wanted to. You?"

"Yes."

"Mmmm," she said. "Like it?"

"Sometimes more than other times."

She chuckled knowingly, although I doubt she did know. "Tell me something: Just what are you going to Greenaere for?"

"Business."

"What sort of business has us delivering you as cargo?"

"Does the whole crew know about that?"

"No."

"Good."

"So what sort of business is it?"

"I'd rather not say, if you don't mind."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself. You've paid for our silence; we have no reason to report every passenger to the Empire, and certainly not to the islanders."

I didn't make an answer to this. We spoke no more just then. Currents and hours rolled beneath us. I ate more salted kethna, fed Loiosh, and slept as night collapsed the sea into a small lake which fed waves to the bow of Chor-ba's Pride, who excreted a narrow wake from her stern.

Around noon of the following day we spotted land, followed by a few scraggly masts from the cove that was our destination. The sky seemed high and very bright, with more red showing, and it was warm and pleasant. The captain, Trice, was sitting up in what I'd learned was called the fly bridge. Yinta was leaning casually against a bulwark near the bow, shouting obscure information back to the captain, who relayed orders to those of the crew who were piloting the thing, or rigging lines, or whatever they were doing.

During a pause in the yelling, I made my way up to Yinta and followed her gaze. "It doesn't look much like the stem of a banana," I remarked.

"What?"

"Never mind."

The captain yelled, "Get a sound," which command Yinta relayed to a dark, stooped sailor, who scurried off to do something or other. Greenaere, whose tip I could see quite well now, seemed to be made of dark grey rock.

I said, "It looks like we're going to miss her." Yinta didn't deign to answer. She relayed some numbers from the sailor to the captain. More commands were given, and, with a creaking of booms as the foresail shifted, we swung directly toward the island, only to continue past until it looked like we'd miss it the other way. It seemed a hell of an inefficient way to travel, but I kept my mouth shut.

"You know, boss, this could get to be fun."

"I was thinking the same thing. But Id get tired of it, I think, sooner or later."

"Probably. Not enough death."

That rankled a bit. I wondered if there was some truth in it. I could see features of the island now, a few trees and a swath of green behind them that might have been farmland. A place that small, I supposed land would be at a premium.

"A whole island of Teckla," said Loiosh.

"If you want to look at it that way."

"They have no Houses."

"So maybe they're all Jhereg."

That earned a psionic chuckle.

An odd sense of peace began to settle over me that I couldn't figure out. No, not peace, more like quiet—as if a noise that I'd been hearing so constantly I'd come to ignore it had suddenly stopped. I wondered about it, but I had no time to figure it out just then—I had to stay alert to what was going on around me.

There was an abrupt lessening of the wave action on the ship, and we were enclosed in a very large cove. I had seen the masts of larger ships; now I saw the ships themselves—ships too large to pull up to the piers that stuck out from the strip we approached. Closer in, there were many smaller boats, and I thought to myself, escape route. In another minute I was able to make out flashes of color from one pier, flashes that came in a peculiar order, as if signals were being given. I looked behind me and saw Yinta now next to the captain on the fly bridge, waving yellow and red flags toward the pier.

The wind was still strong, and the sailors were quite busy taking in sails and loosening large coils of rope. I moved toward the back and wedged myself between the cartons where I'd started the journey.

"All right, Loiosh. Take off, and stay out of trouble until I get there."

"You stay out of trouble, boss; no one's going to notice me. " He flew off, and I waited. I saw little of the happenings on the ship, and only heard the sounds of increased activity, until at last the sails seemed to collapse into themselves. This was followed almost at once by a hard thump, and I knew we had arrived.

Everyone was still busy. Ropes were secured, sails were brought in, and crates and boxes were manhandled onto the dock. At one point, there were several workmen on board at the same time, their backs to me. I went below with Yinta, who pointed to an empty crate.

"I'm going to hate this," I said.

"And you're paying for the privilege," she said.

I fitted myself in as best I could. I'd done something like this once before, sneaking into an Athyra's castle in a barrel of wine, but I expected this to be of shorter duration. It was uncomfortable, but not too bad except for the angle at which my neck was bent.

Yinta nailed in the top, then left me alone for what seemed to be much longer than it should have been; long enough for me to consider panicking, but then the crate and I were picked up. As they carried me, I was tempted to shout at them to try to take it easy, since each step made a bruise in a new portion of my anatomy.

"I see you, boss. They're carrying you down the dock now, to a wagon. You've got about three hundred yards of pier ... okay, here's the wagon."

They weren't gentle. I kept the curses to myself.

"Okay, boss. Everything looks good. Wait until they finish loading it."

I'll skip most of this, okay? I waited, and they hauled me away and unloaded me in what Loiosh said was one of a row of sheds a few hundred feet from the dock. I sat in there for a couple of hours, until Loiosh told me that everyone seemed to have left, then I smashed my way out; which is easier to say than it was to do. The door to the shed was not locked, however, so once my legs worked, it was no problem to leave the shed.

It was still daylight, but not by much. Loiosh landed on my shoulder. "This way, boss. I've found a place to hide until nightfall."

"Lead on," I said, and he did, and soon I was settled in a ditch in a maize field, surrounded by a copse of trees. No one had noticed me coming in. Getting out, I suspected, was going to be more difficult.

This particular bit of island was heavily farmed; very heavily compared to Dragaera. I wasn't used to a road that cut through farmland as if there were no other place for it to run. I wanted to be off the main road, too, so I wouldn't be so conspicuous, which left me walking parallel to the road about half a mile from it, through fields of brown dirt with little shoots of something or other poking out of them and feeding various sorts of birdlife. Loiosh chased a few of the birds just for fun. The houses were small huts built with dark green clapboard. The roofs seemed to be made of long shoots that went from the ground on one side to the ground on the other. They didn't look as if they would keep the rain out, but I didn't examine them closely. The land itself consisted of gentle slopes; I was always going either uphill or down, but never very much. The terrain made travel slow, and it was more tiring than I'd have thought, but I was in no hurry so I rested fairly often. The breeze from the ocean was at my back, a bit cold, a bit tangy; not unpleasant.

A few trees began to appear on both sides of the road; trees with odd off-white bark, high branches, and almost round leaves. They grew more frequent and were joined by occasional samples of more familiar oak and rednut, until I was walking in woods rather than farmlands. I wondered if this area would be cleared someday, when the islanders needed more land. Would they ever? How much farming did they do, compared to fishing? Who cared? I kept walking, checking my map every now and then just to make sure.

We stayed to the side as we walked. We caught glimpses of travelers on the road, mostly on foot, a few riding on ox-drawn wagons with wheels with square bracing. Birds sang tunes I'd never heard before. The sky above was the same continuous overcast of the Empire, but it seemed higher, as it were, and it looked like there could be times here when the sky was clear, as it was in the East.

It was late afternoon when another road joined the one we paralleled. I found the road on the map, which told me the city was near, and the map was right. It wasn't much of a city by Dragaeran standards, and was quite strange by Eastern standards. There were patches of cottage and there: structures made of canvas on wooden frames, or even stone frames, which seemed very odd; and a couple of structures, open on two sides with tables in front of them, that could be places of worship or something else entirely. I never did find out. It looked like the sort of town that would be empty at night. Maybe it was; now was not the time to check. There weren't many people near us, in any case.

I hid in a garbage pit while Loiosh flew around and found me a better hiding place, and a safe path to it. Loiosh did some more exploring, and found one grey stone building, three stories high, set back from the road and surrounded by a small garden. There were no walls around the garden, and a path of stones and shells of various bright colors led to the unimposing doorway. It matched the location of the Palace, and the description we'd been given for it. There you have it.

There are millions of ways for people to die, if you number each vital organ, each way it can fail, all of the poisons from the earth and the sea which can cause these failures, all the diseases to which a man, Dragaeran or human, is subject, all the animals, all the tricks of nature, all the mischances from daily life, and all the ways of killing on purpose. In fact, looked at this way, it is odd that an assassin is ever called upon, or that anyone lives long enough to accomplish anything. Yet the Dragaerans, who expect to live two thousand years or more, generally do not die until their bodies fail, weak with age, just as we do, though not quite so soon.

But never mind that. I had taken the task of seeing to it that a particular person died, and that meant that I couldn't just take the chance of him choking on a fish bone, I had to make sure he died. All right. There are thousands of ways to kill a man deliberately, if you number each sorcery spell, each means of dispensing every poison, each curse a witch can throw, each means of arranging an accidental death, each blow from every sort of weapon.

I've never made a serious study of poisons, accidents-are complicated and tricky to arrange, sorcery is too easy to defend against, and the arts of the witch are unpredictable at best, so let us limit discussion to means of killing by the blade. There are still hundreds of possibilities, some easier but less reliable, some certain but difficult to arrange. For example, cutting someone's throat is relatively easy, and certainly fatal, but it will be some seconds before the individual goes into shock. Are you certain he isn't a sorcerer skilled enough to heal himself? Getting the heart will actually produce shock more quickly, but it is harder to hit, with all those ribs in the way.

There are other complications, too: such as, does he have friends who could revivify him? If so, do you want to allow this, or do you have to make sure the wound is not only fatal but impossible to repair after death? If so, you probably want to destroy his brain, or at least his spine. Of course, you can do this after your victim is dead or helpless, but those few seconds can make the difference between getting away and being spotted. As long as the Empire is so fussy about under what circumstances one is allowed to do away with another, not being spotted will remain an important consideration. You do the job, then you get away from there, ideally without teleporting, because you're helpless during the two or three seconds while the teleport is taking place, and you can be not only identified but even traced if you get really unlucky.

So the key is to make sure all the factors are on your side: You know your victim's routine, you have the weapon ready, and you know exactly where you're going to do it and where you're going to go and how you're going to dispose of the murder weapon after you're done.

You'll notice that these methods have little in common with wandering into a strange kingdom, with no knowledge of the culture or the physical layout, and trying to kill someone whose features you don't even know, much less what sort of physical, magical, or divine protection he might have.

It was still fully night, and the darkness here was considerably darker than in Adrilankha, where there were always a few lights spilling out onto the street from inn doors or the higher windows of flats, or the lanterns of the Phoenix Guards as they made their rounds. In the East there might be a few stars—twinkling points of light that can't be seen in the Empire because they are higher than the orange-red overcast. But here, nothing, save for the tiniest sparkles that came from curtained windows high in the Palace, and a thin line from the doorway in the front. We waited there, at the edge of the city, for several long, dull hours. Four Dragaerans left the building, all holding lanterns, and one arrived. The light on the third story of the Palace went out, and we waited another hour. I wondered what time it was, but dared not do anything even as simple as reaching out to the Orb.

We returned to our hiding place before dawn. I spent most of the day sleeping, while Loiosh made sure I wasn't disturbed, scrounged for food to supplement the salted kethna, and observed the Palace and the city for me. Yes, the town was pretty much deserted at night.

After dark had fallen, I went in to town and got a better picture of the Palace and looked for guards. There weren't any that I could see. I checked the place over for windows, found a few, and then looked for various possible escape routes. This was starting to look like it might be easier than I had thought, but I know better than to get cocky.

The next night I moved into town once more, this time to sneak into the Palace so I could get the layout of the place. I sent Loiosh to look around the building once, just in case there was something interesting that he could hear or see. He returned and reported no open windows with rope ladders descending, no large doors with signs saying, "Assassins enter here," and no guards. He took his place on my shoulder and I stepped up to the door. I'm used to casting a small and easy spell at such times, to see if there is any protection on the door, but Verra had said it wouldn't work, and for all I knew it might even alert someone.

This was the first time I'd ever gone into someone s house in order to kill him. In the Organization you don't do that. But this guy wasn't in the Organization. Come to think of it, this was also the first time I'd shined someone who wasn't one of us. It felt, all in all, distinctly odd. I gently pulled on the doors. They weren't locked. They groaned quietly, but didn't squeak. It was completely dark inside, too. I risked half a step forward, didn't stumble across anything, and carefully shut the door behind me. It felt like a large room, though by what sense I knew that I couldn't say.

"Loiosh, this whole job stinks."

"Right, boss."

"Is there anyone in the room?"

"No."

"I'm going to risk some light."

"Good."

I took a six-inch length of lightrope from my cloak and set it twirling slowly. Even that dim light was painful for a moment, as it lit up about a seven-foot area. I set it going a little faster and saw that the room wasn't as big as I'd thought at first. It looked more like the entry room of a well-to-do merchant than a royal household. There were hooks on the wall for hanging coats, and even a place by the door with a couple of pairs of boots, for the love of demons. I kept looking, and saw a single exit, straight ahead of me. I slowed the lightrope and went through the doorway.

I had the feeling that, in normal daylight, this place wouldn't have been at all frightening, but it wasn't daylight, and I wasn't familiar with it, and half-forgotten fragments of the Paths of the Dead came back to haunt me as I gradually increased the speed of the lightrope.

"Can this place really be as undefended as it seems, boss?"

"Maybe." But I wondered, if these people were so un-warlike, why their King had to die. None of my business. I moved slowly and kept the light as dim as possible. Loiosh strained to catch the psychic trace of anyone who might be awake as we explored room after room. There was one room that seemed quite large, and in the Empire would have been a sitting room of some sort, but there was a large carved orca on one of the walls, with a motto in a language I couldn't read, and in front of the carving, which seemed to be of gold and coral, was a chair that was maybe a little more plush than the rest. The ceiling was about fifteen feet over my head. Assuming the other two stories to be slightly smaller, that agreed with my estimate of the total height of the building. There was some sort of thin paneling against the stone, and parts of it had been painted on, mostly in blues, with thin strokes. I couldn't make out the designs, but they seemed to be more patterns and shapes than pictures. Possibly they were magical patterns of some sort, though I didn't feel anything in them.

I made more light and studied the room fairly carefully, noting the line from that chair to the doorway, the single large window with carvings in the frame that I couldn't make out, the position of the three service trays, which appeared to be of gold. There was a vase on a stand in a corner, and flowers in it that seemed to be red and yellow, but I couldn't be certain. And so on. I passed on to the next room, still being totally silent. I can do that, you know.

The kitchen was large but undistinguished. Plenty of work space, a little low on storage space. I would have enjoyed cooking there, I think. The knives had been well cared for and most of them seemed to be of good workmanship. The cooking pots were either very large or very small, and there was plenty of wood next to the stove. The chimney ran from it out of the wall behind it to the outside. The opposite wall held a sink with a hand pump that gleamed in the dim light I was making. Whose job was it to polish it?

And so on. I went through every room, convinced myself there wasn't a basement, and decided against trying the upstairs. Then I went back out into a chilly breeze full of the salt water and dead fish, and circled the place again, this time without a light. I didn't learn much except that it is difficult to remain silent while stumbling over garden tools. By the time I returned to my hiding place, dawn was only an hour or so away. There was now enough light in the east so that I could almost see, so Loiosh and I used the time to look for a place near the Palace where we could hide. To turn an hour-long search into a sentence, we didn't find one. We left the town and walked off the main roads until we were well into a thicket that seemed safe enough. It was still chilly, but would warm up soon. I pulled my cloak tightly around me and eventually drifted off into something that passed for sleep.

I awoke late in the afternoon.

"We going to do it today, boss?"

"No. But if all goes well today, we 'II do it tomorrow."

"We're almost out of salted kethna."

"Good. I'm beginning to think I'd rather starve."

Loiosh was right, however. I ate some of what was left and sneaked up to the edge of town. Yes, the Palace did seem to be completely unprotected. I could probably have gone in right then and done it if I'd known for certain where the King was. I crept a little closer, staying hidden behind a rotting, collapsed fruit stall that had been tossed aside some years before.

The sky had just begun to darken, and I decided this would be about the right time of day to do it; when there was enough light so I could still see, but when the approaching night would shield my escape. I consulted the notes I'd made about entry points and the layout of the Palace, and figured that today I'd make a test run: doing everything I could to try things out.

Getting inside was easy, since the kitchen staff didn't lock the service door, and there was no one in the kitchen after the evening meal. I listened for a long time before proceeding down the hall and into the narrow aperture below the stairs. It was nerve-racking waiting there, hearing footsteps and bits of the servants' conversation.

After half an hour I found the right time: when the king left his dining hall to go upstairs. I saw him walk by: a slinky-looking fellow, moderately old, with plastered-down hair and bright green eyes. He was dressed fairly simply, in red and yellow robes, and bore no marks of office except a heavy chain around his neck engraved with one of the symbols I'd seen in his throne room, or audience chamber, or whatever it was. He was walking with a young fellow who carried a short spear over his shoulder. I could have taken them both, but one reason I'm still alive is that I'm always very careful when my own life is on the line.

They walked by, as I said, right in front of me, not able to see me in the dark stairwell. As they were walking up the stairs over my head, I tested my escape route back through the kitchen and out, around the Palace, and back to my hiding place.

"Well, how does it look, boss?"

"Everything seems fine, Loiosh. Tomorrow we do it."

I spent the rest of the night memorizing landmarks in the dark so I could get as far away as possible, and, as the sky was just beginning to get light, I pulled my cloak around me and slept.

Once upon a Dragaeren time, they say, there was a Serioli smith who, at the request of the gods, built a chain of diamonds that was so long it went up past the top of the sky, and so strong the gods used it hold the sky up when they got tired of the job. One day one of the gods took a diamond as the wedding price for a mortal she had a hankering for, and all the other diamonds went flying about the heavens, and the gods have been holding the sky up ever since. They couldn't punish the goddess who did the deed, because if they did, the sky would fall, so instead they took it out on the smith, turning him into a chreotha to walk the woods and, well, you get the idea.

I mention this because it came to mind as I sat in the woods, trying to stay alert for anyone coming near me and considering that the only reason I was on that island was that my personal goddess had sent me there. It also occurred to me again that this would be the first time I'd ever killed someone outside the Organization. Coming as it did just while I was going through the sort of moral crisis an assassin has no business having, I didn't like it much. It began to start bothering me that I was taking life for money. Why, I'm not sure.

Or maybe I am, now that I think about it, from the perspective of the other side of the ocean (metaphorically). I think everyone knows someone whose opinions especially matter to him. That is, there's this person whose image lives in the back of your head, and you sometimes find yourself saying, "Would he approve of this?" And if the answer is no, you get a kind of queasy feeling when you do it. In my case, it wasn't my wife, actually, although it hurt badly when, she, in the course of two years, went from a skilled assassin to a politico with a save-the-downtrodden complex as big as my ego. No, it was my paternal grandfather. I'd suspected for a long time that he didn't approve of assassination, but in a moment of weakness I'd made the mistake of asking him directly, and he'd told me, just as all the rest of this nonsense was going on, and all of a sudden I was unsure about things that had been basic up until then.

Where did this leave me? Hiding in a thicket on a strange island and figuring how to take the life of someone I didn't know, someone who wasn't in the Organization and subject to its laws, all because my goddess told me to. We humans believe that what a god tells you to do is, by definition, the right thing. Dragaerans have no such ideas. I was a human who'd been brought up in Dragaeran society, and it made for much discomfort.

I pulled a blade of grass and chewed it. The trees in front of me bent uniformly to the right, as if from years of wind. Their bark was smooth, an unusual effect, and there were no branches on the lower fifteen or twenty feet, after which they erupted like mushrooms, full of thick green leaves that whispered as the wind stirred them. Behind me were typical cloin-burrs, about my height, bunched up like they were having a conversation, their reedy bodies standing on those silly exposed roots as if they were about to turn and walk away. Cawti had a gown made of cloin-burr thread. She'd pulled the thread herself, finding a whole grove in late summer, just when they were turning from pale green to crimson, so the gown, a sweeping, flowing thing, with white lace about the shoulder, starts as a mild green at the bottom and burns like fire where it meets at her throat. The first time I took her to Valabar's, she wore that gown with a white gem as the clasp.

I spat out the blade of grass and found another as I waited for sunset, when I could walk down the streets unnoticed. When that time came, I still hesitated, undecided, until Loiosh, my companion and familiar, spoke into my mind from his perch on my right shoulder.

"Look, boss, are you really going to explain to Verra that you had a sudden attack of conscience, so she's going to have to find someone else to shine the bum?"

I started a small fire with the bark of the trees, which turned out to burn very well, and in it I destroyed the notes I'd made. I put the fire out and scattered the ashes, then I removed a dagger from under my left arm, tested the point and edge, and made my way into town.

There was the blood of a king on the back of my right hand as I stepped out of the Palace and ducked around

behind it. The few moments after the assassination are the most dangerous time, and this whole job was flaky enough already that I very badly didn't want to make any mistakes. It was early evening and would be full dark in less than an hour. Even as it was, I didn't think I'd stand out very much. I ducked behind a large wooden frame that I'd picked out earlier, and I still didn't allow myself to break into a run. I walked steadily toward the edge of town. I wrapped the knife, red with the King's blood, in a piece of cloth and stuck it in my cloak.

Loiosh had stayed outside, above the Palace, and was still flying around nearby.

"Any pursuit?"

"None, boss. Quite a bit of excitement. They're looking around for you, but they don't seem very efficient."

"Good. Anyone looking at the ground? Any signs of spells or rituals?"

"No, and no. Nothing but a lot of running around and— wait. Someone's just come out and—yeah, he's sending people off in various directions. No one going the right way."

"How many toward the dock?"

"Four."

"All right. Come back."

A minute or two later he landed on my right shoulder.

"You hanging on to the knife, boss?"

"If they catch me, the knife won't matter. I don't want to leave it lying around, because they might have witches."

"The sea?"

"Right."

Once I was well away from the city, I began to jog. This was a part of the escape plan I wasn't too happy with, but I hadn't been able to come up with anything better. I try to stay in shape, but I carry several pounds of hardware around with me, not to mention a rapier in a sheath that reaches almost to the ground and is not designed to be run with. I jogged for a while, then walked quickly, then jogged some more. A small stream met up with me, and I splashed through it for a while, and when we said our good-byes my feet were still dry; miracle provided by darrskin boots and chreotha oil.

All I had to do was get to the dock area before morning, grab one of the small boats, and sail it far enough out to sea that I could teleport. One of the interesting things was that I didn't know how far out that was, so if I was seen and pursued it could get tricky. As I figured it, though, I'd be there at least two hours before dawn. The trick was to get there well ahead of those who'd set out after me, and they were on the road. If they beat me there, and I found the dock was guarded, I'd have to hide and wait for a chance.

"There's someone around, boss. Wait. More than one. Close. We'd better—"

Something knocked into me and I suddenly realized I was lying down on my back, and then I realized I couldn't move my left shoulder, and I started to hurt. There was a roundish rock next to me, which I deduced someone had thrown at me. I lay there, hurting, until Loiosh said, "Boss. Here they come!"

I usually have a pretty good memory for fights, because my grandfather trained me to remember all of our practice sessions so we could go over them later to discuss my mistakes, but this one is largely a blur. I remember feeling a certain cold precision as Loiosh flew into the face of a woman dressed in light clothing of a tan color, and I noted that I could forget her for a while. I think I was already standing by then. I don't remember getting to my feet, but I know I rolled around on the ground for a while first to avoid giving them a target.

Somewhere, way back, I noticed that drawing my sword hurt quite a bit, and I remember nicking a very tall thin woman on the wrist, and poking a man in the kneecap, and spinning, and feeling dizzy. The short spear seemed to be the standard weapon, and one bald guy with amazing blue eyes, a potbelly, and great strong arms got lined up for a good thrust at my chest, which I parried easily. My automatic reaction was to nail him with a dagger, but when I tried to draw it with my left hand, nothing happened, so I slashed at his face, connected, and kept spinning.

There were three or four times when Loiosh told me to duck and I did. Loiosh and I had gotten good at this sort of thing. None of my attackers said much, except one called out, "Get the jhereg, he's warning him," and I remember being impressed that she'd figured it out. The whole fight, four of them against Loiosh and me, couldn't have lasted as long as it seemed to. Or maybe it did. I tried to keep moving so they'd get in each other's way, and that worked, and I finally got the potbellied guy a good one, straight through the heart, and he went down.

I don't know if he took my sword with him, or if I let go, but I think it was right after that I drew a dagger and dived at one of the spears. That time the man, wearing a broad leather belt from which a long horn was suspended, was too startled to keep his spear up. He backed up and fell, and I don't remember what happened next but I think I took him then and there, because later I found the dagger still in his neck.

I suspect I picked up his spear, because I remember throwing it and missing just as Loiosh told me to duck, and then there was a burning pain low in my back, to the right, and I thought, "I've had it." There was a scream behind me at almost the same moment and I mentally marked one up for Loiosh. I realized I was on my knees, and thought, "This won't do at all," as the tall woman charged straight at me.

I don't know what happened to her, because the next clear memory I have is of lying on my back as the other woman, the one in tan, stood over me holding her spear, with Loiosh attached to the side of her face. She had a dazed look in her eyes. Jhereg poison isn't the most deadly I know of, but it will get the job done, and he was giving her a lot. She tried to nail me with her spear, but I rolled away, although I'm not certain how. She took a step to follow me, but then she just sort of sighed and collapsed.

I lay there, breathing very hard, and raised my head. The tall woman was crumbled against a tree, still breathing, but with her own spear sticking out of her abdomen. I have no idea how I managed that. Her eyes were open, and she was staring at me. She tried to speak, but blood came from her mouth. Presently her breathing stopped and a shudder ran through her body.

"We took 'em, Loiosh. All four of 'em. We took 'em."

"Yeah, boss. I know."

I crawled over to the remains of the nearest one, the woman Loiosh had killed, and ripped at her clothing until I had enough cloth to cover the wound on my back. Getting at it hurt like—well, it hurt. I turned over and lay on it, hoping the pressure would stop the bleeding.

I got dizzy, but I didn't pass out, and after what must have been an hour I began the process of finding out if I could sit up. There were jhereg circling overhead, which might or might not lead someone to this place. Loiosh offered to get rid of them for me, but I didn't want him to leave. In any case, I needed to be away from there.

I managed to stand, which was hard, and I didn't scream, which was harder. I took a few items from my pouch of witchcraft supplies, such as kelsch leaves for energy, and a foul-tasting concoction made from moldy bread, and a powder made from kineera, oil of cloves, and comfrey. I wrapped this in more of my enemy's clothing, got it wet from my canteen, and managed to replace the cloth on my back with it. The bleeding had somehow stopped, but taking the cloth away started it again, and it hurt a lot. I took some more kineera, my last, and mixed it with oil of wormwood, more clove oil, corfina, and ground-up pine needles, got it all wet in more cloth from Loiosh's victim, and put this against my shoulder. I spat out the kelsch leaf, decided chewing another would probably kill me, and struggled to my feet. The cloth on my back slipped, so I had to place it again and fasten it with blue eyes' belt. I held the other one in place, gritted my teeth, and quickly, heh, plodded through the forest.

I must have made it a hundred yards before I got dizzy and had to sit down. After a few minutes I tried again and got maybe a little further. I sat there and caught up on my cursing, decided on another kelsch leaf, after all. It worked, I guess, because I think I made it most of a mile before I had to stop again.

"Loiosh, what direction are we going?"

"Still toward the docks, boss. I'd have told you if you were going wrong."

"Oh. Good."

I didn't say anything else, because even that seemed to drain me. I stumbled to my feet and resumed my brisk trudge. Every step was—but no, I don't want to think about it and you don't want to hear about it. We were less than three miles from the scene of the fight, perhaps five miles from the dock, when Loiosh said, "There's someone up ahead, boss."

"Oh," I said. "Can I die now?"

"No."

I sighed. "How far?"

"About a hundred feet."

I stopped where I was and pulled myself behind a large tree.

"Is there some reason why you just noticed him, Loiosh?"

"I don't know. These people don't have much psychic energy. Maybe—he's gone."

"I don't feel a teleport."

"Got me, boss. He just—what's that?"

"That" was a sound, like a low droning, gradually building in pitch. We stood listening. Were there waves, pulses within it? I wasn't sure. The tree had odd, pale green bark, and it was smooth against my cheek. Yes, there were pulses within the droning, a delicate suggestion of rhythm.

"It's sort of hypnotic, boss."

"Yes. Let's take a look."

"Eh? Why? We don't want to be seen around here, do we?"

"If he's looking for me, we can't avoid him. If not—do you really think I'm going to be able to make it all the way to the shore? Not to mention operating a Verra-be-damned boat when I get there?"

"Oh. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Maybe kill him and steal whatever he has that's useful."

"Do you think you're up to killing him ?"

"Maybe."

He sat in a small dip in the fields, his legs drawn up under him, his back perfectly straight, yet he seemed relaxed. His eyes were open and looking more or less in our direction, but he didn't appear to see us as we approached. I couldn't guess his House; he seemed as pale as a Tiassa, as thin and gangly as an Athyra, with the slanted eyes and pointed ears of a Dzur. His facial structure, high cheekbones and pointed chin, could have been Dragon, or perhaps Phoenix. His hair was light brown, appearing darker in contrast to his skin. He wore baggy pants of dark brown, sandals, and a sort of blue vest with fringes. A large black jewel hung on a chain around his neck. I didn't think he'd be allowed into the Battles Club unless he found some other footgear.

He held a strange, round device, perhaps two feet in diameter, under his left arm. "It's a drum, boss. Notice the skin across it?"

"Yes. Made out of shell, I think. I suspect he's harmless. We can ask for help, or we can kill him. Any other ideas?"

"Boss, I don't think you can take him in your condition."

"If I can catch him when he's not expecting it—"

The stranger stopped what he was doing, quite abruptly, and his eyes focused on us. He looked down at the drum and adjusted one of the leather cords that were sewn onto the head and appeared stretched all the way around the drum. He tapped the head with a beater of some sort, creating a rich and surprisingly musical tone. He frowned and adjusted another strap, struck the head again, and seemed satisfied. I hadn't heard any difference between the two tones.

"Good afternoon," I managed.

He nodded and gave me a vague smile. He looked at Loiosh, then back at his drum. He struck it again, very lightly, then louder.

"It sounds good," I ventured, my breath coming in gasps.

His eyes widened, but the expression seemed to mean something other than surprise, I don't know what. He spoke for the first time, his voice quiet and pitched rather high. "Are you from the mainland?"

"Yes. We're visiting." He nodded. I looked around for something else to talk about while I figured out what to do. I said, "What do you call that thing?"

"On the island," he said, "we call this a drum."

"Good name for it," I told him. Then I stumbled forward a few steps and collapsed.

I saw the tops of trees, swaying in a light wind. It smelled like morning, and I hurt everywhere.

"Boss?"

"Hey, chum. Where are we?"

"Still here. With that drummer guy. Can you eat again?"

"Drummer guy? Oh, right. I remember. What do you mean 'again'?"

"He's fed you three times since you collapsed. You don't remember?"

I thought about it, decided I didn't. "How long have we been here?"

"A little more than a day."

"Oh. They haven't found us?"

"No one's come close."

"Odd. I'd have thought I left a trail a nymph jhegaala could follow."

"Maybe they haven't found the bodies."

"That can't last long. We should move."

I sat up slowly. The drummer looked at me, nodded, and went back to whatever it was he'd been doing when we got there. He said, "I changed your dressing again."

"Thanks. I'm in your debt."

He went back to concentrating on his drum.

I tried to stand up, decided early on in the process that it was a mistake, and relaxed. I took a couple of deep breaths, letting tension out of my body. I wondered how long it would be until I could walk. Hours? Days? If it was days, I might as well roll over and die right now.

I discovered I was very thirsty and said so. He handed me a flask which turned out to contain odd-tasting water. He tapped his drum again. I lay back against the tree and rested, my ears straining for sounds of pursuit. After a while he put a kettle on the fire, and a bit after that we had a rather bland soup that was probably good for me. As we drank it, I said, "My name is Vlad."

"Aibynn," he said. "How did you come to be injured?"

"Some of your compatriots don't take to strangers. Provincialism. There's no help for it."

He gave me a look I couldn't interpret, then he grinned. "We don't often see anyone from the mainland here, especially dwarfs."

Dwarfs? "Special circumstances," I said. "Couldn't be prevented. Why did you help me?"

"I've never seen anyone with a tame jhereg before."

"Tame?"

"Shut up, Loiosh."

To Aibynn I said, "I'm glad you were here, anyway."

He nodded. "It's a good place to work. You aren't bothered much—what's that?"

I sighed. "Sounds like someone's coming," I said.

He looked at me, his face blank. Then he said, "Do you think you can climb a tree?"

I licked my lips. "Maybe."

"You won't leave a trail that way."

"If they see a trail leading here, and not away, won't they ask questions?"

"Probably."

"Well?"

"I'll answer them."

I studied him. "What do you think, Loiosh?"

"Sounds like the best chance we're going to get."

"Yeah."

I could, indeed, climb a tree. It hurt a lot, but other than that it wasn't difficult. I stopped when I heard sounds from below, and Loiosh gave me a warning simultaneously. I couldn't see the ground, which gave me good reason to hope they couldn't see me. There was no breeze, and the smoke from the fire was coming up into my face. As long as it didn't get strong enough to make me cough, that would also help keep me hidden.

"Good day be with you," said someone male, with a voice like a grayswan in heat.

"And you," said Aibynn. I could hear them very well. Then I could hear drumming.

"Excuse me—" said grayswan.

"What have you done?" asked Aibynn.

"I mean, for disturbing you."

"Ah. You haven't disturbed me."

More drumming. I wanted to laugh but held it in.

"We are looking for a stranger. A dwarf."

The drumming stopped. "Try the mainland."

Grayswan made a sound I couldn't interpret, and there were mutterings I couldn't make out from his companions. Then someone else, a woman whose voice was as low as a musk owl's call, said, "We are tracking him. How long have you been here?"

"All my life," said Aibynn with a touch of sadness.

"Today, you idiot!" said grayswan.

"At least," agreed my friend.

Someone else, a man with a voice that sounded like a man's voice, said, "His tracks lead to this spot. Have you seen him?"

"I might have missed him," said Aibynn. "I'm tuning my drum, you see, and it requires concentration."

Grayswan demanded, "You mean he could have walked right by you? Cril and Sandy, look around. See if you can find any tracks leaving." There came the sound of feet moving near the base of the tree. I remained very still, not even waving the smoke away from my face; it wasn't very thick, anyway.

Aibynn said, "This part of preparing the drum is very difficult. I must—"

Musk owl said, "You're Aibynn of Lowporch, aren't you?"

"Why, yes."

"I heard you drum at the Winter Festival. You're very good."

"Thank you."

"That's a new drum you're making?"

Grayswan: "We don't have time to—"

Aibynn: "Why, yes. This is the shell of the sweetclam. The head is made from the skin of a nyth, as big a one as you can find. The beater is made from the jawbone, wrapped in nythskin and cloth. To prepare the head, you make a fire of langwood, and season the fire with rednut shells, drownweeds, clove, dreamgrass, silkbuds, the roots of the trapvine—"

Another voice, a man's I hadn't heard before, said, "Nothing. He must be around here somewhere."

Aibynn said, "This one is almost done. I'm just tuning it. You can also change the pitch when you play it. This knob, you see, I hold in my left hand, and when I turn it this way the head becomes tighter and the tone rises. This way lowers the pitch." He demonstrated.

"I see," said musk owl.

Grayswan said, "Look, this dwarf has killed four of the King's guards, and we have every reason to think he—"

Aibynn continued demonstrating. The sound produced by the drum was a single smooth pulse, out of which rhythms began to emerge. I noticed an odd, sweet smell drifting up to me, probably from the treatment he had given the drumhead. The pulsing became more and more complex, and I began to hear beats within it, and I became more aware of the variations in tone. The sweet smell grew stronger.

As he played, he said, "You have to play the drum for a few hours after it's seasoned, to allow the head to work into the shell." His voice wove in and out of the pulses, the rhythms, sometimes riding high above them, sometimes supporting them from beneath, and I wondered idly if it was changing pitch and tone or if the drum was, and were those voices mixed in with it? "Then the straps must be moistened with an emulsion made from the sap of a teardrop elm ... they will respond to long pulses and slow pulses ... so the rhythm emerges from the drum itself ... the Lecuda calls the dance, or the spell, which is really the same ... some of the oldest drums sound the best because the shell itself begins to absorb the sound, so after many years ... the last time I tried one of those, I had borrowed a drum. ..."

Loiosh said, "Boss, did he say dreamgrass? Boss?"

Then I felt like lying down, then I was falling, and felt like I was passing right through the branches without touching them. I heard someone say, "Look!" but I don't remember hitting the ground.

To a dzurlord, civilized means adhering to proper customs of dueling. To a Dragonlord, civilized means conforming to all the social niceties of mass mayhem. To a Yendi, civilized means making sure no one ever knows exactly what you're up to. In the land of my ancestors, civilized means never drinking a red wine at more than fifty-five or less than fifty degrees. The islands had their own notions of civilization, and I decided I liked them.

"We're civilized here, Jhereg," said my interrogator, beneath brows you could have planted maize in. "We do not beat or torture our prisoners."

Of all the responses that sprang to mind, I decided the quick nod would be safest. His mouth twitched, and I wondered if I'd get to know him well enough to know what that indicated.

"On the other hand," he continued, "you can probably expect to be executed."

On reflection, his brows weren't all that bushy; they just seemed that way because of his high, hairless forehead. He looked more like an Athyra than anything else, and acted a bit like one, too: cold, intellectual, and distant. "Executed for what?" I said.

He ignored this. We both knew for what, and if I didn't want to admit it, that was my concern. He said, "I am assuming that you are either a paid assassin or are fanatically loyal to some person, entity, or cause. It is possible that if you cooperate with us by revealing all of the circumstances which led you to take this action, you may live. Unlikely, but possible." He spoke a lot like Morrolan, a friend of mine you'll meet later.

I started in on another protestation of innocence but he gestured me to silence. "Think it over," he said, and stood up slowly. "We can give you some time to think, but not a great deal. I'll be back." He left me alone again.

Of what shall I tell you now? Time, place, or circumstance? Time, then. I'd been there three days, during which I'd been attended by various persons concerned about my health, and this was the first day I'd been able to walk the six or so steps to the slop bucket in the corner without leaning on the walls all the way. That was about the most I could do, but I was proud of it.

I could tell day from night because I could almost see the outside through a narrow window about eight feet up the brick wall. There were thick horizontal bars across the window, which I suspected had been added after the place was built—perhaps very recently, like three days ago. I noted it as a possible weakness. I didn't think the room had been originally designed to hold prisoners, but it worked. The door was very thick and, from what I could hear before it was opened, had an iron bar across it on the outside. There was a cot that was longer than it had to be, made of something soft that rustled in my ears whenever I moved. I had been given a tan-colored shapeless robe of some animal skin. I didn't know if it was their custom to remove clothing from prisoners, or if they had found so many weapons in my clothing that they'd deduced—correctly—that they'd never be able to find them all. I was also barefoot, which I've never liked, even as a kid.

I got two meals a day. The first I'm still blurry on. The second was a fish stew that was completely flavorless except for too much salt. The next was some sort of mush that tasted better than it looked, but only a little. The one after that was a squid dish that a good cook could have done fine things with. The latest one, the remains of which were on a wooden plate on the floor next to me, involved boiled vegetables and a bit of fish with a loaf of coarse, dark bread. The bread was actually pretty good.

Twice now, I had tried small spells to heal myself, but nothing had happened. This was very odd. It was one thing if they had means to cut off my access to the Orb, but witchcraft is a matter of skill and one's innate psychic energy; I didn't see any way to cut someone off from that.

On the other hand, I remembered Loiosh commenting that people around here seemed to be psionically invisible to him, which also wasn't normal, and might be related. I had also tried a few times to reach Morrolan and Sethra, but got nowhere; I wasn't certain if that was a matter of distance or something else.

Loiosh hadn't been in touch with me the entire time. I very much wanted to know if he was all right. I had the feeling that if anything had happened to him I'd know, but I'd never been out of touch with him for this long before.

To take my mind off this, I went over the conversation I'd just had with the something-or-other of the Royal Guard. His remarks about them maybe letting me live could be discounted—I'd killed four of their citizens plus the King. But he might have been telling the truth about his definition of "civilized." Good news, if true; the last time I'd tried to hold up under torture I hadn't done so well.

But the real puzzler was one of his first remarks. He'd walked in and stared down at me, given his title, and said, "We are holding you for the assassination of His King Haro Olithorvold. We want you to tell us why you killed him, for whom, where you came from—"

I interrupted him with as credible an expression of innocent outrage as I could manage. He shook his head and said, "Don't try to deny it. Your accomplice has admitted his part in it."

I said, "Oh. Well, that's different, then. If you've got my accomplice, what can I do? I confess to—what was it you said I did? And who was my accomplice?"

That was when he'd started in on being civilized, and now, lying there aching and worried about Loiosh, I wondered many things about my "accomplice." It was obvious who they meant—the drummer I'd stumbled over, so to speak, in the woods. When I'd become conscious again, and had figured out that I'd been knocked out by the smoke (he'd mentioned dreamgrass, after all), I'd assumed he'd done it deliberately. Now, though, I wondered.

It was still possible he had, but they simply didn't believe him. Or it could have been an accident, and he was just what he appeared to be. Or they could be playing some sort of deep game that hadn't made itself apparent yet.

Not that any of this mattered, since I couldn't do anything about any of the possibilities, but I was curious. I wasn't worried. They would most likely spend at least a day or two trying to get me to tell them who had hired me before they killed me. I considered telling them the truth, just to watch bushy-brows' face, but it would have been pointless. Besides, in my business you don't give out that information; it's part of the job.

But in a day or two I could regain my strength and attempt to escape. If I failed, they'd kill me. It was nothing to be worried about. Scared spitless, yes, but not worried.

I did not want to die, you see. I'd died before and hadn't liked it, and this time, if it happened, there'd be no chance for revivification. I'd heard stories of escapes from imprisonment, but, looking around, I just didn't see any way to manage it, and, damn it all, it hadn't been such a bad life I'd worked my way up from nothing to something and I wanted to see how things came out. I wanted to be around to watch for a while longer. I wanted to leave some changes behind me, to make things a bit different before I went on my way.

Different? Maybe even better, though that had never been high on my list before. Maybe, if I got out of this, I'd do that. Are you listening, Verra? Can you hear me? They've got me trapped and scared, so maybe it doesn't mean anything, but it would be nice if, before I died, I could think to myself that the world was a little better in some way for my having been here. Is that crazy, Demon Goddess? Is this what happened to Cawti, is this why I hardly recognize my wife anymore? I don't know how I'll feel if I get out of this, but I want to find out. Help me, Goddess. Get me out of here. Save my life.

But she'd said I couldn't reach her from here, so I would have to save myself, and that just didn't look likely.

I'd been thinking and dozing and hurting and recovering and sweating for a few more hours when another meal arrived—this time some dumplings with a sauce that meat had been waved at, accompanied by seaweed and more of the bread. I was going to have to escape soon for yet another reason: If I got tired of the bread, I'd have nothing to live for.

Scratch off another day, another visit from the local bone-tightener, and another couple of meals. I was beginning to feel like I could maybe move if I had to. The pain from the wounds was almost gone, but I still hurt from where I'd bruised myself in the fall. I expect that I'd have broken bones if my fall hadn't been "cushioned" by tree limbs, which had given me teeth-loosening love pats all the way down. If I had broken a bone, chances are you'd have heard this story, if at all, from a completely different viewpoint. And the end would have been different, too. My questioner came back after letting me ponder for an entire two days, I suppose to see if I got nervous. He sat down a few feet away from me. I might have tried to jump him if I'd been in better shape and had my weapons and knew more about the layout of the place and the position of the guards and if he hadn't looked like he was ready for it.

"Well?" he said, trying to look stern and I guess succeeding.

"I would like to confess," I said.

"Good."

"I would like to confess that I wish very much to have a large dish of kethna, cubed and stir-fried with peppers and onions, seasoned with lemon and the rinds of clubfruit, with—"

"You obviously think this is funny," he said.

I shook my head. "Food is never funny. The meals I've been getting are tragic."

I noticed his hands kept trying to form fists, and decided that he was becoming impatient with me. Either they were serious about not beating prisoners, or he was saving up something good. He said, "Do you want to die?"

"Well, no," I said. "But it's bound to happen sooner or later."

"We want to know who sent you."

"I was following a vision."

He glared, then got up and walked out. I wondered what they'd throw at me next. I hoped it wasn't more seaweed.

I spent a few hours the next day remembering previous incarcerations. There had been one especially long one in the dungeons beneath the Imperial Palace, as part of the affair that had gained me my exalted position in the Jhereg and had first brought my friend Aliera to the attention of the Empress. That had been a few weeks, and the worst thing had been the boredom. I'd dealt with it mostly by exercising and devising a communication system with my fellow inmates with which we could exchange rude comments about our various guards. This time I was in no condition to exercise, and I didn't know where the other inmates, if any, were. I'd about decided that maybe some gentle isometrics wouldn't hurt too much when the door opened again.

"Aibynn," I said. "Have you come to tend my poor afflicted body? Or minister to my spirit?"

He sat down on the other bunk, looking faintly surprised to see me. "Hey," he said. "I guess you aren't used to dreamgrass."

"I was in a weakened state," I said. "Try it on me again sometime."

He nodded thoughtfully and said, "I didn't think you'd be alive. I thought they were going to, you know—" He made a chopping motion at the back of his neck.

"Probably are," I said.

"Yeah. Me, too." He leaned back, not seeming at all disturbed. I got the impression that he carried fatalism maybe a bit too far. Of course, it was quite possible that he was working for them. It was also possible that he wasn't, that he'd been put in here so we could have conversations for them to overhear. The level of subtlety was about right for what I'd seen of these people.

I said, "Had any good meals?"

He considered this carefully. "Not really, no."

"Neither have I."

"I wouldn't mind—" He stopped, staring up at the window. I followed his gaze, but didn't see anything remarkable. I looked back at him.

"What is it?"

"There are bars on the window," he said

"Yes?"

"The room I was in didn't have a window."

"What about it?"

He picked up the wooden spoon from the remainder of my last meal, went up next to the window, and tapped one of the bars.

I said, "You think you can knock it loose?"

"Huh? Oh, no, nothing like that. But listen." He tapped it again. It gave out the usual sound of thick iron when struck by thick wood. "Doesn't that sound great?"

I tried to decide if he was joking. "Ummm, I think it needs tuning," I said.

"That's true. I wonder if it would work to wrap a strip of cloth around part of it."

I sighed and settled back onto my bed, hoping they were, in fact, listening. A few hours later the door opened. A pair of guards held their short spears and looked like they knew how they functioned. My friend the Royal whatever was behind them. He nodded to me and said, "Please come with me."

I nodded to Aibynn and said, "Drum for me."

"I will," he said.

To bushy-brows I said, "I'm not certain I can walk very far."

"We can carry you if necessary."

"I'll try," I said. And I did. I was still a bit shaky on my feet, and my back hurt, but I could do it. I wobbled a bit more than I had to just on the principle that it couldn't hurt if they thought I was worse off than I was. We only went a few feet down the hall, though, to a room which had a pair of low backless stools and several windows. He took one of the stools, and I lowered myself onto the other, not enjoying it.

He said, "There has been considerable discussion about what to do with the two of you. Some are in favor of suspending the ancient laws against torture. Others think you should be publicly executed right away, which will prevent the riots that seem to be brewing."

He paused there, to see if I had anything to say. Since I didn't think he'd want to hear about how my back felt, I stayed mute.

"At the moment His Majesty Corcor'n, the son of the man you killed, has everyone convinced to wait until we hear from the mainland. We expect them to deny having sent you, but we want to give them the option. If they do the expected, we will probably execute you. If you're curious, most people are in favor of stoning you to death, though some think you should be bound and thrown to the orca."

"I'm not really curious," I said.

He nodded. "While we're waiting, you still have the chance to tell us about it. We will also be telling your comrade the same thing. If he talks before you do, he will most likely be exiled. If you talk, he will die and you might be allowed to leave. At least you will be allowed to take poison, a far more pleasant death than either of the other two."

"You know that from personal experience?" I said.

He sighed. "You don't want to tell us about it? Who sent you? Why?"

"I just came here for the fishing," I said.

He turned to the guards. "Return him to the cell and bring the other one." They did this. I could have said something clever to Aibynn as we passed, but nothing came to mind. I'd have given quite a bit to be able to hear what went on between the two of them, but I still had no connection to the Orb, and witchcraft, as I've said, wasn't working. Maybe they were just sitting around playing s'yang stones long enough to make it look good. Or maybe they really believed he was helping me. Or maybe there was something else entirely going on that I was completely missing. It wouldn't be the first time.

They left us there for two more days, during which I learned the distinction between "popping" a beat and "rolling" a rhythm, between fish and animal skin heads, how to tell if there is a small crack in the jawbone one intends to use as a beater, and the training that goes into making a festival, or "hard-ground" or "groundy," drummer; a ritual, or "crashing surf" or "surfy," drummer; and a spiritual, or "deep water" or "watery," drummer. Aibynn had studied all three, but preferred surfy drumming.

I was less interested in all of this than I pretended to be, but it was the only entertainment around. I was interrogated twice more during this time, but you can probably fill in those conversations yourself. Conversation with Aibynn was more interesting than the interrogations, when he wasn't drumming, but he didn't say anything that helped me figure out if he was really working with them or not.

At one point he made a passing reference to the gods. I considered the differences between Dragaeran attitudes toward the divine and Eastern attitudes, and said, "What are gods?"

"A god," he said, "is someone who isn't bound by natural laws, and who can morally commit an action which would be immoral for someone who wasn't a god."

"Sounds like you memorized that."

"I have a friend who's a philosopher."

"Does he have any philosophy on escaping from cells?"

"He says that if you escape, you are required to bring your cellmate with you. Unless you're a god," he added.

"Right," I said. "Does he have a philosophy about drumming?"

He gave me a curious look. "We've talked about it," he said. "Sometimes, you know, when you're playing, you're in touch with something; there are things that flow through you, like you aren't playing at all, but something else is playing you. That's when it's best."

"Yeah," I agreed. "It's the same thing with assassination."

He pretended to laugh, but I don't think he really thought it was funny.

After he came back from his second session with the Royal Whootsidoo, I said, "What did he ask you about?"

"He wanted to know how many sounds I could get out of my drum."

"Ah," I said. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"How many?"

"Thirty-nine, using the head and the shell, both sides of the beater, fingers, and muffling. And then there are variations."

"I see. Well, now I know."

"I wish I had my drum."

"I suppose so."

"Has it rained since you've been here? I didn't have a window at first."

"I'm not sure. I don't think so."

"Good. Rain would ruin the head."

A little later he said, "Why did we kill the King?"

I said, "We?"

"Well, that's what they asked me."

"Oh. He didn't like our drum."

"Good reason."

Silence fell, and, when we weren't talking, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to live, which got pretty depressing, so I said, "Those times you feel like you're in tune with something, do you think it might be a god?"

He shook his head. "No. It isn't anything like that. It's hard to describe."

"Try," I said, and he cooperated by keeping me distracted until I drifted off to sleep.

Early in the afternoon on the second day after Aibynn had joined me, I was listening to an impromptu concert on iron bar (tuned with pieces of a towel), wooden spoon, and porcelain mug, when I felt a faint twinge in the back of my head. I almost jerked upright, but I held myself still, relaxed, and concentrated on making the link stronger. "Hello?"

"Boss?"

"Loiosh! Where are you?"

"I ... coming ... later ... can't..." and it faded out. Then there was connection with someone else, so strong it was like someone shouting in my ear. "Hello Vlad. I hope all is well with you."

It only took me a moment to recognize the psychic "voice." I almost shouted aloud. "Daymar!"

"Himself."

"Where are you?"

"Castle Black. We've just finished dinner."

"If you tell me about your dinner I'll fry you."

"Quite. We understand from Loiosh that you're in something of a predicament."

"I think the word predicament is awfully well chosen."

"Yes. He says that sorcery doesn't work there."

"Seems not to. How did he get there ?"

"He flew, apparently."

"Flew? By the Orb! How many miles is that?"

"I don't know. He does seem rather tired. But don't worry. We'll be by for you as soon as we can."

"How soon is that? They're planning to execute me, y'know."

"Really? For what?"

"A misunderstanding involving royal prerogatives."

"I don't understand."

"Yes. Well, never mind. When can you get here?"

"Since we can't telep—" and the link broke. Daymar a noble of the House of the Hawk and a fellow who worked very hard at developing his psychic abilities, is capable of being arbitrary and unpredictable, but I didn't think he'd chop off a conversation in midsentence. Therefore something else had. Therefore, I was worried.

I cursed and tried to reestablish the link, but got nothing. I kept trying until night had fallen and I had a head ache, but I got nothing except morbid thoughts. I fell asleep hoping for rescue and vaguely wondering if I

dreamt it all. I woke up in the middle of the night with the half memory of a dream in which I was flying over the ocean, into a nasty wind, and my wings were very tired. I kept wanting to rest, and every time I did an orca with the face of a dragon would rise out of the water and snap at me.

If I'd've had half a minute to wake up, I would have figured out what the dream meant without any help, but I didn't have the half a minute, or any need for it.

"Boss! Wake up." His voice in my head was very loud, and very welcome.

"Loiosh!"

"We're coming in, boss. Get ready. Is anyone with you?"

"No. I mean, yes. A friend. Well, maybe a friend. He might be an enemy. I don't—"

"That's what I like about working with you, boss: your precision."

"Don't be a wiseacre. Who's with you?"

But there was no need for him to answer, because at that moment the wall next to me turned pale blue, twisted in on itself, and dissolved, and I was face-to-face with my wife, Cawti.

I stood up as my roommate stirred. "You and how many Dragonlords?" I said.

"Two," she said. "Why? Do you think we need more?"

She tossed me a dagger. I caught it hilt-first and said, "Thanks."

"No problem." She walked over to the door, played with it for a while, and I heard the iron bar outside hit the floor. I looked a question at her.

"There may be things in the building you want," she for "Spellbreaker, for example." She said.

"A point. Is, um, anyone still alive?"

"Probably."

Enter Aliera: very short for a Dragaeran, angular face-, green eyes. She gave me a courtesy.

I nodded.

"I found this." She handed me a three-foot length of gold chain, which I took and wrapped around my wrist.

"Cawti had just mentioned it," I said. "Thanks."

My roommate, who didn't seem at all disturbed by these events, stood up. "Remember what we said about the philosophy of escaping from cells?"

Cawti looked at him, then back at me. I considered. He might really be just what he seemed, in which case I'd gotten him into a great deal of trouble for helping me. I glanced at the door to the cell. Aliera was now in the room, and there was no commotion to indicate anyone had noticed us escaping. Behind me was a roughly circular gap in the wall, eight feet in diameter, with nothing on the other side but island darkness, fresh with the smell of the ocean.

I said, "Okay, come on. But one thing. If you have any thoughts of betraying me—" I paused and held up the dagger. "In the Empire, we call this a knife.'"

"Knife," he said. "Got it."

Loiosh flew in and landed on my shoulder. We stepped through the wall and out into the night.

Cawti led the way, with Aliera bringing up the rear. We slipped past the single row of structures that represented the city. I realized that I'd been right next to the Palace, and that we were copying almost exactly the route I'd taken after the assassination. We entered the woods outside of the town and stopped there long enough to listen for sounds of pursuit. There were none. My feet were not enjoying the woods. I considered sending Loiosh back to find my boots, but I didn't consider it very seriously. I glanced back at Aibynn, who was also without boots. It didn't seem to be bothering him.

"It's good to have friends," I remarked as we started walking again.

Cawti said, "Are you all right?"

"Mostly. We'll have to take it slow."

"Were you, um, questioned?"

"Not the way you mean it. But I've managed to damage myself a bit."

"It's well past the middle of the night already. We're going to have to hurry to be there by morning, not to mention losing the tide."

"I'm not sure I can hurry."

"What happened?"

"I'm too old to be climbing trees."

"I could have told you that."

"Yes."

"Do the best you can," she said.

"I will." My back already hurt, and now my hand started throbbing. I said, "If we meet anyone drumming in the woods, let's not stop for conversation."

"You'll have to tell me about that," said Cawti. I heard Loiosh laughing inside my head. Aibynn, walking directly in front of me, either didn't hear the comment or chose to ignore it. Branches slapped against my face, just as they'd done last time. Last time I hadn't had Cawti and Aliera with me, so I had cause to be optimistic. On the other hand, the branches still stung. Cheap philosophy there, if you want it.

After an hour or so we stopped, as if by consensus, though no one said anything. I sat down with my back against a tree and said, "What's the plan?"

Aliera said, "We have a ship waiting for us in a cove a few miles from here."

"A ship? Can you drive one of those things?"

"It has a crew of Orca."

"Are you sure they'll be waiting for us?"

"Morrolan is there."

"Ah." And, "I'm flattered. Grateful, too."

Aliera smiled suddenly. "I enjoyed it," she said. Cawti didn't smile. After a few minutes' rest we stood up again. Loiosh left my shoulder to fly on ahead, and we made our way through the woods once more, now at a brisk walk. It was still very dark, but Aliera was making a small light that hung in the air a few paces ahead of us, bouncing in time to her steps.

As we walked, I said to Aibynn, "Is there anything we should be watching for?"

"Trees," he said. "Don't run into them. It hurts."

"Falling out of them isn't much fun, either, but I don't think that's a real danger just at the moment."

"Were you unconscious when you landed?"

"I expect so. I don't really remember anything about it. I was pretty much gone as I fell."

"Too bad," he said.

"Why?"

"The sound you made when you hit. It was a good one. A nice, deep thump. Resonance."

I couldn't decide if I should laugh or cut his throat, so I said, "I'm glad you didn't tune me, anyway."

I kept my eyes on the light, watching it bounce, and I wondered how Aliera had been able to produce it without sorcery to work with. For that matter, though— "Aliera?"

She turned her head without slowing down. "Yes, Vlad?"

"I was told sorcery doesn't work on this island."

"Yes. I lost my link to the Orb about ten miles from shore."

"Then how did you melt down that wall?"

"Pre-Empire sorcery."

"Oh. The rough stuff."

She agreed.

"Getting good, eh?"

She nodded.

"Isn't it illegal?"

She chuckled.

Cawti still hadn't said anything. About then Aibynn increased his speed and caught up with Aliera. "This way," he said.

I said, "Why?" at just the same moment Aliera did.

"Just want to see something."

"Loiosh, is anyone around?"

"I don't think so, boss. But you know I can't always tell with these guys."

"Eyeball it. Check out the way our friend is heading."

"Okay."

After a few minutes he said, "Nothing I can see, boss. You're almost up to the clearing where they caught you."

"Oh. That explains it, then."

"It does?"

We got there. The ashes in the fire were quite cold by now. Aibynn found his drum, looked it over, and nodded. If it had been destroyed, I'd have been convinced he was friendly to us. As it was, I still owed him something, but I had no way of knowing what sort of payment he deserved. Time would tell. He also hunted around some more, then gave a small sound of satisfaction and pulled a mass of fur from near the tree I'd fallen from. He shook it and put it on his head.

"What kind of animal was that?" I asked.

"A norska."

"Oh, yes, I see." It was dark brown and white, and still had the norska face in it, with the fangs showing. It didn't look nearly as absurd or disgusting as it ought to have. We resumed our walk.

I allowed myself to feel cautiously optimistic; the entire army of Greenaere, if there was one, would have a hard time keeping Aliera away from that boat, especially if Morrolan was on the other end.

"The sky is getting light in the east," said Aliera.

"We're not going to make it," said Cawti.

"Tell me where the bay is," said Aibynn. "I can probably get us there during flood tomorrow without being seen."

"In the daylight?" I said.

He nodded.

Cawti said, "What do you mean, probably?"

"It depends which bay you mean. If it's Chottmon's Bay, there's too much open ground."

We all studied him. "If Daymar were here," said Aliera, "he could mind-probe him and—"

"If Daymar were here," I said, "he'd still be back at the Palace studying the weave on the rugs while the army took potshots at his back."

"Does he like rugs?" inquired Aibynn.

"All right," said Aliera. "I'll inform Morrolan of the delay. The bay is marked by a high pinnacle, like a crown, on one side, and a stand of tall thin trees on the other. It is about a quarter of a mile across, and there is a small barren islet in the middle."

"Dark Woman's Cove," said Aibynn. "No problem."

"Remember," I said. "This is—"

"Yes. A knife."

He set out in the lead. We moved slowly, but steadily, and didn't run into anyone looking for us. Aibynn appeared to wander aimlessly, hardly looking where he was going and never stopping to look around. I stayed right behind him, ready to stick a knife in his kidney at the first sign that he'd betrayed us. If he knew this, he didn't give any indication, and it was the middle of the afternoon when we saw the little bay, with a lonely ship sitting in the middle of it.

We waited in the woods that came right up to the beach while they sent a boat for us. Cawti still had hardly spoken to me.

He stood on the prow of the ship, tall, aloof, Dragaeran, and dry. The Orca on the ship assisted us without any questions, and a few of them gave him dark looks. I suspect these had to do with Blackwand, sheathed at his side. No one wants to be that close to any Morganti weapon, and Blackwand was the kind of blade that survivors write dirges about.

He and Aliera were cousins, both of the House of the Dragon, which meant they preferred a good battle to a good meal—practically my definition of madness. They were young as Dragaerans go, less than five hundred years old. I'd live out my entire life while they were both young, but no sense in dwelling on that. He wore the black and silver of the House of the Dragon with the emphasis on the black, she with the emphasis on the silver. She was short and quick; he was tall and just as quick. The three of us got acquainted one day in the Paths of the Dead. Well, that isn't strictly true, but never mind. There were things that made us friends in spite of differences in species, House, class, and how important we rated food, but never mind that, either. He was there, waiting, when the boat with two undistinguished Orca brought us to the ship.

He gave Aibynn a curious glance, but didn't mention him. He gave a crisp order, and the ship swung a little, shook, turned, settled, and began to move. We sailed neatly away from the island, as if the escape had been no major feat at all. Which, I suppose, it really hadn't, my nerves to the contrary.

I watched the splotch that was Greenaere begin to grow smaller against the reddish horizon, and a tightness in my chest of which I hadn't been aware began to ease. I glanced at the crew, and was a bit disappointed that they were strangers; for some reason I wouldn't have minded running into Yinta, or someone else from Chorba's Pride. On the other hand, I wasn't seasick, in spite of no longer having the charm I'd set out with.

Spray hit my face and stung my eyes as the sails above me snapped full, dragging the ship along. Morrolan stood next to me, Aliera next to him. Aibynn was near the front, the prow or the bow or whatever, doing something to his drum. Cawti was not in sight. I said, "I owe you one, Morrolan."

He said, "I'm disturbed."

"About my owing you something?"

"Daymar said he couldn't maintain the contact with you."

"Yes. I wondered about that."

"I feel something on that island."

Aliera said, "There's a reason why our links to the Orb were severed. It wasn't the distance."

"It mislikes me," said Morrolan.

I said, "Huh?"

"He doesn't like it," said Aliera.

"Oh."

Morrolan shifted slightly, keeping his eyes on the island. His long fingers rubbed the large ruby on his silver shirt. I looked back. The island was almost invisible now. Loiosh was on my shoulder. I said, "Where's Rocza?"

"She stayed home."

"Not the oceangoing type?"

"I guess not. She was worried about you, though.

"That's good to hear. You must have had quite a flight getting back to shore."

He didn't answer at once. Images came to mind that reminded me very much of a dream I'd just had. My imaginary wings still ached. He said, "I was worried about you, boss."

"Yeah. Me, too."

I left Morrolan and Aliera there and walked around the deck until I found Cawti. She was studying the ocean ahead as I'd been watching behind. There was even more spray here; heavy droplets instead of a fine mist. Night was sneaking up behind day, ready to strike.

"You seem not to trust your friend," she said.

"I don't."

"Then why did you bring him along?"

"If they aren't playing some kind of game, then I owe him."

"I see. You always pay your debts, don't you, Vlad?"

"I detect a note of irony in your voice."

She gave me no answer.

"You rescued me," I said after a while.

"Did you doubt we would?"

"I didn't know you could. I didn't know Loiosh would be able to cross that much water."

"It must have been hard for you."

"Not as hard as—" I stopped, studied my fingernails, and said, "It wasn't that bad."

She nodded, still not looking at me.

I said, "I'm glad the revolution could spare you for a few days."

"Don't be snide."

I bit my lip. "I hadn't actually intended that the way it sounded."

She nodded again. There was a splash off to the left. Probably more orca, but I'd missed them. She spoke softly, so I could hardly hear her over the creaking and wind.

"I watch the passing hours dress

Themselves in robes of twilight grey,

And sit here, pale and powerless

To halt the ending of the day.

A bitter tale it seemed to me

Who thought my lesson fully learned

To open wounds I deemed to be

Unfairly dealt, not truly earned.

But tomorrow we begin again

To open veins for words to say:

Enlightenment through common pain,

Dressed in robes of twilight grey."

After an interval of tossing ship and breaking waves I said, "Sounds Eastern."

"It's mine."

I looked at her. She didn't move. I said, "I didn't know you wrote poetry."

"There's a great deal that—no. Sorry. It came to me a few nights ago, as I was sitting there, worried about you.

Or maybe wondering if I should be more worried about you; I don't know which."

"A bitter tale," I agreed. "What does it mean?"

She shrugged. "How should I know?"

"You wrote it."

"Yes. Well, if there was something buried in it that I was trying to say, I don't know what it is."

"Let me know if you get any ideas."

The corner of her mouth twitched.

I watched the ocean do its ocean stuff some more. Up and down, and across, going nowhere. That kind of thing.

"I'm trying," said Cawti, "to think of something deep and philosophical to say about waves, but I'm not having any luck."

"You'll find something."

She shook her head. "No, but I ought to. About how they start somewhere, and keep coming closer, then they move you around and keep going, but we don't know what causes them, or where they come from, or, well, something like that."

"Mmmm."

"You made a lot of waves, didn't you, Vlad?"

"Are you speaking in general or in specific?"

"Both, I guess. No, in specific."

"Do you mean the whole business of the last few months, with the Organization, and the Empire, and your friend Kelly?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, I guess I made a lot of waves. I didn't have much choice."

"I suppose not."

"I wonder what Herth is up to."

"Word is, he's happily retired on what you gave him for South Adrilankha."

"South Adrilankha," I repeated. "The Easterners' ghetto."

"Yes."

"And now I'm the one who runs it."

"Not all of it."

"No. Just the illegal parts."

"Going to clean it up?"

"Do I detect a note of irony in your voice?"

"A note? No. A symphony, perhaps."

"You don't think I can, or you don't think I will?"

"I don't think you can."

"Who's to stop me?"

After perhaps a minute she said, "What do you mean, clean it up? Just what illegal activities do you intend to continue?"

"The ones they want. I'll make sure the gambling is fair, that the whorehouses are clean and the tags are treated well, that the loans are at reasonable rates, that—"

"How can gambling be fair for people who can't afford to gamble at all? How much does it help to give fair treatment to people who are selling their bodies? What is a reasonable loan rate to someone who has gone into debt because he lost everything at one of your tables, and how will you collect from those who can't pay?"

I shrugged. "It's going to go on, anyway. I'll be better than anyone else."

"I think I've made my point."

"I can't solve all the problems of the whole world. And neither can your friend Kelly, however much he thinks he can."

"Have you been paying attention lately? Haven't you seen it?"

"Seen what? Parades of Teckla through the streets? People in parks shouting at each other about things they already agree with? Posters that say—"

"And now there are Phoenix Guards watching them, Vlad. And I mean Phoenix Guards—not Teckla put into cloaks and given spears. That means they're scared, Vlad, and it means they don't dare use conscripts. Do you think maybe they know something you don't? Three weeks ago, even two weeks ago, none of that was going on except in South Adrilankha. Now you even see some of it on Lower Kieron. At this rate, what's going to happen in another two weeks? Another two months?"

"In my opinion, not much."

"I'm aware that you think so. But perhaps—"

"No, I don't want to argue about your damned revolution."

She shrugged "You brought it up."

"Can we talk about us?"

"Yes," she said, but I found I didn't have anything clever to say after that.

The ship plunged, the waves broke around it, to re-form in our wake as if we'd never been. I wanted to say something deep and philosophical about that, but nothing came to mind.

"I'm going to get some sleep," I said. "If Aibynn starts drumming, throw him overboard." I shifted with the waves until I found the tiny ladder that led to the area below the deck. I found a place to stretch out, located a blanket, and let the ship rock me to sleep.

It must have been about ten hours later that the same rocking woke me up. I stumbled up the ladder, banged my shoulder against something metal that some idiot had fastened to the wall (I think it was a hinge), scraped my shin when my feet slipped on the ladder, and made it onto the deck. Morrolan was still where I'd left him. The orange-red sky was hidden by low grey clouds, and the wind was vicious indeed. Morrolan's cloak whipped about him in a frenzy of romantic appeal. I was still wearing the shapeless robe I'd been given while imprisoned, or I'd have been romantic, too. Sure. I made my way along the railing until I was next to him.

"Rough sea," I said, almost shouting above the roar of water and wind and creaking wood. He nodded. I looked

around, suddenly thinking how flimsy the ship was. I said, "Anything unnatural about the weather?" He gave me a funny look. "Why do you ask?"

"Tell you the truth, I don't know. Is there?" He shook his head.

Loiosh landed on my shoulder. "Think we 're in for a storm?" I asked him.

"How should I know ?"

"I thought animals had instincts about that kind of thing."

"Heh."

"What do you make of friend Aibynn?"

"I don't know, boss. He's funny.

"Yeah."

I checked the time through my link to the Orb, found out it was well before noon, but long past when I usually break my fast, and realized I was hungry. I started to ask Morrolan about food when it hit me. "I have my link to the Orb again."

He nodded. Talkative son of a bitch.

"When did it happen?"

"During the night sometime."

"Well, that's a relief."

"Yes."

"What about food?"

"There's bread and cheese and whitefruit and dried kethna below."

"That'll do. Couldn't we just teleport home from here?"

"Go ahead. I'm in no hurry."

"If we run into a storm—"

"I've decided that we won't."

"Ah. Never mind, then."

I went below again, found the food, and did appropriate things with it.

As the next day's dawn spilled an orangish tint on the sea to our right, the city of Adrilankha peered down from the Whitecrest Hills and spread her port and docks like a lap to receive us. The sailors gave us, and Morrolan in particular, ugly looks, because they knew he'd managed the winds that had brought us home so quickly, and Orca, I've learned, believe that if one conjures fair winds, nature will respond with a storm as soon as she can manage it. Perhaps they're right. But Adrilankha, staring down at us like a great white bird, the cliffs her wings and her head the great manor of the Lyorn Daro, Countess of Whitecrest, didn't seem to care. Neither did I, for that matter.

As we passed Beacon Rock, the crew raised a bucket of water from the sea and spilled it on the deck, a ritual I've always wondered about, since I'm told that Adrilankha is the only port at which it is performed. They went through it mechanically, then prepared ropes and did other sailor things that I understood no better than I had the last time I saw them.

But I wasn't really watching then. Aliera was next to me, Morrolan next to her, with Aibynn on my other side, and Cawti a little further away. Loiosh was on my right shoulder. I wondered what was passing through their minds as the city grew before us, one building at a time: the Old Castle, where the Three Barons had practiced their strange magics during an Athyra reign a few cycles ago; Michaa-gu's, perhaps the best restaurant in the Empire except for Valabar's; the Wine Exchange, fat and brown, built of stone that plunged deep into the hill.

And behind them, the city. Or, rather, the cities, for we had each our own: Aliera and Morrolan, who didn't live there, knew the Imperial Palace and her surrounding Great Houses; a perpetually trimmed garden below the slopes of the Saddle Hills. Aibynn, perhaps, saw a place as strange and wild and unknown as his island was to me. Cawti would see South Adrilankha, the Easterners' ghetto, with her slums and her stench and her open-air markets and Easterners who walked always lightly, ready to run from the Phoenix Guards, or the occasional young Dzur adventurer, or damn near anyone else. I saw the city that held my special place along Lower Kieron Road, where the! bitter of violence mixed with the sweet of luxury, and you walked with your eyes open, either to grab at a passing opportunity or to prevent yourself from becoming one.

These cities loomed before us, one and many, growing larger and more present as we watched; they took my eyes and held them as the dock lieutenant signaled to our ship with the black and yellow flags of safe harbor, and guided us in.

I was home, and I was afraid, and I didn't know why.

"People are starting to ask about you, Vlad," said Kragar, two minutes before the door blew down in front of us.

I was three days back from Greenaere. Cawti was off seeing her old friend Kelly and his merry band of nut cases and I had returned to running my business and trying to clean up South Adrilankha without filing Surrender of Debts to the Empire. (This is a joke; the Empire would not accept Jhereg debts. Just thought I should clarify that.)

Progress on all fronts was nil. That is, Cawti and I kept trying to talk and it kept going around in circles. I still didn't have an office in South Adrilankha, and I had no reliable reports coming in. I had not heard from Verra. I didn't know what Aibynn thought of Adrilankha because he didn't talk much; in fact, he wasn't around much. I still wondered if he was a spy. I had explained the situation to Kragar, who had suggested getting Daymar to probe his mind. The idea made me uncomfortable, and I wasn't sure if it would even work. We were discussing various alter-natives when Kragar suddenly said, "Never mind that. There are more pressing problems, anyway."

"Like what?" I said, which is when he said, "People are starting to ask about you, Vlad."

"What people?" I said.

"I don't know, but someone above you in the Organization."

"What's he asking about?"

"About that group of Easterners and your relationship with them."

"Kelly's people?"

"Yeah. Someone's afraid that you're involved with them."

"Can you find out—what was that? Did you just hear something?"

"I think so."

"Melestav, what's going on?"

"Commotion of some sort downstairs, boss. Should I check it out?"

"No, hang tight for now."

"Okay. I'll let you know if—" He broke the connection, or it was broken for him. I caught a quick flash of pain, as if he'd been hit.

I took a dagger into my right hand and held it out of sight below the desk. Then came a rumble, and Loiosh yelled into my mind, and the door blew down. There were six Jhereg standing in the doorway, all of them armed. Melestav hung limp between two of them. There was blood on his forehead. His eyes flickered open like a candle uncertain if it should ignite, but then they focused. He caught my eye, turned his head to the enforcers supporting him, taking a good hard look at each one, then he looked back at me. He made a weak attempt at a smile and said, "Someone here to see you, boss."

I kept my hands under the desk as I studied the intruders. They had to assume I was armed, but there were more of them than there was of me. I was puzzled. I knew that they had not come in here specifically to kill me, because there were too many of them for that. On the other hand, I doubted their intentions were friendly.

One of them, a relatively short Jhereg with curly red hair and puffy eyes, said, "Bring your hands up where we can see them."

I let another dagger fall into my left hand and said, "I'd just as soon not, thanks."

He looked significantly at Melestav. I made a significant shrug. He said, "There's someone who wants to see you."

I said, "Tell him I don't appreciate how he sends his invitations."

Puff-eyes looked at me for a moment, then said, "We haven't killed any of your people—yet. And the gentleman who wants to see you is in a hurry. It's probably in your best interest to let me see your hands." He sounded like he had something caught in his throat.

"All right," I said, and brought my hands up. I was still holding the daggers. I think they hadn't expected that.

Puff-eyes cleared his throat, which didn't help. He said, "You want to put those down, or should we settle things right now?"

Six of them, one of me. All right. I deliberately turned and threw the daggers, one at a time, into the center of the wall target. Then I turned back to them, folded my hands, and said, "Now what?"

"Come with us," he said, and nodded to a bony Jhereg who looked like he was made out of knotted rope. The latter made a few economical gestures with his hands, and I felt the teleport begin to take effect. I clenched my jaws against the nausea and wondered who could afford to casually hire a sorcerer who could teleport seven at once. Or maybe it wasn't as casual as it seemed. Maybe—but it was too late for that kind of speculation.

Body and mind went through the sieve and emerged, more or less unchanged, in a part of town I knew, in front of a lapidary's shop that I also knew. I said, "Toronnan."

They didn't bother to answer, but then I hadn't really phrased it as a question.

We made a parade into the shop where a fellow with the looks and in the dress of the House of the Chreotha did long-fingered things with thin silvery wire and a pair of curved pliers. I had it on good authority that this "Chreotha" had at least three kills on his record; he played his role, however, and didn't give us a glance as we went by.

My stomach, which always flops around when I teleport, was settling down enough for me to be annoyed that Loiosh had been too far away when the teleport went into effect. On the other hand, what could he do? We came to a door at the end of a hallway of tan-colored wood paneling, and one of my escort clapped.

"Come ahead," came the muffled sound from inside, and he opened the door. Toronnan was my boss, if you will. That is, my area was inside of his, and he got a cut of everything I made. In exchange for this, I was rarely bothered by anyone trying to push his way into my area, and I got the benefits of the Jhereg connection inside the Imperial Palace. His office was neither terribly impressive nor revealing. He didn't have a knife target like I did, he didn't have any psiprints of his family or scenes of gently sloping hillsides with happy Teckla working the fields. Just a bookcase with a few folders neatly tucked into it, a wooden desk with a smooth top and a neat array of quill pens on one side, blotter, paper, and well on the other, a tray of sweetmeats on the right corner, a pitcher of water with a half-full glass next to it, a brandy decanter with six glasses near the pitcher. There was one other chair, although there would have been room for several. There were no windows, but that was hardly surprising. Jhereg custom forbids assassination in or around one's home; it says nothing about one's workplace.

Toronnan himself was a small, nervous-looking man, with almost invisible eyebrows and thin lips. His demeanor might make one think of him as weak and harmless, which he wasn't. As I walked in he stood up and put a folder into the bookshelf next to him and motioned me to sit. I did, he did, and he nodded to my escort. They closed the door behind them. I liked it that he put whatever he was working on away; sometimes people like to show how powerful they are by ignoring you for a while. I said, "You know, you could have wheels installed on that chair, so you could scoot over to the bookcase and not have to stand up. That's how I do it. Saves time, you know."

He said, "No, this is about the only exercise I get these days." His voice was smooth, like a minstrel's, and deep. It always made me want to hear him sing.

"I understand," I said.

He kept his eyes fastened on mine. I was uncomfortably aware that my back was to the door. Normally this doesn't bother me because most of the time Loiosh is there.

After a moment he shook his head. "How long has it been, Baronet? Three years that you've been working for me?"

"About that," I said.

He nodded. "You've been earning pretty good, and keeping your buttons polished, and not spilling anyone's wine. There were people in the Organization who were nervous about an Easterner trying to run a territory, but I told them, 'Give the lad a chance, see what he does,' and you've done all right."

This didn't seem to call for a response, so I waited.

"Of course," he continued, "there's been a bit of trouble from time to time, but as near as I can tell you haven't started it. You haven't been too greedy, and you haven't let anyone push you around. The money's been coming in, and your books have been balancing. I like that."

He paused again; I waited again.

"But now," he said, "I'm hearing things I don't like so much. Any idea what I've been hearing?"

"You've heard that I use paper flowers on my dining table? It's not true, boss. I—"

"Don't try to be funny, all right? I've heard that you've been associating with a group of Easterners who want to bring about the next Teckla reign early, or who maybe want to just throw the whole Cycle out, or something on this order. I don't care what the particulars are. But these people, their interests don't coincide with ours. Do you understand this?"

I stared at the ceiling, trying to sort things out. The fact was, I didn't really have anything to do with those people, except that my wife happened to be one of them. But, on the other hand, I didn't feel like explaining myself. I said, "To tell you the truth, I think these people are harmless nuts."

"The Empire doesn't think so," he said. "And there are some people above me in the Organization who don't think so, either. And there are some who want to know what you're doing with them."

I said, "I've just taken over Herth's interest in South Adrilankha. Why don't you relax for a while, see what the profits look like, and then decide?"

He shook his head. "We can't do that. Word's come down from our Imperial contacts that, well, you don't need to know the details. We have to make sure that no one in our organization is involved with those people."

"I see."

"Can I have your assurance that you won't be involved with them in the future?"

He was staring at me hard. I almost felt threatened. I said, "Tell me something: Why is that every time I talk to someone who's high up in the Organization, you always sound the same? Do you go to some special school or something?"

"I wouldn't say I'm high up," he said.

"Now you're just being modest. No, I take it back. The Demon doesn't sound like the rest of you."

"How do we sound?"

"Oh, you know. The same sort of short sentences, like you want to get in all the facts and nothing more."

"Does it work?"

"I guess so."

"Well, there you are."

"But if I ever get that high, am I going to sound like that, too? It worries me. I may have to change all my plans for the future."

"Baronet, I know you're a real funny guy, okay? You don't have to prove it to me. And I know you're tough, too, so you don't have to prove that, either. But the people I'm dealing with on this aren't interested in a jongleur, and they're a lot tougher than you are. Are we clear on that?"

I nodded.

"Good. Now, can you give me any assurances about these Easterners?"

"I can tell you they don't like me. I don't like them, either. I don't have any plans to have anything to do with them. But I control that area now, and I'm going to run it as I see fit. If that brings me into contact with them, I can't tell you how I'll handle it until it comes up. That's the best I can do."

He nodded slowly, looking at me. Then he said, "I'm not sure that's good enough."

I matched his gaze. I was armed and he knew it, but I was in his office, in the one chair he had. If he had done half the things in his office that I'd done in mine, he could kill me without moving a muscle. But sometimes it's safer not to back down. I said, "It's the best I can do."

A moment later he said, "All right. We'll leave it at that and see what happens. Leave the door open when you leave." He stood up as I did and gave me a bow of courtesy. As I was leaving the building, the sorcerer who'd brought me there offered to teleport me back. I declined. It was only a couple of miles.

"But my feet are already sore," said Kragar.

The sorcerer jumped about twenty feet straight up. I managed not to, though it was close.

"How long have you been here?" he said.

Kragar looked puzzled and said, "You teleported me yourself; you should know."

I said, "Sorry, it looks like a walk today," and we left before the sorcerer could decide if he ought to do anything. When we were safely away, we let ourselves laugh good and hard.

It was well past midnight when Cawti returned. Rocza flew from her shoulder and greeted Loiosh, while Cawti threw her gloves at the hall stand, flopped onto an end of the couch, pulled her boots off, wriggled her toes, stretched like a cat, and said, "You're up late."

"Reading," I said, holding up the heavy volume as evidence.

"What is it?"

"A collection of essays by survivors of Adron's Disaster and the early years of the Interregnum."

"Any good?"

"Some of them are. Most of them don't have anything to do with the Adron's Disaster or the Interregnum, though."

"Dragaerans are like that."

"Yes," I said. "Mostly they want to talk about the inevitability of cataclysm after a Great Cycle, or the Real True Ultimate Meaning of the rebirth of the Phoenix."

"Sounds dull."

"Is, for the most part. There are a few good ones. There's an Athyra named Broinn who says that it was the effort to use sorcery during the Interregnum, when it was almost impossible, that forced sorcerers to develop the skill that makes sorcery so powerful now."

"Interesting. So he doesn't think the Orb was changed by going to the Halls of Judgment?"

I nodded. "It's sort of an attractive theory."

"Yes, it is. Funny that it never crossed my mind."

"Nor mine," I said. "Seen our houseguest?"

"Not lately. He's probably all right."

"I guess. He's not the type to get himself into trouble. I still wonder if he's a spy."

"Do you care?"

"I care if he made a dupe of me. Other than that, no. I don't feel any special loyalty to the Empire, if that's what you're asking."

She nodded and stretched again, arms over her head. Her hair, long and dark brown and curling just a bit at the end, was pleasantly disarrayed over her narrow face. Her warm eyes always seemed big for her face, and her dark complexion made it seem as if she was always half in shadow. I ached for her, but I was getting used to that. Maybe I'd get used to not seeing the little tic of her lip before she made an ironic remark, or the way she'd stare at the ceiling with her head tilted, her brow creased, and her wrists crossed on her lap when she was really thinking hard about something. Maybe I'd get used to that. Then again, maybe not.

She was looking at me, eyes big and inquiring, and I wondered if she guessed what I'd been thinking. I said, "Are your people up to anything that you can tell me about?"

Her expression didn't change. "Why?"

"I got called in today. The back room wants me to assure them I'm not cooperating with Kelly. I think something's going on with the Empire, and the Organization thinks something's going on in South Adrilankha."

Her gaze didn't leave mine. "There's nothing going on that I can tell you about."

"So you people are up to something."

She stared at me vacantly, a look that meant she was pondering something, probably how much to tell me, and didn't want the reflections of her thoughts careening across her face. At last she said, "Not the way you mean it. Yes, we're organizing. We're building. You've probably seen things in your own area."

"A few," I said. "But I can't tell how serious it is, and I need to know."

"We think things are going to break soon. I can't give you details of—"

"How soon?"

"How soon what? An uprising? No, nothing like that. Vlad, do you realize how easy it is for the Empire to find out what we're doing?"

"Spies?"

"No, although that's possible, too. I mean that the spells for listening through walls are far more readily available to the Empire than the spells to counteract them are to us."

"That's true, I guess." I didn't say that I had trouble imagining the Empire being concerned enough about them to bother; that wouldn't have gone over well. On reflection, what with the Phoenix Guards all over the place, it might not be true, either.

"All right," she continued. "That means that what we do can't really be secret. So it isn't. When we make plans, we assume the Empire could find out about them as they're made. So we don't hide anything. A question like 'How soon?' doesn't mean anything, because all we're doing is preparing. Who knows? Tomorrow? Next year? We're getting ready for it. Conditions there—"

"I know about conditions there."

"Yes," she said. "You do."

I stared at her for a moment and tried to come up with something to say. I couldn't, so I grunted, picked up my book, and pretended to read.

An hour or so later Aibynn clapped at the door and came in. He ducked his head like a Teckla, smiled shyly, and sat down. His drum was clutched under his arm, as was something that looked like a rolled-up piece of paper.

"Been playing?" I asked him.

He nodded. "I found this," he said, and unrolled the thing.

"Looks like a piece of leather," I said.

"It is," he said. "Calfskin." He seemed unreasonably excited.

"Don't you have cows on the island? I'm sure I saw—"

"But look how thin it is."

"Now that you mention it, it is pretty transparent. Are the cows different here?"

He shook his head impatiently, "It's the tanning and cutting. I've never seen calfskin this thin. It's as thin as fish skin, and warmer."

"Warmer?"

"That's how they make those big drums sound so good."

" What big drums?"

"The ones outside the Imperial Palace, that they play every day to announce the ceremonies and things."

"I've never noticed them."

"You haven't? They're huge, like this." He stuck his arms way out. "And they get about ten of them going at once and—"

"Now that you mention it, I have heard some of that, behind the homs, doing the Reckoning every day."

"Is that what it's called? But now I know how they get the drums to sound that way. Calfskin. I'd never have believed it. They work better in the air here, too."

"The air?"

"The air in the city is really dry. I haven't been able to make my drum sound right since I got here."

This was the first time I'd ever heard anyone suggest that Adrilankha, a city pushed flat against the southern coast, was too dry. "Oh," I said.

"Why do they wear masks?"

"Who?"

"The drummers."

"Oh. Hmmm. I've never thought about it."

He nodded and wandered off to the blue room. As he left, he was running his fingers across the piece of leather, still holding his drum under his arm.

I noticed Cawti looking at me, but I couldn't read her expression.

"Calfskin," I told her. "They make the drums out of calfskin."

"Nothing to it, when you know," she said.

"Maybe that's our problem, though. Maybe the air here is too dry for us."

She smiled gently. "I've suspected that for a long time."

I nodded and settled back in my chair. Rocza landed on her arm and stared up at me quizzically. "Calfskin," I told her. She flew off again.

I sat in the lower east parlor of Castle Black and looked at the Lord Morrolan. He didn't look so tall sitting down.

After a while he said, "What is it, Vlad?" '

"I want to talk about revolution."

He cocked his head and raised both eyebrows. "Please?"

"Revolution. Peasant uprising. Violence in the streets."

"What about it?"

"Could it happen?" - "Certainly. It has before."

"Successfully?"

"That depends upon the meaning you choose for success. There have been rulers slain by their own peasants. During the War of the Barons there was a case where an entire county—I believe Longgrass—was turned into—"

"I mean more long-term success. Could the peasants take and hold power?"

"In the Empire?"

"Yes."

"Impossible. Not until the Cycle points to the Teckla, in any case, which will be several thousand years from now. We'll both be safely dead by then."

"You're quite certain?"

"That we'll be dead?"

"No, that it couldn't happen."

"I'm certain. Why?"

"There's this group of revolutionaries that Cawti's gotten involved with."

"Ah, yes. Sethra mentioned something about them a few weeks ago."

"Sethra? How would she know?"

"Because she is Sethra."

"Mmmm. What did she say?"

Morrolan paused, looking up at the ceiling as he remembered. "Very little, actually. She seemed to be concerned, but I don't know why."

"Perhaps I should speak with her, then."

"Perhaps. She will be coming here later this evening to discuss the war."

I felt a frown settle around my lips. "What war?"

"Well, there isn't one yet. But surely you've heard the news."

"No," I said hesitantly. "What news?"

"An Imperial cargo vessel, the Song of Clouds, was rammed and sunk yesterday by raiders from Greenaere." "Greenaere," I said, swallowing bile. "Oh."

Morrolan, Aliera, and I lunched in the small den, with an opening onto a balcony that looked down at the ground a mile below. I did not partake of the view. Morrolan's cooks prepared a cold soup of duck with cinnamon, an assortment of chilled fruit, kethna with thyme and honey, various green vegetables with ginger and garlic, and wafers dipped in a strawberry glaze. As was his custom, he laid out several wines with the meal, rather than selecting one for each course. I had a dry white from the Tan Coast, and stayed with it for the whole meal, except for dessert, when I switched to what my grandfather would have called plum brandy, but the Dragaerans called plum wine.

The subject was war. Aliera's green eyes were bright as she speculated about landings on Greenaere, while Morrolan thoughtfully considered naval commissions. I kept trying to find out why it was happening. After shrugging off the question several times, Aliera said, "How can we know why they did it?"

"Well, hasn't there been any communication between the Empire and the island?"

"Perhaps," said Morrolan. "But we know nothing of it."

"You could ask Norathar—"

"There is no need," said Aliera. "She'll tell us as much as she can, when she can."

I glowered into my duck and tossed down more wine. I don't usually toss wine down; I tend to drink it in installments of two or three gulps at a time. Aliera, who holds her glass like she's holding a bird, bottom two fingers properly under the stem, takes tiny lady-like sips at dinner, but when she's out in the field, as I happen to know, she'll slug it down like anyone else. Morrolan always holds the glass by the bowl, as if it were a stemless tumbler, and takes long, slow sips, his eyes looking across at his dinner partner, or the person with whom he is speaking. Now he was looking at me. He replaced his glass, which contained something thick and purple, and said, "Why are you so interested?"

Aliera snorted before I had time to speak. "What do you think, cousin? He was just there, and everyone was after him. He wants to know if whatever he did caused this. I don't know why he should care, but that's what he's after."

I shrugged. Morrolan nodded slowly. "What did you do?"

"Nothing I can talk about."

"He probably killed someone," said Aliera.

Morrolan said, "Did you kill someone of sufficient importance to prompt anger at the Empire?"

"Let's change the subject," I said.

"As you wish," said Morrolan.

Ginger and cinnamon were the main scents of this meal. Loiosh sat on my left shoulder and received occasional scraps. He thought there was too much ginger in the vegetable dish. I told him that, in the first place, there was no such thing as too much ginger and, in the second, jhereg don't eat vegetables. He was saying something jhereg in the wild versus civilized jhereg when one of Morrolan's servants, an elderly woman who moved like a Serioli water clock and had streaks of black in her grey hair, entered and announced, "Sethra Lavode."

We all stood. Sethra entered, bowed slightly, and seated herself between Aliera and me. She always preferred to be announced without titles; part of her mystique, I guess, though I couldn't say if it was sincere or contrived. You haven't met her yet, so picture if you will a tall Dragaeran wearing a black blouse with big, puffy sleeves drawn tight around her wrists, black trousers tucked into calf-high black boots, a silver chain from which hung a pendant depicting a dragon's head with two yellow gems for eyes, and long silver dangling-things on her ears that glittered when she moved. She had the high, sharp cheekbones of a Dragonlord and the pointed Dzur hairline. Her eyes, which slanted upward as a Dzurlord's, were dark and set deep in her head, and looking into them one always felt the danger of being lost in the thousands of years of un-dead memory she held. Iceflame, blue hilt against the black, created echoes inside my mind. She was a vampire, a sorcerer, a warrior, and a statesman. Her powers were legendary. Sometimes I thought she was my friend.

"You are discussing the war, I presume?" she said.

"We have been," said Morrolan. "Have you news?"

"Yes. Greenaere has formed an alliance with Elde Island."

Aliera and Morrolan exchanged looks that I couldn't interpret, then Morrolan said, "That's rather surprising, considering their histories."

Sethra shook her head. "They haven't actually fought since before the Interregnum."

"Last time we fought Elde," said Aliera, "Greenaere was on our side."

"Yes," said Sethra. "And they lost half their fleet for their trouble."

"Fleet?" said Morrolan. "Then they have a navy?"

"They have many fishing boats, and most of them are capable of long voyages. The fishermen become their navy when they need one."

"Do they have a standing army?" asked Aliera.

"Not to speak of," I said.

They both looked at me. When I didn't elaborate, Morrolan cleared his throat and said, "Elde does."

"It seems strange," I said, "that they think they can win against the Empire."

"Perhaps," said Aliera, "they're hoping it won't come to war."

"In that case, they're stupid," said Morrolan.

"Not necessarily," said Aliera. "They haven't done so badly in the past. There have been nine wars with Elde, and-"

"Eleven," said Sethra. "Twelve if you include the first invasion of Dragaerans, but I suppose we oughtn't to include that one."

"However many," said Aliera. "The Empire has never won decisively. If we had, they'd be part of us."

Morrolan made a dismissing gesture. "They've always been hurt worse than we have."

"Not always," said Aliera. "They attacked during the Ash Mountain uprising, and we had to negotiate a peace. A common ancestor of ours was beheaded for that fiasco, Morrolan."

"Ah, yes," he said. "I remember. But other than that—"

"And during the fifteenth Issola reign, they attacked again and we had to sue for peace."

"There was a war with the East at the time." "All right, so as long as we're not distracted—" "So," interrupted Sethra. "Just what is going on in

South Adrilankha, Vlad?" First Morrolan, then Aliera stopped and looked at me

as the significance of what she'd said hit.

"Good question," I said. "I've been wondering about that myself."

Among my enforcers and bodyguards was a guy called Sticks, named for his favorite weapon. I called him into my office and had him sit down. He did, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his demeanor relaxed. He always seemed relaxed. Even when he was in action, which I've seen close up during a recent incident I don't care to dwell on, he never seemed to be hurried or upset. I said to him, "You told me once that you used to work connecting musicians with inns that wanted music." He nodded.

"Do you still have much connection with it?" "Not really."

"Do you know the others in the business?" "Oh, yeah. There are eight or ten who keep it pretty well locked up."

"Name some names."

"Sure. There's a woman named Aisse. I wouldn't work with her, though." "Why not?"

He shrugged. "She never seems to know quite what she's doing. And when she does, she never lets the musicians know. Word is she lies a lot, especially when she screws up."

"Okay. Who else?"

"There's a fellow named Phent who doesn't lie quite as much, but he's about as incompetent and he charges twice what everyone else does. He's got a lock on the low-life places. They suit him."

"I might need him. Where can I find him?" "Number fourteen Fishmonger Street." "Okay, who else?"

"There's Greenbough. He's not too bad when he isn't drunk. D'Rai will keep you working, but she'll also get a hold on you and try to keep everything you play sounding the same. Most of the musicians I know don't like that." "Blood of the goddess, Sticks, isn't there anyone good in the business?"

"Not really. The best of the lot is an outfit run by three Easterners named Tomas, Oscar, and Ramon. They have South Adrilankha and a few of the better inns north of town."

"How do I reach them?"

"About a mile and a half up Lower Kieron, behind the Wolves' Den, upstairs."

"I know the place. Okay, thanks."

"Mind if I ask why you're interested, boss?"

"I'd rather not say, at the moment."

"All right. That all?"

"Yeah. Have Melestav send Kragar in." As he shut the door, Kragar said, "Mind if I ask why you're interested, Vlad?"

I jumped, stared at him, and said, "Were you here the whole time?"

"I didn't know it was private."

"It doesn't matter. I'm after a couple of things. One is to see if I can help Aibynn find work. The other is to get another source of information in South Adrilankha. Musicians hear almost as much gossip as whores."

"Makes sense."

"Since you've already got the information, why don't you go make contact with that group behind the Wolves' Den?"

"What, you want me to do something safe and easy for a change? Sure. What about this Aibynn? Will they need to hear him?"

"Maybe. I'll talk to him and send him by. But first see if they're interested in making a little money on the side, without needing to know who's paying them."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"No. Anything here?"

"Tevyar got excited again."

"Oh?"

"Some lorich owed him money and started acting tough, and Tevyar tried to handle it on his own, got enthusiastic, and killed him. You know how he is."

"Yes. He's an idiot. Revivifiable?"

"No. Crushed his head."

"Double idiot. Is it likely to cause any trouble?"

"Not as far as I can tell. He didn't leave any traces."

"That's a relief."

"Should we do anything about it?"

I considered for a moment, then shook my head. "Not this time. Having to cover the loss ought to teach him something. If not ..."

"Right."

Loiosh flew over to my shoulder from the coat rack. I scratched under his chin. "What about Kelly's people? Anything to report?"

Kragar shifted in his chair and his normally expressionless face fought with itself for a moment, as if uncertain how to settle down.

"The Empire has begun conscription in South Adrilankha." "So soon?"

He nodded. "Only Easterners, too." "Interesting. Have Kelly's people done anything about it?"

"They had some sort of parade. About a thousand people, give or take."

I whistled. "Anything happen?"

"No. It looked like they were going to send in press gangs, but they didn't."

"With a thousand crazed Easterners, I'm not surprised."

"There's supposed to be some sort of meeting or rally tomorrow evening."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"Routine stuff. It's on your desk."

"Fly, then, and let me know what happens."

When he was gone, I looked at the scribbled notes he and Melestav had left. I okayed credit for a couple of good customers, agreed that we needed some new furnishings in one of my gambling places, refused a request for additional manpower at another, and made a few notes on my calendar for business meetings. None of which I really needed to attend. In fact, I wasn't really needed for much of any of this. Things had reached the point around the office where it would practically run itself. I suppose I could have been bothered by this, but actually I was pleased. I had worked very hard to get it to this point. The irony was that it came just when I had the additional problem of South Adrilankha to worry about, so I couldn't really enjoy it. It crossed my mind that I would probably never reach the point where I could just sit back and watch the money roll in, and only deal with major problems.

But, on the other hand, maybe if that ever happened, I'd have too much time on my hands.

Loiosh shifted on my shoulder and I scratched his chin. Conscription in South Adrilankha. Why? Was war with Greenaere really imminent? Was the war scare an excuse to harass Easterners? If the war was real, had I caused it? If so, why had Verra sent me to shine the King? Well, that part was easy: because she wanted the war. Why?

I called out to her, just to see if she felt like responding, but she didn't. I wished I could ask her directly. I'd like to be able to find out what was going on in the strange, non-human mind of hers.

I entertained sacrilegious thoughts for a while, but they got me nowhere, so instead I considered the war. If you looked at a map of the Empire, the notion of war with Greenaere would seem laughable—this huge monster of a landmass next to a little splotch shaped like a banana. It made no sense. They must know that. The Empire must

know it. What was going on? Who was pushing whom, to try to do what? What sort of intrigues were being played out in the Imperial Palace? What sort of lunacies on Greenaere? What sort of machinations in the Halls of Judgment?

"You know, boss, it might not matter. You might be out of it, now that you've done what you were hired for."

"Do you really think so?"

"No. "

"Neither do I."

I spoke to Aibynn that evening while waiting for Cawti to come back home. I told him about that group behind the Wolves' Den. He nodded, his eyes focused on something else.

"Why don't you go in and see them?" I said.

"What? Oh. Yeah. I'll do that."

The conversation faltered, and he went back to the blue room. I chewed my lip, wondering. Loiosh stopped chasing Rocza around the flat long enough to echo my own thoughts: "What a strange fellow, boss."

"Indeed," I said. "But just strange, or does he have a game of some sort?"

Cawti hadn't come home when I went to sleep that night, and she still hadn't when I left the next morning. A year ago I'd have been frantic. Half a year ago I'd have attempted to reach her psionically. Things had changed.

When I got to the office, Melestav said, "Heard the news yet?"

I sighed. "No. Do I need to be sitting down?" "I'm not sure. Word is out that Greenaere has made an

alliance with Elde Island." "Ah. Yes. I knew that." "How?"

"Never mind. Has anyone actually declared war?" "I've heard that the Empire has declared war, that the

island has declared war, that the island has apologized, claiming it was all a mistake, that Elde has come over to our side, that they have some great new magic that will destroy us all, that the Empire is surrendering and the islanders will be occupying the mainland, that—" "In other words, nothing official." "Right." "Okay, thanks."

I went into my office to consider. Presently Kragar arrived and said, "I spoke with Ramon and he went for it, Vlad. Jumped at it like a dzur after dinner." I frowned. "Too eager?"

"I don't think so. I think they just need the money." "All right. We can afford it, anyway. We'll need to set up someone to stay in touch with them, unless you want to do it yourself."

"No, thanks," he said. "I have enough to do as it is. I hardly have enough time to—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. How about Sticks?" He nodded. "That makes sense. I'll talk to him. Any suggestions for the information exchange?" "What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you want it all going through Sticks, or through Sticks and me, or Sticks and you, or what?"

"Oh." I considered. "Why don't we do the recognition symbol bit?"

"A ring or something?"

"Yeah. Go get a few rings made, and give me one, one to Sticks, and keep one yourself. And keep close track of what happens to them all."

"All right, I'll talk to Sticks and take care of it this afternoon."

"Good. Another thing: I want to know what happens at this big get-together they're supposed to be having today in South Adrilankha."

"Okay."

Within six hours my arrangements with the firm of Tomas, Oscar, and Ramon had paid off. First, they managed

to find Aibynn a job with a musician of the House of the Issola who played Eastern instruments to accompany his singing of pre-Interregnum ballads. Second, they were the ones who, through Sticks, brought me word that most of Kelly's organization, including Cawti, had been arrested.

One of the easiest and yet most effective offensive uses of sorcery involves simply grabbing as much energy from the Orb as you can handle without destroying yourself, channeling it through your body, and directing it at whomever or whatever you want to damage. The only defense is to grab as much energy as you can handle without destroying yourself and use it to block or deflect the attack.

It so happens that I've acquired a length of gold chain which, used properly, acts to interrupt any sort of spell sent against me, so I'm pretty safe from this kind of thing. But once, in the middle of a battle I should never have been in, I was hit from behind.

It felt like I was burning from the inside, and for what seemed like minutes I could feel veins, arteries, and even my internal organs burning. Every muscle in my body contracted, and I felt the muscles in my thighs attempt to break both of my legs and almost succeed. A Dragon warrior who was standing about fifteen feet in front of me was struck by an arrow at about that same time, and I spent minutes watching him fall over. I smelled smoke, and saw that it was coming from under my shirt, and realized with a horrible sick feeling that the hair on my chest and on the backs of my arms was burning. I knew that my heart had stopped, and my eyeballs felt hot and itchy. All sound vanished from the world, and returned only very slowly, beginning with a horrible buzzing, as if I'd been stuck in a bee's nest. It amazed me that there was no pain, and amazed me even more when I realized that my heart had started beating again. Even then it wasn't over, because for a while I couldn't stand up; efforts to move my legs only made them twitch. When, after several minutes, I was able to stand, I remember trying to pick up my sword and being unable to, because trying to take a step toward it led me off in a different direction, and efforts to extend my hand caused it to reach somewhere I had not intended. It was twenty or thirty minutes, I believe, before the effect wore off, during which time I was in the grip of a terror the like of which I'd never felt.

Since that time, the memory has come back at odd times, and always very strongly. It isn't like pain, which you don't really remember—the incident was burned, and I think I mean that literally, into my brain—so sometimes all the sensations wash over me, and I can't breathe and I wonder if I'm going to die.

This was one of those times.

The incident on Greenaere was the fourth time I'd been imprisoned. The first was the hardest, just because it was first, but none had been easy. By removing someone's freedom of movement, you remove some measure of his dignity, and the thought of this happening to Cawti, to the woman whose eyes crinkled when she grinned, and who threw her head back when she laughed so her dark, dark hair rippled across her shoulders, to the woman who had guarded my back, to the woman who—to the woman who didn't know if she loved me anymore, to the woman who was throwing away her happiness and mine for a pail full of slogans. It was almost more than I could stand.

"You all right, boss?" said Sticks, and I came back to an awareness of him, staring up at me and looking worried.

"After a fashion," I said. "Get Kragar." I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. Presently I heard Kragar's voice. "What is it, Vlad?" "Shut the door."

The latch, Kragar's footsteps, his body settling into the chair, the rustle of Loiosh's wings, my own heartbeat. "Find me detailed plans of the dungeons of the Imperial Palace." "What?"

"They're below the Iorich Wing."

"What's going on?"

"Cawti's been arrested."

A break in the conversation stretching out to the horizon, infinite, timeless. "You can't be thinking of—"

"Get them."

"Vlad—"

"Just do it."

"No."

I opened my eyes, sat up, and looked at him. "What?"

"I said no."

I waited for him to continue. He said, "A few weeks ago you lost control and almost got yourself killed. If you lose control again you're on your own."

"I haven't asked you—"

"But I'm not going to cut wood for your barge."

I studied him carefully, my thoughts running quickly, although I don't recall the substance.

At last I said, "Get out."

He left without another word.

I don't remember any nausea following the teleport to Castle Black, nor do I remember what Lady Teldra said in greeting when I came through the portals. I found Morrolan and Aliera in the front room of the library, where the chairs are the most comfortable and he most enjoys sitting. It is the largest of the rooms, but has fewer books than the others, with more room for browsing, sitting, or pacing. Morrolan sat, Aliera stood, I paced. "What is it, Vlad?" he said after I made a few trips past him.

"Cawti's been arrested. I want your help in breaking her out."

He marked his place with a thin strip of gold-inlaid ivory and set his book down. "I'm sorry she's been arrested," he said. "With what is she charged?"

"Conspiracy."

"Conspiracy to what?"

"It isn't specified."

"I see. Will you have wine?"

"No, thank you. Will you help?"

"What do you mean by breaking her out?"

"What does it sound like?"

"It sounds like what we did to get you off of Green-aere."

"Exactly."

"Why do you wish to do that?"

I stopped pacing long enough to look at his face, to see if this was some form of humor. I decided it wasn't. "She broke me out," I told him.

"It was the only way to free you."

"Well?"

"I would suggest, with the Empire, that we try other methods first. Her former partner is the Heir, after all." |

I stopped. I hadn't thought of that. I allowed Morrolan to pour me some wine, which I drank and didn't taste.

Then I said, "Well?"

"Well what?" said Morrolan, but Aliera understood and excused herself from the room. I sat down and waited. We didn't speak until Aliera returned, perhaps ten minutes later.

"Norathar," she said, "will do what she can."

"What is that?" I asked.

"I hope enough."

"Had she known?"

"That Cawti was arrested? No. It seems there has been quite a bit of trouble in the Easterners' quarter, though, and that group she's in has been in the middle of it."

"I know."

"There are several such groups, actually, all over South Adrilankha, and the Empress is worried about the potential for destruction."

"Yes."

"But Norathar has some influence. We shall see." "Yes."

I brooded for a while, staring at the floor between my feet, until Loiosh said, "Careful, boss," at the same time Aliera said, "Who is 'she' and who is 'he'?"

"Eh?"

"You just said something about why did she want him dead."

"Oh. I didn't realize I was speaking aloud."

"You weren't exactly, but you were broadcasting your thoughts so strongly you might as well have been."

"I guess I'm distracted."

"Well, who is she?"

I shook my head and went back to brooding, being a little more careful this time. Morrolan read, Aliera stroked a grey cat who had set up shop in the library. I finished the wine and refused a second glass.

"Tell me," I said aloud, "where the gods come from."

Morrolan and Aliera looked at me, then at each other. Morrolan cleared his throat and said, "It varies. Some are actually Jenoine who survived the creation of the Great Sea of Chaos. Others are servants of theirs who managed to adapt when it occurred and use its energy, either while it was happening or during the millennia that followed."

"Some," added Aliera, "are simply wizards who have become immortal, and acquired the power to exist on more than one plane at the same time."

"Well, then," I said, "how are they different from demons?"

"A matter of interpretation only," said Morrolan. "Demons can be summoned and controlled, gods cannot."

"Even by other gods?"

"Correct."

"So if a god were to control another god, that god would become a demon?"

"That is correct. If we were to learn of it, we would begin to refer to that god as a demon."

"It seems pretty arbitrary."

"It is," said Aliera. "But it's still significant. If a god is just a force with a personality, it makes a big difference whether it can be controlled, don't you think?"

"What about the Lords of Judgment?"

"What about them?"

"How do they get there?"

"War," said Morrolan, "or bribery, or from friendship with other gods."

"Why do they want to?"

"I don't know," said Morrolan. "Do you, Aliera?"

She shook her head. "Why all the questions?"

"Something to talk about," I lied.

"Do you wish to become a god?" asked Morrolan. "Not particularly," I said. "Do you?"; "No. I don't care for the responsibility."

I snorted. "To whom are they responsible?" "To themselves, to each other." "Your Demon Goddess doesn't seem particularly responsible." Aliera jerked upright, almost stood, and her hand almost went for Pathfinder. I drew back. "Sorry," I said. "I didn't think you'd take it personally."

She glowered at me for a moment, then shrugged, Morrolan looked at Aliera, then turned back to me and said, "She is responsible, though. She's unpredictable, and capricious, but she rewards loyalty, and she won't cause a servant to act in a way that will harm him."

"What if she makes a mistake?"

He looked at me closely. "There's always that danger, of course."

I said no more, but considered what I'd been told. It still felt just a bit scandalous to be speaking of my patron goddess this way, as if she were a mutual acquaintance whose strengths and weaknesses of character we might bandy about for amusement. But if what they'd told me was true, then either she had some sort of plot going which would, perhaps accidentally, make everything come out all right, or else something had screwed up at, let's say, a very high level.

Or Morrolan and Aliera were wrong, of course.

Lady Teldra appeared at the door and announced the Princess Norathar: Duchess of Ninerocks, Countess of Haewind, et cetera, et cetera, and Dragon Heir to the Throne. Not as tall as Morrolan, not as strong-looking as Sethra, yet she had a grace about her movements.

Ex-assassin was left out of the list, but as an assassin, she had worked with Cawti as part of one of the most sought-after teams of killers in the Jhereg, hard as that was to believe listening to either one of them now. I knew something about her skills as a fighter; she'd killed me once.

Norathar walked over to the tray of strong liquors, found a brownish one that she liked, and poured herself a tumbler full. She took a good third of it off the top and stood facing us. She said, "The Empress has given leave for the Lady Taltos to be released. The Lady Taltos has refused."

She sat down then and had some more of her drink. Loiosh, on my right shoulder, squeezed with his talons.

"Refused?" I said at last, in what I think was a steady voice.

"Yes," said Norathar. "She explained that she would wait with her companions until they were all free." I could now hear the strain of her voice, as she worked to speak clearly and calmly. She was a Dragonlord down to her toes, like Morrolan and Aliera, and in the time since she'd been made the Heir, she had changed, so these days she seemed more tightly controlled than either of them. But now this control was frightening, as if it only barely held in check a rage that could destroy Castle Black.

I noticed all of this with the back of my mind, as I concentrated on keeping my own temper in check, at least until I could decide at whom it should be directed.

Then, suddenly, I realized who that should be, and I said, "Lord Morrolan, you have a room, high up in a tower, with many windows in it. I would like to visit that place."

He looked at me for a long moment before he said, "Yes. Go, Vlad, with my blessing."

Left out the door, down the hallway to the wide, black marble stairway leading to the Front Hall. Down the stairs, out of the Hall toward the South Wing, then up, jog past the lower dining room, past the southern guest rooms, up a half-flight, turn around, around, through a heavy door that opens to my command, since I work for Morrolan and helped set up the spells that guard it.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, boss?" "Of course not. Don't ask stupid questions." "Sorry."

A room all in black, lit by candles made from tallow from fat rendered from the hindquarters of a virgin with wicks made from the roots of the neverlost vine, whole scented with cradleberry, so the room smelled lik the last dregs of a sweet wine just starting to turn to vinegar. Four of them were lit, and they danced to celebrate my arrival.

Artifacts of Morrolan's experiments in witchcraft littered small and large tables, and his stone altar, black against black, was just barely discernible at the far end. Here I had lain helpless while Morrolan battled a demon that had taken his own sword from him. Here I had parlayed with spirits from my ancestral home for the release of the Necromancer's soul. Here I had battled with my own likeness, come to take me to that land from which none return.

But never mind, never mind. I stepped onto the narrow, metal stairway, which twisted around and brought me at last into the Tower of Windows, where I had once tortured a sorceress into releasing the spells that prevented Morrolan's revivification. That was pretty recent, and the taste of the experience was still in my mouth. But never mind that, either.

The surest way to achieve communion with Verra, the Demon Goddess, involves human sacrifice, which my grandfather had made me swear never to do. Yet I believe that if I had had the means at hand, I would have done so then. I looked about the tower, filled with windows which did not look upon the courtyard below, some of which did not look upon the world I knew, some of which did not look upon reality as I understood it. I tried to prepare my mind for what I was about to do.

I arbitrarily picked a window, a low wide one, and sat down before it. It looked out upon dense fog, swirling, through which I saw trees and tall shrubs, as well as quick movements that were probably small animals. I had no way of knowing if I was seeing my own world or some other, nor did it matter.

Loiosh settled onto my shoulder, and his mind merged more fully with my own. I went back to my earliest memories concerning the Demon Goddess, instructions from my grandfather in the proper rituals, tales of battles with other gods, especially Barlen, her enemy and lover. I remembered seeing her in the Paths of the Dead, her strange voice, and her multi-jointed fingers, and her eyes that seemed to see past me and into me at the same time. I remembered her when she had commissioned me to kill the King of Greenaere; was it only days ago?

As I remembered, and let myself be filled by the awe of the Easterner and the respect of the Dragaeren, it occurred to me that blood sacrifice may be carried out in more than one way. I took my dagger and sliced open my left palm, hardly noticing the pain. "Verra!" I cried. "Demon Goddess of my ancestors! I come to you!" I scattered droplets of blood through the window.

They vanished into the fog, which swirled and lightened, until in a few short moments it was a pure featureless white. This, too, seemed to shift, until I saw once more the hallway through which I had walked, following mist and a black cat. There were a few drops of blood on the floor.

I stood and stepped through the window. Same hallway, same confusion of distance and dimension due to the featureless white. This time there was no black cat to guide me, however. I wondered which way to go, and I wondered, too, if it mattered. There was no window behind me. Loiosh shifted on my shoulder and said, "That way feels right, boss." On reflection, it felt right to me, too, so I sheathed the dagger and began walking.

The mist never appeared, either, so perhaps that had been arranged for my benefit; the Demon Goddess seemed to me quite capable of theatrics. No mist, no cat, no sound, but the doors appeared much sooner than they had the last time. In a way, it would be oddest if that corridor really was just a corridor, of some fixed length, and it took however long to walk it depending on where one appeared.

This time, standing before the doors, I studied the carvings a bit. At first glance, they seemed to be abstract designs, yet as I looked I began to pick out or imagine shapes: trees, a mountain, a pair of wheels, what might have been a man with a hole in his chin, something else that might have been a fanciful four-legged beast with a tentacle where its nose ought to be and a pair of horns emerging from its mouth, perhaps an ocean below what I'd thought was a mountain but now seemed to be a stick supporting a circular blob.

I shook my head, looked again, and they were all abstract designs again. Who knows how much was there and how much I'd supplied?

For lack of anything else to do, I clapped at the doors and waited for one very, very long minute. I clapped once more and waited again. I still had my link to the Orb, and I thought of seeing if I could force or blow the doors open, but then I thought better of it.

"Good thinking, boss."

"Shut up, Loiosh. Do you have any great ideas?"

"Yes. Strike it with your fists, like Easterners are supposed to."

"And if there are defensive spells on it to destroy anyone who touches it?"

"Good point. There's always Spellbreaker."

I nodded. That was an idea. I stood there like an idiot a little longer, then sighed and let the gold chain fall into my left hand. I swung it around, then stopped. "Perhaps this isn't such a good idea."

"You have to do something, boss. If you're worried about protections, hit it with Spellbreaker. If not, either strike it or just see if it will push open. "

I considered for a while, then got mad at myself for standing there like an idiot. Before I could come to my senses, I whirled the chain around and lashed out at the door. It hit with a clank of metal against wood which instantly died out. There were no sensations, I felt no sorcery, and, fortunately, Spellbreaker left no mark on the door.

I pushed the right-hand door, and it creaked a bit but barely moved. However, when it swung back, there was a gap between the two doors sufficient for my fingers. I pulled the door, which was as heavy as it seemed, and it slowly opened enough for me to slip inside.

As I walked forward, I saw the shimmer and sparkle in the air that I'd seen before at Verra's appearance and disappearance. It occurred to me that perhaps that was how it would look to an observer when I stepped through to her realm.

In the time it took to form those thoughts, she had arrived. Her eyes followed me as I approached her throne, and when I got near, the cat, whom I hadn't noticed against the folds of her white gown, jumped down and inspected me. Loiosh tensed on my shoulder.

"There's something about that cat, boss. ..."

"That wouldn't surprise me a bit, Loiosh."

I stopped at a convenient distance before her throne and waited to see if she would speak first. Just when I was deciding that she wouldn't, she said, "You're getting blood on my floor."

I looked down. Yes, indeed, my palm was still bleeding, and the blood was running down Spellbreaker, which still hung from my left hand, and was slowly splattering onto the white tiles. I turned my palm over, and Spell-breaker came to life, as it has done every now and then; before, to hold itself upright, like a yendi about to strike. There was a tingling in my hand then that ran up my arm, and as I watched, the cut stopped bleeding and closed up, leaving a faint pink scar.

I hadn't known Spellbreaker could do that.

I carefully wrapped it around my left arm again and said, "Shall I scrub the floor for you?"

"Perhaps later."

I looked for traces of humor on her long, strange face, but didn't see any. I did, however, identify what made her face seem so odd: Her eyes were set too high. Not by much, you understand, but the bridge of her nose was ever so slightly lower on her forehead than on a human or a Dragaeran. The more I studied it, the stranger it seemed. I turned away from her.

"Why have you come here?" she said. Still looking away, I said, "To question you."

"Some might believe that presumptuous."

"Yeah, well, I'm just that kind of guy."

"Apparently. Ask, then."

I turned back to her. "Goddess, I asked before why you chose me to kill the King of Greenaere. Perhaps you answered me fully, perhaps not. Now I ask this: Why was it necessary that he die?"

Her eyes caught mine and held them, and I trembled in spite of myself. If she was trying to intimidate me, she succeeded. If she was trying to convince me to withdraw the question, she failed. At last she said, "For the good of the people in the Empire, both Dragaerans and Easterners."

"Bully," I said. "Can you be mere specific about that? So far, the results have been the death of the crew of a Dragaeran freighter and the arrest of several Easterners, including my wife."

"What?" she said, her eyebrows rising. I don't think I was really, truly frightened until then, until I realized that I had surprised her. That was when my stomach twisted itself into knots and my mouth went dry.

"The organization of which my wife is a member—"

"What of them? Were they all arrested?"

"The leaders, at least. This Kelly, my wife, several others."

"Why?"

How should I know? I suppose because they refused conscription, and—"

"Refused conscription? That fool. The whole point was—" She cut herself off abruptly.

"Was what?"

"It doesn't matter. I underestimated this man's arrogance."

"Well, that's just great," I said. "You underestimated—"

"Quiet," she said, snapping the word out like an arrow past my ear. "I must consider what to do to rectify my error."

"Just what were you trying to do, anyway?"

She stared at me. "I do not choose to tell you at this time."

I said, "It was all directed at Kelly's people in the first place, wasn't it?"

"Kelly, as I've said, is a fool."

"Maybe, but judging by what happened before, he knows what he's doing."

"Certainly he does, in a narrow field. He is a social scientist, if you will, and a very skilled one in certain ways. He studied—it doesn't matter."

"Tell me." I don't know what got into me that caused me to start interrogating her like a button-man who'd been sloughing off, but I did it.

Her mouth twitched. "Very well. During the Interregnum, when your people—Easterners—roamed over the Empire like jhereg on a dragon's corpse—"

"Yum."

"Shut up."

"—many vaults were unearthed that had lain buried and forgotten for so long that you cannot conceive of the time. Some of these were records preserved by the House of the Lyorn, who have the skill to preserve things that ought to be allowed to crumble away. Or perhaps we should not blame them—it's been said that one cannot kill ideas."

"What ideas were unearthed?"

"Many, my dear assassin. It was an amazing time growth, those four hundred and ninety-seven years of interregnum. Sorcery was all but impossible then, so that only most skilled could perform even the simplest spells. Conversely, this skill was passed on and retained, and taught to those whose interest ran in that direction.

What was the result? Now, when the Orb is back, sorcery has grown so strong from the new skills that what was

inconceivable before the Interregnum, and impossible during it, is now commonplace. Teleportation on such a level

that some fear it will replace trade by ship and road. War magics so strong that some believe the individual fighter

will soon become a thing of the past. Even resurrection of the dead has become possib—"

"What has this to do with Kelly?"

"Eh? My apologies, impatient Easterner. Things were discovered by your people, during that time, things that

go all the way back to those who first discovered this world."

"The Jenoine?"

"Before the Jenoine."

"Who—?"

"It doesn't matter. But ideas that have been preserved far too long, and from another place, lay dormant until then. And even when they were unearthed, no one understood them for nearly two hundred years, until this Kelly-"

"Goddess, I don't understand."

She sighed. "Kelly has his hands on the truth about the way a society works, about where the power is, and the cause of the injustice he sees. But it is truth for another time and another place. He has built an organization around these ideas, and because of their truth, his organization prospers. But the truth he has based his policies on, the fuel for this fire he is building, has no such strength in the Empire. Perhaps in ten thousand years, or a hundred thousand, but not now. And by proceeding as he has, he is setting up his people to be massacred. Do you understand? He is building a world of ideas with no foundation beneath them. When they collapse ..." Her voice trailed off.

"Why don't you tell him so?"

"I have. He doesn't believe me."

"Why don't you kill him?"

"You don't kill ideas like that by killing the one who espouses them. As fertilizer aids the growth of the tree, so does blood—"

"So," I said, "you decided to start a war, thinking they'd march off and forget their grievances so they could fight for their homeland? That doesn't—"

"Kelly," she said, "is smarter than I thought he was, curse him. He's smart enough to destroy every Easterner, and most of the Teckla, in South Adrilankha."

"What are you going to do?"

"Consider the matter," she said.

"And what do you want me to do?"

"I'm sending you home at once. I need to consider this." She gestured with her right hand, and I found myself, once more, before a window in Morrolan's tower. The window looked upon the face of the Demon Goddess, who stared at me and said, "Try to stay out of trouble, will you?"

The window faded to black.

Morrolan and Aliera were where I'd left them, Norathar had gone. I checked through the Orb and discovered that I'd been gone less than two hours, and most of that time had been taken up walking to and from the tower. I sat down and said, "I'll take that refill of wine now."

Morrolan poured it and said, "Well?"

"Well what?"

"What happened? I should judge that you have just had a moving experience of some sort."

"Yes. Well. I suppose. I haven't discovered anything that will help get Cawti out of the Imperial Dungeons."

Aliera shifted. "Did you see Verra?"

"Yes."

"What did she say, then?"

"Many things, Aliera. It doesn't matter."

Morrolan considered me, probably wondering whether he ought to push for more information. I guess he decided not to. Aliera was frowning.

"Well, then," said Aliera, after a moment. "We're back to planning another jailbreak. We've been doing quite a bit of that lately. I wonder if the Cards would have predicted it, had I thought to attempt a reading."

"I don't think a jailbreak is in order," I said.

Aliera turned her blue eyes on me. "Why not?"

"If Cawti won't accept an Imperial pardon, what makes you think she'll accept being broken out by force?"

Aliera shrugged. "We'll have to get the whole batch of them, that's all."

I shook my head. "I don't think they'll go. I think they want to stay in prison until they're all released together."

"What makes you think so?"

"I've spoken to them. That's how they think."

"They're nuts," said Aliera.

"That's more true than you know," I said. "Or less."

"And so," said Morrolan, who had never looked happy about the notion of breaking into the Imperial Dungeons, "what do you suggest?"

"I'm not certain. I'll have to think about it. But I know what I'm going to do first: find out just what, by the blood on Verra's floor, is going on in South Adrilankha."

"Blood on Verra's floor?" said Morrolan. "I don't think I've heard that oath before."

"No," I said. "You probably haven't."

The next day was going to be short. That is, it was the day before the Festival of the New Year, so most people quit working around noon. I kept all of my people working, since Holy Days are some of our best times, but I gave them all bonuses. I had no idea if either of the people I needed to see was going to be working all day, some of the day, or not at all, so I awoke much earlier than usual. I broke my fast and spent some time throwing things for the jhereg to snatch out of the air and fight over. "Loiosh, Rocza seems funny. Is she pregnant?" "Huh? No, boss. At least, I don't think so. I mean, the way things work—"

"Never mind. What is it, then?"

"Well you know she's been a little closer to Cawti than I have, so, I mean-"

"Oh, I get it. All right."

I slugged down my klava, dressed, collected Loiosh and Rocza, and headed out for my first errand. Aibynn was in the blue room but hadn't stirred. I envied him.

Kelly's group had moved twice since the last time I'd visited their headquarters, and this last place was a great deal different from the others. Up until now they'd met in a flat that two or three of them lived in, but they'd recently found an empty storefront not too far from one of the farmer's markets that appeared irregularly all over South Adrilankha. Whatever windows it once had were boarded up, either as a painfully inadequate defensive gesture or because they couldn't afford oiled paper or window glass. I stood there for a while and considered. As always when visiting the Easterners' part of town, I felt a slight relaxation of tension, but this time it was hardly noticeable as I studied the low, wood-frame building.

It was pretty obvious, once you got near it, both for the banner hung across the front that read "Stop Press Gangs!" and for the troop of Phoenix Guards who stood across the street from it, silent and ominous, ignoring the dirty looks they got from passersby. As Cawti had said, they all seemed to be Dragonlords and Dzur. That is, they were professionals, not conscripted Teckla, which meant there'd be no reasoning with them, and they'd fight well.

But never mind that. I watched from down the street where I could keep an eye on both the Phoenix Guards and whoever went through the door of the storefront. Eventually someone I recognized went in. I left my place, waved cheerfully to the goldcloaks, and followed him in.

He greeted me with all the warmth I remembered from our previous encounters. "You," he said.

"My dear Paresh," I told him. "How is it that they didn't arrest you, too? No, no, let me guess. They only hauled in the Easterners. Either they decided that a Dragaeran, even if a Teckla, doesn't deserve prison, or they decided that a Teckla, even if a Dragaeran, must be harmless. Am I right?"

"What do you want?"

"My wife back. How do you propose to get her out of prison?"

"We will be giving a demonstration of our strength tomorrow. We expect five thousand Easterners and Teckla, all of them committed to fighting until conscription stops and our friends are released. Many of them are determined to fight until the Empire itself is run by us, and for us. Do you have all that, or shall I repeat it?"

"I'll read it back to you: You aren't doing anything except shouting at each other about how mad you are and hoping the Empress laughs herself to death."

"She didn't laugh much a few weeks ago, when she pulled the troops out of South Adrilankha."

"They are, however, back."

"For the moment. But if we have to shut down—"

"Shut down your mouth, Paresh. I came here to find out if you had any plans for getting my wife out of the Imperial Dungeons. It seems you don't. That's all I wanted to know. Good day."