The Dead of Winter

THE VEILED LADY OR A LOOK AT THE NORMAL FOLK by Andrew Qffutt

The veiled lady traveled to Sanctuary with the caravan that originated in Suma and had grown at Aurvesh. She was faceless behind the deeply slate blue arras or veil that backed the white one. It covered her head like a miniature tent, held in place by a cloth chaplet of interwoven white and slate. In her Sumese drover's robe of grayish, off-white woolen homespun, the veiled lady was not quite shapeless; she appeared to be either fat or with child. True, others often scarf-muffled their lower faces against the cold, but the point was that the veiled woman never, never showed her face above the eyebrows and below her large medium-hued eyes.

Naturally the caravanseers and her fellow pilgrims wondered, and speculated, and opined and discussed. An innocent child and a rude adult-or-nearly were actually so crude as to ask her why she was hiding behind a veil and all that loose robe.

"Oh my cute little dear," the veiled lady told the child, cupping its plump dark cheek with a nice and quite pretty hand, "it's the sun. It makes me break out all in green warts. Wouldn't that be awful to have to look at?"

No such touch accompanied the veiled lady's response to the rude almost-woman who breached the bounds of gentility and mannered decency by asking the same question.

"Pox," the veiled lady said tersely. The questioner, while bereft of the sensitivity to blush or even apologize, said no more. Eyes widening, she abruptly remembered that her presence was required elsewhere.

(The first "explanation" was pooh-poohed, though not directly to the veiled one; if that were so, a fellow pilgrim wisely observed, then why were her hands not gloved, and why were they so pretty-a lady's hands? The second explanation was considerably more troubling. It was suspect, but who wanted to take a chance on catching some pox or other? People began to keep their distance, just in case.)

The big good-looking guard from Mrsevada was rude, too, but in a different way. He knew what flashing those good big teeth in that handsome face would get him. It had got him plenty, and would again. Having assured his comrades that he would soon bring them the answer, he addressed her with cocky confidence.

"Whatcha hiding under all them robes and veil, sweets?"

"A syphilitic face and a pregnant belly," the faceless woman told him. "Want to visit me in my tent tonight?"

"Uh-I uh, no, I was just-"

"And what are you hiding behind that totally phony smile, swordsman?"

He blinked and the dazzling smile faded away in patches, like the dissipating of those fluffy white clouds that signify nothing.

"You have a sharp tongue, pregnant and syphilitic."

"That," she told him, "is true. You can understand that I don't like men with winning smiles ..."

The handsome guardsman went away.

After that, no one asked her questions. Furthermore, the guardsmen, her fellow travelers, and the caravanseers not only left her alone, but indeed shunned the veiled woman-who after all could surely be no lady ... !

She had paid her way-the full charge, too-without argument or complaint and with only the modicum of dickering that showed her to be human, though not .arrogant. (Most nobles showed their arrogance either by stating their own price and paying it-usually less than what could be considered fair. Others at once paid what was asked, so as to show that they were far too well off and noble to dicker with mere clerks and caravan masters or booking stewards.) She had brought her own water and foodstuffs. She stayed to herself and caused no trouble, while giving others something to talk about. She was no trouble at all.

The tall caravan master, his gray-shot beard and easy confidence reminders of his experience, did not believe that she was syphilitic, or pocked, or sun cursed, or pregnant either. Nor did he view her as sinister merely because she refused to show her face. Thus Caravan Master Eliab was not pleasant to the little delegation of three women and the prideless husband of one of them, when they came to demand that the veiled person reveal and identify herself on the grounds that she was mysterious and therefore sinister and Frightening The Children.

Master Eliab looked down upon them, literally and figuratively. "Point out to me those children who are affrighted of the Lady Saphtherabah," he said, making up an impressive name for in truth she had signed on with him simply as "Cleya," a name common in Suma, "and I shall make them forget her by giving them something else to be fearful of."

"Hmp. And what might that be. Caravan Master?"

"ME!" he bellowed, and he transformed his bushily bearded face into a fearful scowl. At the same time he swept out the curved sword from his worn paisley patterned sash. Curling his other hand into a claw, he pounced at them.

He took only the one big lunging step, but the members of the delegation took many. Squealing and worse, four disunited individuals fled his company.

When Eliab arose next morning-with the sun, of course-it was to find that the veiled lady had prepared breakfast for him from her own stores and was calmly sharpening his dagger.

"Thank you, Lady," the big caravan master said, with a bow almost courtly.

"Thank you, Caravan Master."

"And will you join me in breaking the night's fasting with this wonderful repast. Lady?"

"No, Caravan Master," she said, rising. "For I could not eat without showing you my face."

"I understand, Lady. And thank you again." He made a respectful sign and watched her glide away, robe's hem on the ground and cloak whipping in the wind that blew worse than chilly, to her own tent. After that he assigned a man to pitch and strike that tent for her. Thus the delegation obtained some result, at that.

At last the cavalcade of humans, beasts, and trade goods reached the tired town called Sanctuary, and the veiled lady detached her three horses and went her way into the dusty old "city." The others saw her no more and soon she was completely out of their thoughts. Neither the big good-looking guard from Mrsevada nor Master Eliab ever forgot her, really, but she slipped easily from their minds, too. The former began flashing his smile and cutting a swath through the girls of Sanctuary, if not the women. As a matter of fact none of them had seen her and so never saw her again or knew if they did, for the veiled lady soon unveiled herself.

In this moribund town of thieves now ruled by weird starey-eyed people or "people" from oversea and un-succored by "protecting" and "Imperial" Ranke, it was easy for the veiled lady to employ a lackey for a few coins and a promise or two. Next she startled and nearly whelmed the poor wight by having him take her to his own home. Within that poorly heated hovel and amid much buzzing curiosity among the neighbors, she effected a change of clothing. That involved removal of all headgear and thus both veils. And that, when she emerged, elicited more buzz, even unto awe.

They were the first outside Suma to see the face and figure of her whose name was not Cleya or Saphtherabah, but Kaybe Jodeera.

She was blessed with beauty, true beauty. It was at once a blessing and a curse. Jodeera knew herself for a beauty. She admitted and understood and accepted the fact. She had learned that it was not a blessing, but a curse. She had lived long with it, and paid the price; several prices. One was that it was not wise for a woman so staggeringly well-favored to travel unaccompanied. Even with a protector and amid the whistling winds of winter, she might well have proven invitation to and source for trouble within the caravan. Jodeera knew this; she had long been beautiful and admitted and accepted it-as curse. Therefore she had chosen to conceal herself utterly. Better to be a source of speculation and gossip than of trouble! (She was neither pregnant nor obese, nor even "overweight," that delicate phrase for people of sedentary habits who were without restraint in the matter of food and drink.)

Furthermore, Jodeera and the sun were not enemies. She was not syphilitic. She was not even pocked.

She stepped forth from the house of her new lackey unveiled and clasping a long amethystine cloak over the azure-and-emerald gown of a lady, and she was breathtaking. She was radiance to challenge the sun; she was Beauty to challenge the goddess Eshi Herself.

And she was looking for a man. A particular man.

She and her lackey-his name was Wintsenay and he was best described as an overage street urchin-returned through town, saw a killing and pretended not to, two blocks farther along stepped carefully around another murder victim not yet cold, satisfactorily answered the questions of a Beysib who looked worse than nervous and ready to draw the sword on its or her back, and came at last to a fine inn. There they installed her.

Oh, but Jodeera turned heads in the White Swan! Nevertheless, she caused herself to be. conducted at once to an available chamber, one with a good bed and a good lock on the door. Though many waited and watched and some of them entertained dreams and pleasant fantasies, she did not return to the common room. She remained in her own rented chamber. Her hireling Wintsenay slept before the door, armed, but nothing untoward befell her at the White Swan.

Word of her arrival in Sanctuary was abroad before she rose next day. Beautiful women did not come at all often to Sanctuary. Not even Hakiem could remember when last one had arrived here alone. Yet this time a true beauty had arrived, and alone, and she was a mystery. Having taken on a low and baseborn servant who was about ten minutes out of the downwind area of Downwind, she had given her name at the White Swan as Ahdioma of Aurvesh, and she was nigh incredible.

As for the lady herself ... "See you this ring?" she asked of the White Swan's day-man, who was trying hard to gather up his lower lip so as to close his mouth while staring at her. He remembered to nod and she said, "When next you see it, it will be sent you, and you will honor it, and my wishes."

He assured her that he would, indeed.

Taking no breakfast and seeming uninterested in the chatter of last night's bloody PFLS activities, she went forth into ratty Thieves' World of the creaking commerce and cracking, peeled stucco and stones leaking their mortar onto the streets and "streets." Its powder freighted the wind that whistled along those streets, disarranging cloaks and scarves while bearing the scent of death.

She was noticed wherever she went in damned Sanctuary. Hair of a dark red, the shining maroon of a rich old wine. Large eyes that were perhaps hazel and perhaps green-it depended upon the viewer, and where she was standing with relation to the sun. A face in which the bones were prominent and the mouth generous. (Some few marked the absence of what passed for dimples and later for creases and were truly smile-lines, and pounced to the conclusion that, incredibly for one of her looks, she had had no happy life.) A figure to turn dry the mouths of men and never mind their ages. A lackey called Wints whose face was washed and who strove to look mean while keeping his hand on one of those dauntingly long Ilbarsi "knives" thrust through a red-and-yellow sash worn over his old brown cloak.

In the Bazaar she crossed a brown, clutching palm with a small silver coin, and was allowed to adjourn to a rearward chamber. She emerged with her hair caught in a plain snood of dull old green. A veil of medium green concealed her lower face. Displayed were ears pierced but not be jeweled, which she knew was unattractive.

She tarried there, in that booth of a seer blindingly dressed in multicolor, while the S'danzo's daughter and the lackey Wints bore the ring back to the White Swan. No, she did not care to be read by the S'danzo. Was the kind S'danzo discreet?-Yes. Then did she perhaps know of a certain man ... And the newcomer, veiled again, mentioned a name and then a description.

No, the S'danzo did not know him; perhaps a reading might help?-No, no reading; there would be no Seeing into the affairs of the veiled lady.

The S'danzo wisely said no more. She assumed that this stranger either was so cautious as to want not even a close-mouthed seer to know aught of her-or wished not to know more of herself and her future's possibilities and probabilities than she already did.

Wintsenay and the nine-year-old returned anon with the veiled lady's three horses. She dispatched them to arrange lodgings for her at the inn suggested by her new S'danzo friend.

She did not see him she sought, that day. Twice she must stop and show her face to members of the occupying force, but apparently she did not resemble whomever they sought. Two of their number had been slain last night. The word was murder, but Sanctuarites did not use it in connection with the deaths of the Beysa's minions.

She kept Wintsenay with her, calling him Wints, that he might not talk o'ermuch to his acquaintances and, if he had any, his friends. Obviously he was enjoying his role as well as the pay. Wints was quite willing to remain with her and comply with any of her wishes.

On the day following she wore a still different guise, and changed her lodgings yet again. Again, the inn was a good one. Having gained some knowledge of bankers, she left money and jewels with a man she felt she could trust. He also stabled her horses. She left with a receipt and a more secure feeling. That day, again, she looked more for him she sought.

In mid-aftemoon on the fringe of the Bazaar, she saw him.

"Oh my," she said, from behind her lower-face veil of scarlet (and above her garish S'danzo garb, skirts and apron and blouse in seven colors and six hues), "whoever is that big man who just ordered crockery from your neighbor, there?"

"Ah, m'girl, that's Ahdio-Ahdiovizun, but it's Ahdio he's callt. Runs that hole, back in the Maze-Sly's Place, it's callt. You know. Big, ain't he!"

"Indeed," the veiled lady said softly, and went away.

"Well, I can't help that," the very big man said to the dealer. "You just tell Goatfoot what I said: When even my customers complain about his beer, it's bad! Thin as ... well, if I find out he has a lot of cats over there, I'll be mighty suspicious about what he puts into his so-called prime ale!"

"That ain't nice, Ahdio. You want good stuff, whyn't you buy it then?"

"As you damned well know, Ak, I do. But not from Goatfoot! However, not all my patrons can afford the premium brew, and not all of them know the difference, anyhow. I serve maybe twenty to one of the stuff made by Goatfoot and Maeder. And based on the quality, I ought to be charging more for Maeder's Red Gold!"

"Or maybe less for Goatfoot's True Brew," Akarlain said, tilting his head to one side and doing his best to look clever. It was a strain.

"I'm willing to do that," Ahdio told him, "just as soon as you and Goatfoot get the keg price down to what it should be." He sighed and raised a silencing hand as the much smaller man started to reply. "That's all right, that's all right. I'll need thirteen more kegs tomorrow, and don't forget what I told you to tell Goatfoot. And that I'm looking for another brewer. My customers may be scum, but they've got rights!"

Ahdio, his face open and showing no menace, held eye contact with Akarlain for a long moment before he turned away. He moved on to another merchant's kiosk in the ever-noisy open market. Face working, Ak watched him. How was it that such a genuinely bigger than big man moved so easily in a gait that no one could ever describe as "lumbering"? He was almost graceful! And so lucky, Ak mused with a shiver; Ahdio seemed not to notice the cold although he was not wearing nearly as much clothing as most others. Like to have me a wife that generated that much heat, Akarlain thought, and with a sigh he turned to enter Ahdio's order on the slate headed G-Foot.

Ahdio stopped at a fold-down counter under a sheltering awning of bright green and faded yellow. After doubling his order for the sausages in brine he had tried out on consignment, he complimented their creator.

"They loved them, Ivalia. Helped sell more beer, too! My customers loved those special sausages of yours-and so did I!" Abruptly the big man laughed a big man's laugh. "Not my cat, though. Should've seen him wrinkle his nose and shake his head when he started to settle into a nice sausage meal and smelled that brine! Could've heard his ears rattle two buildings away!"

"Ohh, poor pussy cat," Ivalia said, interrupting her delighted marking down of his order to look up with a sympathetic expression. "What a mean shock for a cat ... well, here! You take this to that poor disappointed kitty of yours, Ahdio, with my compliments."

"Mighty nice of you, Ivalia," Ahdio said, accepting the brown-wrapped package she hurriedly prepared and proffered. It looked strangely smaller, once it was transferred from her hand to his huge one.

Someone passing behind Ahdio bumped him. Ahdio showed no hint of taking offense as his size would have allowed; he merely dropped a hand to the wallet at his belt. It was still there. The bump must have been a genuine one, then-not that it would have mattered much. He kept only three coppers, two sharply jagged bits of rusty steel, and a few pebbles in that leathern bag. His money was in a pocket-purse sewn inside the down-filled vest he wore in lieu of coat or winter cloak. Still, he was not anxious to lose what he thought of as the Fool's Purse at his belt; he'd just have to raise a great fuss and try to chase down the thief ... and of course replace the thing with another cheap bag of goatskin.

"Mighty nice order you just gave me, Ahdio," Ivalia was saying with a smile. "Mighty nice doing business with you-and gracious, I had no idea you were a cat person, too! That makes it all the better."

The disposition of an angel, Ivalia had-a red-faced angel-and arms like a cooper's. Everything about her was round and healthy and on the large side, positively brimming and glowing ruddy with health. Everything except her nose and her chest, he thought, a little wistfully; both were as flat as a fallen pie. Still ... a man did get lonely and thought now and again of a real woman, a companion rather than merely some one-night wench. And in this gods-forsaken town to which he had exiled himself.... Ahdio smiled at her. That showed as a crinkling of his eyes and a writhing of his winter beard; he stopped shaving every year in autumn and removed the whole growth again a few months later when real heat started to set in. Just now the beard was not long, but already obscured most of his face.

"What's your kittycat's name, Ahdio?" she asked, practically burbling, beaming at him.

Ahdio looked a bit embarrassed, pushed a finger up into his brown-pepper-and salt beard, and scratched. "I, ah, named him Sweetboy," he admitted.

The round-faced sausagemaker clapped her hands. "How sweet! My kittycats are named Cinnamon, and Topaz, and Micklety, and Kadakithis, wasn't that naughty of me?-and Chase (that's short for Chase-mouser) and Pan-pie, and Hakiem, and Babyface, and-oh, pardon me; yes, what would you like?"

That to the new customer who had come to the unwitting rescue of Ahdio, whose expression of shock had increased with each new cat Ivalia listed-and without showing signs of running out of either names or cats anytime soon.

"Try one of her pickled sausages," Ahdio said to the newcomer. "And remember it was Ahdio who told you. Stop in at my tavern-Sly's Place near Wrong Way Park. First beer's on me."

He waved a hand in friendly farewell to Ivalia and departed. Thus he did not see the look her prospective customer gave her, or hear him mutter, "Sly's Place! Theba's eyeballs ... I'd as soon slit my throat as go near that dive!"

Ivalia leaned on her counter, face in hands, and gave him a nice smile. "Why don't you, then?"

Bulkily visible with his broad back emphasized by the vest of tired red, Ahdio wended his way out of the Bazaar, returning greetings, stopping to say a few words to this or that merchant and a couple of Stepsons with ever-wary eyes. His words to the beautifully-dressed noble Shaf-ralain went unanswered and Ahdio grinned. He just managed not to wink at an armed but not particularly mean looking Bey, and headed for home.

Home was upstairs over the dive called Sly's Place, well back in that most unsavory and unsafe district of Sanctuary called the Maze. Today he had gone to the street called Path of Money early, to put away some of last night's income. He never visited his banker at the same time on two days within any week, so as not to be predictable. Sanctuary was that kind of town. It was a goodly walk, too. When he bore money out of Sly's, he got out of the Maze as fast as he could, and to hell with shortcuts. He stepped directly out onto the Street of Odors-also called Stink Street and Perfume Boulevard, with the tanners and charnel houses right there-and walked north to Straight Street. Once it crossed the Processional, it jogged a little and became the Path of Money. There bankers and lenders and changers lurked, and some were even honest. It was Ahdio's belief and hope that his was.

Then it was back to the Bazaar and/or Farmer's Market, by some route or other; he was a known walker who attracted little attention from the diwiers and "guardians" of this or that section of town. Stepsons competent and in-, or 3rd Commando members, or the dangerous usually-youths of the PFLS-"Piffles," some were pronouncing it-or sword-backed Beysibs, forced by the weather to cloak the bare breasts they apparently loved to flaunt, painted. He gave them little attention in return, speaking when they were obviously not supposed to be concealed, and pretending not to see them when they were.

Ahdio assumed that he was one of the very few in the Maze who had made a deal with the 3rd Commando Unit of Ranke. After all, it was in his back room that Kama of the 3rd C. and Zip of PFLS had met with Hanse, for the purpose of persuading that thief called Shadowspawn to break into the Palace. Oh, Ahdio knew that, now; Kama had been back and they were friends-make that "on friendly terms."

Not infrequently he stopped at a better inn just to take note of it and its clientele and enjoy a measure or two served by someone else. Then it was back to his residence and place of business, which was sort of sphinctered in the improbable three-way intersection where the Serpentine sort of extruded Tanner Lane as it slithered by, at the place where Odd Birt's Cross became Odd Birt's Dodge.

The lowest dive in the lowest of towns, some called Sly's Place.

Ahdiovizun called it home. He also called it never dull and always fascinating, even inspiring. (Sly was a man dead these three years, but who wanted to change the name and take credit for the skungiest and most fight-prone watering-hole in all Thieves' World? In consequence, no one was sure just who did own it. True, Sly's widow seemed not to be hurting any for finances, but certainly she never came near the place, and no one ever reported having seen Ahdio or his helper Throde go to her home.)

Since today he had settled a few bills with last night's receipts, he had not gone over to the Path of Money at all. Thus he extended his walk by taking the longer way around from the Bazaar. When he entered the Maze from the north, onto the Serpentine, nature had been calling for several minutes. With a little smile he decided to avail himself of the little cul-de-sac variously called Tick's Vomitorium, or Safehaven, or more descriptively: The Outhouse. Even in the ever present shadows, the lower walls of all three buildings abutting on Safehaven were stained dark. The area, a squared horseshoe, reeked of urine and worse. The Vulgar Unicorn was just around the corner and many a patron had come hurrying into just this odd little shelter to relieve his bladder or his stomach or both. (This was the reason Ahdio had been known to refer jocularly to the place as the Vulgar Unicorn Annex.)

He was just contentedly spraying the eastward wall when a slight sound behind him was followed quickly by a swift, jerky pressure at his side, a shade forward of the kidney. The pressure-point was tiny, and Ahdio recognized the touch of a knife's tip.

"Uh," he said, and splashed his thick-soled walking buskin. "Damn."

"All right," a voice snarled in an obvious attempt both to sound dangerous and to disguise itself, "let's have yer purse, bigun." The pressure remained at Ahdio's side.

"I'll give you this," Ahdio said without turning, "you're light on your feet and may amount to a real thief someday. But I think you have me confused with someone else-I'm Ahdio."

"Ah-Ahdi-"

"Probably couldn't recognize me in the dark, here. You know: Ahdiovizun, the great big mean and cantankerous proprietor of Sly's Place, who always wears ..."

"A mailcoat!" the snarler snarled loudly, and the pressure of his knifepoint instantly left Ahdiovizun's person. The would-be thief was not nearly as quiet departing in haste as he had been at stalking.

Ahdio let go a goodly sigh and restored his clothing. Having deliberately given the thief opportunity to escape unseen, he turned slowly and paced out of the Maze's public convenience. He felt around at his rearward side with a big hand that had gone a bit sweaty.

Good. The little idiot didn't prick my vest. Hate to start leaking goose feathers. Glad he was too scared and stupid to run a test by leaning on that sticker ... what sort of glutton for punishment would I have to be to wear my mailcoat all day, just walkin' around town?

Still, he would not claim even to himself not to be unnerved. With the whole town gettin' to be as dangerous as the Maze, maybe I should!

He wiped wet hands on his leggings, and considered dropping in at the Vulg for a short one. No, he'd just stay away from that place; it was no trick to spot the two Beysibs, so very casually hanging about across the "street," keeping an eye on a dive to which Ahdio felt Sly's was eminently superior. Doubtless a PFLSer or two would be about, too, keeping an eye or four on the Stare-Eyes. He'd just head on home and drink his own, with Sweetboy for company.

He followed the Serpentine on down and around onto Tanner. With a casual wave at the enormous (and teetotal-ing) bodyguard of Alamanthis, the physician located conveniently across the street from Sly's and prospering accordingly, Ahdio went around back. He whacked the door a couple of times while he whistled a few notes, to avoid a misunderstanding with Sweetboy, and slipped the first of two keys into the smaller lock. Then the other one, and he entered. He dropped the big bar across the door behind him.

"Hey, you mangy furbag, daddy's home!"

"Mrarr," Sweetboy said in what was almost a travesty of a cat's customary sound, and meandered over. Ahdio stood still long enough to let the black, mange-free animal sinuously whack its left flank against his buskin and pace back and forth a few times, rubbing, getting rid of some excess fur while saying Hello Good To See You My Bowl's Empty.

"Just had a bit of a scare, Sweetboy. Let's have a drink."

Sweetboy made a profoundly enthusiastic remark and lost all dignity in industriously rubbing both Ahdio's legs while the big man lighted an oil-lamp. Moving to a table on which rested a small keg, he twisted out the bung: This was good Maeder's brew he had re-bunged last night after close of business. He had done a good job of it, too, he saw when he poured: Head foamed up high and rich. Ahdio bent and gave himself a white mustache to keep it from flowing over, then set it aside while he drew another cup.

Watching, Sweetboy reared up to clap both paws to the table-leg and stretch, meanwhile purring loud enough to vibrate the table.

"Uh-huh. Soon's the head settles down. True beer-lovers know you need to raise the foam and wait for it to lapse, Sweetboy ole Tige. Remember that."

The cat, jet with an odd strawberry- or heart-shaped white patch on its face and one white paw, made an urgent remark.

Picking up the first cup, Ahdio squatted to the floor beside a cut-down mug of wide diameter, with a handle. "Wait," he said, in a particular voice, and poured Red Gold into the cat's bowl. Sweetboy waited, staring, saying nothing but expressing his impatience with a lashing of the stub of his tail.

That sight was disconcerting to everyone but Ahdio. Any cat expressed itself or at least acknowledged noises or its name with movements of its tail, often merely the tip. A tailless cat, if not a cripple, was at least the equivalent of a human with a severe lisp. Sweetboy, however, seemed unaware of his lack and expressively moved what he had. He even managed to make it obvious when he was not just moving the thumb-length stub, but lashing it. Now he peered at his bowl under a thigh the thickness of a trim man's waist. It moved, straightened.

"Drink up, Tige," Ahdio said, and turned to his own mug. By the time he lifted it to his lips, his beer-loving cat was sounding more canine than feline in its enthusiastic lapping. Hip against the table and one elbow on the keg, Ahdio quaffed his beer while watching Sweetboy put away his. The big man's face wore an indulgent smile. It faded, and he sighed.

The hard part was the disappearance of Sweetboy's former companion and fellow watch-cat. Notable. Both Ahdio and Sweetboy missed the big red cat. First Hanse had popped in late one afternoon and just had to borrow him; then, even while Ahdio was trying to explain that Notable was a one-man cat, the damned traitor had come in all high-tailed and started in rubbing Shadowspawn as if the cocky thief were his favoritest person in the whole world. So off went large watch-cat with smallish thief, and into the governor's palace and out. And Hanse had brought Notable back, too, bragging on his loyalty and valor-and loud voice. That was right before Hanse had left town, in a hurry. Apparently he had taken with him the eldest daughter of the murdered S'danzo, Moon-flower.

Next morning, Notable was gone, too. Just short of frantic, Ahdio searched and asked; put out the word. Notable was gone without a trace. At least it was hard to imagine such a fighter's having been snatched and used to fill someone's hungry belly. Ahdio swallowed hard, then turned up his mug.

"I hope he's with Hanse," he muttered, lowering the emptied cup, and Sweetboy gave his abbreviated tail a twitch in acknowledgment. "But if he is and they ever come back to Sanctuary, I'm going to pin back all four of their ears!"

With another sigh, Ahdio decided to have another before he fixed himself something to eat and joined Throde in preparing to open up for tonight's business in the lowest dive in Sanctuary. He had no idea that it would be one of the very most eventful nights ever.

He was just finishing his early dinner-he'd snack while he worked and enjoy a late supper while counting tonight's take-when he heard Throde at the door. He hurried to lift the bar and let in his lean and wiry assistant. The youth entered, thump-clump thump-clump. Neither ugly nor handsome, he was known to some as Throde the Gimp, and now and again a customer tried calling "Hey Gimp!" or "Gimpy-over here" when he wanted service. Throde, with more encouragement from Ahdio than mere approval, did not respond in any way. (He did respond to calls of "Boy" or "Waiter" or "Hey you!") If a newcomer chose to take offense and become surly despite being advised by a fellow patron of Throde's name and humanity, Ahdio was always ready to prevent any violence on his assistant. Sometimes they even came back, those he graphically warned and cooled by throwing out.

Enveloped in big brown cloak from crown to instep, the youth leaned his staff against the wall; a shade under an inch and a half in diameter, the inflexible rod was six feet long, five inches longer than its owner.

"'Lo, Ahdio. Hey, Sweetboy."

He unclasped and twisted out of the hairy cloak that looked nigh big enough for Ahdio, except in length. As usual, Throde's brown hair came out of the cloak's hood mussed in six or nine directions. He carried the garment over to hook it on one of the pegs just inside the door, on (he wall opposite the eight or so untapped tuns of beer. He turned back to Ahdio, left hand pushing his hair up off his forehead above the left eye in a gesture Ahdio had seen a thousand times or more. His smooth face was long and bony, and his lean body gave that appearance. Ahdio knew that was a bit deceptive; wiry and rangy, Throde had good musculature. Even his bad leg looked strong, though Ahdio had seen his helper only once without leggings, even back in high summer. He introduced Throde as his cousin's son, from Twand. Ahdiovizun was not from Twand. Neither was Throde.

"Ah. New tunic?"

Throde blinked and little twitches in his face hinted at a smile. He looked down at the garment, which was medium green with a wave-imitating border at neck and hem, in dark brown. Ahdio recognized that gesture, too; Throde wasn't studying the tunic, he was ducking his head. The lad was shy, and just a shade more gregarious than his walking stick.

He nodded. "Yes."

"Good for you. Good-looking tunic, too. Going to have to think about a new belt for that one, to do it justice. Buy it in the Bazaar?"

Throde shook his head. "Country Market. Bought it off a woman who made it for her son."

"Oh," Ahdio said, and as usual tried to force his helper into something approaching conversation. "Didn't he like it? Sure doesn't look worn."

"Was a present for him. Never been worn." Throde was looking at the cat, which had assumed a ridiculous sitting position with one hind leg straight up while it licked its genitals. "You'll go blind, Sweetboy."

"Lucky you," Ahdio said, and kept trying: "Bet you got a good price on it. Her boy didn't like it?"

"Never saw it. Took a fever on the first cold night. He died."

"Oh. Listen, I was a little nervous about you when you left last night. No trouble going home?"

Throde shook his head. "I better get set up."

"No trouble at all? Didn't see those three meanheads?"

Shaking his head, Throde went through the door into the taproom-the inn proper. Ahdio sighed.

"Sure nice to have company," he muttered, and Sweet-boy looked up and belched. Ahdio gave him a look. "Here! Cats do not belch, Tige. Maybe you should consider giving up strong drink."

The final word brought the cat to attention, and to its mug. It peered within as if myopic, looked pointedly up at its human, twitched its stub and said "Mraw?"

"No," Ahdio said, and Sweetboy showed him an affronted look before it slithered in between a couple of barrels to sulk.

Accommodatingly, Ahdio let those tuns sit and picked up another to carry into the other room. He handled it as if it weighed about half what it weighed. Throde was arranging benches and stools, squatting to rearrange the sliver of wood that for three months had "temporarily" steadied the table with the bad leg.

"Maybe tonight we ought to turn that damned table up and slap a nail up through that hunk of wood into the leg," Ahdio said, his voice only a little strained. He set the barrel down behind the bar, without banging it. "Not thisun," Throde said. "The wood'd split out."

"Uh," Ahdio said, thinking about last night's trouble. The arising of trouble in Sly's Place was hardly noteworthy. Patrons who came to push and shove or worse either settled down, or helped clean up and pay for damage, or were told not to come back. Now and again Ahdio relented. But when sharp steel flashed he moved in fast with a glove and a club. Both were armored. Such things happened, and usually he stopped it without a blow and before someone got stuck. Not always. What he would not tolerate was yellers and plain bullies. That big one last night had been both. Ahdio warned him. Others warned him. Eventually Ahdio had felt compelled to pick up the big drunken troublemaker by the nape, just the way he'd have picked up a kitten. In sudden silence from patrons once again impressed by his strength, he carried the loosely wriggling fellow over to the door and deposited him outside, without roughness. He returned to applause and upraised mugs, smiling a little and never glancing back; he knew that if the ejected one came back in behind him, other patrons would call a warning.

Two men, however, stood staring in manner unfriendly. Ahdio stopped and returned the gaze.

"You boys his buddies?"

"Right."

"Yes. Narvy didn't mean no harm."

"Probably not," Ahdio said equably. "Just drank too much, too fast and wouldn't take anything to eat. You boys want a sausage and a beer, or you think you ought to help him ... Narvy ... home?"

The two of them stared at him in silence, mean-faced, and the taverner stared back with his usual open, large-eyed expression. After a time they looked at each other. The handsome one shrugged. The balding one shrugged. They sat down again.

"Couple of sausages and beers coming up," Ahdio said, and that was that.

Still, he had worried that they or perhaps all three might decide to take out their mad on Throde, and Ahdio warned the youth, who walked home every night alone. They had made it well known that he carried no money but did bear a big stick. On the other hand, he needed that staff because he had a gimped leg. Now his employer was more than glad that his apprehension had been for nothing.

He was heading back to the storeroom when he heard the banging sound back there. Sweetboy didn't make banging sounds, particularly when he was napping.

That was when it hit Ahdio that he and Throde had both forgotten to replace the bar across the outer door. Some godless motherless meanhead had just walked in for sure, he thought, already racing that way. He was bulling through the door when he heard the screams: two. A man's, and a cat's. Not just any cat's. It was Sweetboy's war-cry. He had never achieved the volume of Notable, but he could sure raise hell, nape-hair and heartbeats. The pair of yowling sounds were followed by a much louder banging than the first. And a yell that was positively a shriek.

From the doorway Ahdio glimpsed it all at once. The balding man and his big ejected pal Narvy, from last night, were in the act of removing a barrel marked with the hoofprint of a goat branded in black; the scream-trailing black streak was a watch-cat earning its keep. The cat landed acrouch on the barrel between them, having in passing opened the balding man's sleeve without even trying. It hissed, whipping its stub back and forth, and uncoiled to hit Narvy's big chest. Narvy's friend yelled when he felt his arm hit; when he saw the demonic apparition appear as if by ghastly sorcery right on the barrel he was so happily stealing, he let go his end.

It was his friend Narvy who let out the high-voiced shriek; the impact of the hurtling cat was bad enough, but the feel of all those claws puncturing his chest through two layers of blue linsey-woolsey was a lot worse. Besides, Sweetboy wasn't just there; he was climbing, and that evilly fanged face was terribly close to Narvy's own. Naturally he too let go the tun of beer, to get both arms in front of his face. Since his friend had already let go, the barrel swung in as it dropped, and got Narvy's shin and one foot. He positively bellowed. Besides, the carefully misnamed Sweetboy, intent on reaching his face, was busily trying to chew his way through Narvy's sleeved arm. Narvy's throat erupted more noise.

His friend caught a glimpse of the big taverner coming through the doorway he absolutely filled, and the balding man whirled to exit by the outer door at a speed that would have brought him in at least second in a seven-horse race. Narvy kept on screaming.

"Damn," Ahdio said. "I told you last night you were a noisy beerhead, and damned if you aren't even noisier by day and sober-I-guess. Now look what you've done! You've disturbed that poor pussy's nap and got him all angry."

Narvy was flailing both arms, to one of which clung a chomping cat anchored by twenty or so claws and an unknown number of needly teeth.

"Get him offf meee!" poor Narvy shrieked.

"Are you daft or jesting, man? I'm not wearing mailed gloves!"

Screaming enough for six, Narvy wheeled and limp-dashed out the open doorway in the wake of his friend- who was already out of sight.

"Sweetboy! Let's have a drink!"

Sweetboy opened his mouth, retracted all claws, hit the ground facing the rear door of Sly's Place (drooling a shred of red-smeared blue fabric), and became a blur again until he was standing at his bowl. Finding it empty, he glanced accusingly around and up. He was also licking at the blood on his mouth.

"Goo-ood boy, goo-ood kitty," Ahdio crooned, using his foot to roll the barrel aside. It was intact and pleasantly sloshy.

He drew two cups of beer and unwrapped the brineless sausage Ivalia had given him. Sweetboy watched as if entranced, ears on the move. Ahdio had treacherously saved back the six-inch length of sausage about the thickness of Throde's staff. Now the big man gave it to Sweetboy all at once, as reward. Along with a full mug-bowl.

Sweetboy immediately proved that he was a cat who loved beer, not an alcoholic. He nicked his ears at the bowl, made a small appreciative remark, and went for the meat.

"What happened?" That from Throde, in the doorway with broom in hand. He held it in the manner of a spearman awaiting the command to charge.

"You and I both left the door unbarred and let two cess-heads disturb this nice li'l kittycat's nap, that's what!"

"Oh, gredge," Throde muttered, staring downward. "'m sorry, Ahdio."

"No harm done. If those two don't talk about it, let's be sure the story gets around." Eyes twinkling, Ahdio hoisted his mug.

"Uh ... what if they spread it that you keep a demon back here?"

"So? In Sanctuary? Who'd care?" his grinning employer rhetorically asked. "Demons and vampires and dead gods and living goddesses involved in street fights ... a demon in the back room of Sly's Place seems perfectly normal to me! What do you think, Sweetboy?"

Sweetboy thought the sausage was just lovely and that it was time for a swig or three of beer. • • •

When the veiled lady came into Sly's Place, it was three-quarters full and altogether noisy. Also, predictably, male. Nor did any of their attire reflect wealth, nobility, or the military. Oh, of course they wore daggers, that standard utensil for eating, among other uses. She saw three other females, all of whom looked as if they belonged here. The one in her teens wore a sort of skirt the color of new gold that was slit on both sides to the belt, and a black singlet that looked as if it had been stitched onto her. Her hair matched the skirt, despite her black eyes and brows, and three bangles chimed on each wrist. The oldest of the three sat against the wall with a bald and white-bearded man. He was presumably her husband, since they were saying nothing to each other. The third was a blowze of perhaps thirty who wore a low-necked white blouse that displayed a great deal of her pair of highly mobile head-sized breasts. Her skirt was heel-length, unslit, and wildly striped. Her voice was just as loud.

Among the tables and stools moved a thin young man in a nice green tunic and waist-apron over fawn-colored leggings. He had a tray, a towel, a shock of unruly brown hair, and a limp.

The advent of the veiled lady through the curtain of colored Syrese rope attracted attention, naturally; there was, after all, the veil, in addition to her hooded emerald cloak of obviously good cloth and weave. She was, however, escorted. Someone recognized him and called out with a wave. Wintsenay, self consciously with Jodeera, barely nodded acknowledgment. The newcomers stood where they were, on the entry platform a step above the room.

The veiled lady paid no mind to any of them. Her eyes, as invisible below the hood's shadow as her face behind the quietly colored paisley veil, followed only the movements of the big man in the coat of scintillant, softly jingling chain mail. He set down a double handful of mugs and slipped some coins into his apron before following the gazes of those he served. His brows rose at the sight of the two. He glanced around, raised a hand, and both looked and pointed to his left. He saw the man and the hooded and veiled woman look at the table he indicated, at the wall; saw the man look questioningly at her. The hood nodded. Perhaps she said something. Without uncloaking, they descended the step and moved to the table Ahdio indicated.

She was in charge, Ahdio noted immediately. The man was her servant or bodyguard, then. He caught Throde's eye, indicated a table of empty cups, and headed for the new arrivals.

"Welcome to Sly's Place, my lady; sir. I am Ahdio and, yes, this is a real chain-coat. What would you like?"

"Your best wine for milady; your better beer for me," Wints said.

Ahdio knew that she had told her escort what to order; he was not to be privileged to hear her voice in addition to seeing no glimpse of her face, then. The point was, what in the name of the Shadowy One was she doing here? While her retention of her hooded cloak along with the veil attracted attention just because others wondered what she was hiding, he hoped she kept both in place. Just the presence of a woman of quality here in Sly's was enough to touch off trouble from some of these jackasses. If she happened to be well-favored behind the veil, and shapely within her doubtless expensive and fashionable attire, he might well need Sweetboy's aid!

Ouleh jiggled over while he poured qualis into a nice cup and was about to turn to Maeder's Better True Brew, which Maeder identified with a blue MB on the barrel. She leaned across the bar to give Ahdio a high-eyebrowed look.

"Hai, Ahdio ole handsome ... who's the one in the veil and hood, hmmm?"

"Get your things off the bar," he said, grinning, and she chuckled dutifully at their old joke. Instead she ground herself down on it, wagging her shoulders, so that the things he mentioned were pushed above her low blouse in great outrounding moonshapes to her collarbones. He leaned toward her conspiratorially, keeping his gaze on her face.

"My cousin from Twand," he said quietly. "For all the gods' sakes and mine, don't ask her about her face or twit her either."

"That ugly, huh?"

"I can't answer that, Ouleh. Just be good and tell your friends, all right?"

"Me? Be good? Oh, Ahdio! Qualis and Red Gold 'stead of True Blue Brew for them, hmmm? Didn't know you had moneyed relatives, bigun, in Twand or anyplace else." She flashed him a teasing smile; Ouleh was good at that. "I've got me an idea that we're being treated to a visit by the mysterious Veiled Lady just everybody's talking about! Your cousin, Ahdio?"

Ahdio gazed at her, blinking. The mysterious veiled lady everyone was talking about? In that case, why hadn't he heard about her? True, it seemed not the sort of gossip that interested his patrons. They tended to talk about their work, to damn anyone with authority or wealth, to talk about who was doing what with and to whom, and who was going to get into whom, how and when, and who was going to get into Ouleh next. He glanced past her at the two newcomers over there, waiting for him to bring their order. His patrons' favorite breasty blowze had just described her, all right: a mysterious veiled lady. On the other hand, within and under cloak and hood and veil she might as well be Ouleh or any other easygirl.

No; not with the aura he felt about her; she even moved-even sat with class.

"Just be good, Man-killer. Or be bad as usual, but leave her alone; physically and with that mouth of yours." Hearing how harsh that sounded, he smiled and added, "Please. Tell you what. Anyone who gives her or her escort trouble is out of here on his tailbone."

It was Ouleh's turn to blink, in surprise. "Es-cort! That's Wints, bigun. He's no escort-not for the likes of her. Bodyguard, maybe. Lackey. Someone she found to guide her in what she's doing-slumming. I'll spread your word, bigun-for you," she said, glancing back at many men at many tables. "But others're going to think she's slumming, and that Wints is putting on airs, and there's likely to be trouble."

"Anyone starts any trouble tonight, Ouleh, it's going to be me who ends it."

She gave him a lazy grin, again leaning forward onto the bar to show him a pair of pale mountains and the deep dark canyon dividing them. "Isn't it always, big boy? All I'm sayin' is that it may happen anyhow."

He sighed. Not sure why, he said, "Ouleh-keep a secret?"

"Me? Betray a confidence? Cross my treasure chest and hope to die!" Her finger slid down one mountain and into the valley, up the other slope, and back in a necessarily large X. Ahdio immediately looked ceilingward. "What's the matter, Ah-dio? Can't look? Want me to start wearing loose robes to the chin?"

I'd have fewer fights and shouting matches if you did, he mused, but said, "Just looking for the thunderbolt, after that oath of yours. Anyhow. First, here. You take this cup of qualis, on ole Ahdio. Second: Spread the word as I said. Third, and this is the secret now, Man-killer: The reason is that's my ... lady. She just came here to see me. You can understand that I have to watch out for her. Here's your wine, dear. Start helping me out, all right?"

"Ohh, Ahdio! Reeeeally? Your la-oh, Ahdio, you devil! And here I've had my cap set on you for years!"

Why am I doing this for some slumming stranger who may well be a Bey, come to spy on us with an Ilsigi sell-out, he demanded of himself, and said, "Sure, sure you have. You don't even have a cap."

She gripped the nice goblet with one hand and the rim of her bodice with the other. "No? What d'you call this?" She whipped the blouse down below the salient of her leftward mountain, held it there for two or three beats, and flipped it up over her nipple again. Then she swung away, laughing.

Briefly closing his eyes while he shook his head, Ahdio filled another goblet with that best of wines and topped off the mug for Wints, the head having subsided. He headed for the table against the wall, his scintillant coat jingling softly. Just as he passed a regular named or rather called Weasel, Ahdio heard his loud conversation topper: "In a pig's ass!"

"Someone call for my special sausage?" Ahdio called en passant, and went on, ahead of a wake of laughter.

He set wine and beer before the strange couple, and noted the coins on the table. He smiled at the invisible face that, judging from the angle of the hood, seemed to be looking up at him. "In this place, those who put coins on the table are running a tab. Unless you think you're just going to have one and run." There. That would get a few words from the woman who had eased coin onto the table while no one was looking.

Wrong. Wints looked at his companion/employer a moment, then up at the huge man looming over their table and occluding an immoderate number of tables. "Thanks, taverner. We'll be here awhile. My lady would like to know why you wear that chain-coat."

Ahdio shook his arm to emphasize the jing-jing of the mail that covered him from collarbone to wristbone and to a point just below his loins. "For effect," he said with an easy smile. "Ambience? A conversation piece. A little added color in a place I can't afford to fancy up much."

Wints glanced at the veiled lady and gave the taverner a knowing grin. "With the price of a coat of good butted chainmail being what it is? You sure that's the reason?"

Ahdio shrugged, jing-jing. "Maybe I wear it for the same reason a soldier does in battle. This is a tough dive with me as proprietor, bartender and bouncer. Maybe I'd be dead or full of scars by now if I didn't wear these forty-seven pounds of linked steel."

Wints's grin broadened and just as he started to laugh, Ahdio heard the first sound from the man's companion: a nascent chuckle swiftly drowned by his full laugh.

"Hey, Ahdio, you still sellin' ale around here?"

Ahdio swung away from the strangers. "Ale! In this place? Glayph, you wouldn't know ale if I poured some in your ear! Want another mug of junk beer?"

"Junk beer's right," another man said, as Ahdio moved that way. "Is it true you've got that beer-drinkin' demon-cat you keep back there trained to take his leaks in the kegs?"

"No," Ahdio said with an easy grin, "just in the qualis." When the laughter subsided, he made his face serious and added, "But I'll tell you this. I accused my brewer of that, just this afternoon. I also put him on notice that I'm lookin' around for another supplier. I am. All right, how many?"

"Two for me; I just got here. Is it true that's your girl over there, Ahdio, all bundled up?"

"My cousin Phlegmy brews good brew, Ahdy!"

"Girl! I'm too old for girls, two-beers. You think I put this gray in my beard with chalk? Now who's been blabbing that I have a secret lady who dropped in tonight to watch me work?" /( worked, he thought. Good old Ouleh-all you have to do is ask her to keep a secret and it's the same as hiring thirty boys to shout the news!

Laughter and shouts followed him to the bar, and he made sure that he gave Ouleh a scowl. She bit her lip in the manner of a chastised child. While sitting on Tervy's knee with her hand inside the shirt of Frax, former palace guardsman. Someone reached out and yanked at the hem of Throde's tunic, in back. Throde reeled and his tray tipped. A mug dropped off into someone's lap. That someone cursed and came up fast, drawing back a fist. One moment he was looking at Throde's whimpery face saying "Oh, oh, I'm sorry" while his peripheral hearing reported the steel-jingle sound of a battlefield; the next he was staring at Ahdio's chest and it was too late to arrest his swing.

His fist slammed into quintuply-linked chain that seemed to be backed by a wall of stone.

"Yaaowww!"

"You don't want to go hittin' my cousin's boy Throde, friend," the chainmailed stone wall said, while the subject of his pleasant-voiced address danced and clutched his wounded fist. Tears welled out of his eyes. "It wasn't his fault somebody grabbed his tunic from behind and don't ask who. Besides, that mug didn't hurt your jewels or you'd never uv got up so fast. Sit down now and I'll bring you a full one."

"You big-that really is chain! I'm hurt!"

Ahdio lifted his hand between them and doubled it into a fist the size of an infant's head. "What hurts?"

"My ... f ..." The fellow trailed off. Staring at the fist and glancing at his considerably smaller one, he sank slowly down into his chair.

"That'll teach ya, Tarkle," one of the injured man's tablemates said.

Having hurt his knuckles and arm and been backed down, Tarkle was happy to snarl and reach for that man-with his uninjured hand. That fast, an enormous fist came down onto the table between them with a bang. Unable to stop his movement, Tarkle rammed his outstretched hand into the knuckles and stove up three fingers. He repeated his previous yaow.

Ahdio said only, "Now damn it-"

Lots of eyes watched while the table's complement sat in silence, with Ahdio bending over it and his fist resting in place. Slowly he straightened.

"Easy now, Tarkle, that beer's coming right up," he said, and turned to continue barward.

"Ahdio!" a female voice screamed. "Look out!"

At the same time as he reacted by hunching his shoulders and pushing his chin into his chest, Ahdio glanced in the direction of the cry. He saw the veiled lady, on her feet and pointing. Meanwhile he was pivoting, spinning, one tree branch arm straight out from his body. Fortunately only one man was on his feet behind him: Ahdio's forearm whacked into the side of Tarkle's neck. Tarkle went sideways over his own chair and onto his table. Its other occupants vacated their chairs with admirable speed even while Tarkle's wrist banged down on the table's edge. His knife vacated his fist. Throde's foot was on it before Tarkle's head whacked the table and bounced. While he was still disconcerted and seeing bright lights before his eyes, a huge hand closed on the back of his neck and hoisted him onto his feet. Never mind his watery legs; Ahdio walked him to the door. Along the way his other hand dropped to come up with another man.

"Gawk! Here! I didn't do nothin'!"

"Sure you did," Ahdio advised him in an equable voice. "You started this hothead off by yanking the hem of my cousin's boy's brand-new tunic. And a lovely good night to you both," he said, thrusting them out the door back-to-back with a twist and thrust of his arms. "Sorry, boys. Don't even think of coming back in tonight, mind."

"You-you sumbitch-"

"Yes, yes," Ahdio said, turning back into the doorway; "I never thought much of her myself."

Having demonstrated why he wore the mailcoat, he closed the wooden winter door against the cold, and with both hands swept back the thirty-one strands of dangling colored rope that for most of the year were the inn's only door. He was right in assuming that no one in Sly's Place was looking anywhere but at him. Standing there on the one-step entry platform he had installed to make it easy for comers-in to spot friends or empty tables, he gave them the full benefit of his lungs.

"Now that is enough trouble for one night! Settle damn it down! Throde: one round of Red Gold for everyone at True Brew prices. That includes you and me."

To the sound of applause, Ahdio returned to the bar. His customers made plenty of room. To Throde he spoke quietly: "Take care of our mysterious patron and her escort for the rest of the night, Throde."

The youth nodded. Anyone else might have said "You're not going to thank her?" but not Throde. Looking at the floor, he said, "I'm sorry, Ahdio. Thanks."

"Going to have to get you a club to wear in your belt, or brass knuckles. But forget the apology-I saw it all. Not your fault at all. Here. First one's for you. Next one's for me. Going to be an edgy night, Throde. Who the blazes is that woman?"

Throde had no answer. He served the veiled lady's table. She had two glasses of wine only, without ever showing her face; her companion put away several beers. There was no further trouble. Nevertheless, Ahdio was right: it was an edgy night. Avenestra, the teenaged girl in the skintight top and slit skirt, left with Frax and came back an hour or so later, alone. By then, about half of the patrons had departed Sly's Place, in various stages of inebriation. Avenestra went to the bar for a beer, specifying lots of foam, and approached that table by the wall.

"You a Bey behind that veil?" she asked, licking at the foam boiling above her blue-glazed mug.

"No," the blue-green veil said. "I'm Ahdio's girl. Just came in tonight to watch him work. Sure knows how to settle fights, doesn't he?"

"Uh-huh." Avenestra licked foam. "You sure better treat him right, Ahdio's gurl. He sure does have friends." And she moved off. Less than three-quarters of an hour later, she left with another man.

"I'd say she's about fourteen," the veiled Jodeera quietly murmured to Wints.

"About," Wints said.

"One more round before closing!" Ahdio called. "One, I say one more round and that's it. How about savin' wear and tear on our legs and puttin' hands in the air, dear friends?"

Wintsenay's hand went up, with many others. Ahdio and Throde went to work moving fast. No, Throde told his employer, he had not heard the veiled lady's voice.

"Just drink this one right down, Wints," his hooded and veiled employer said. "When the last of these scum is leaving, you leave too. I'm staying."

"Milady ..."

"Just get up and amble out with the last of them, Wintsenay."

"Yes'm."

The last round was served, and quaffed. More men left. Ouleh was long gone. The veiled lady had long since become the only woman in the place. Keeping an eye on her without seeming to, Ahdio announced closing. Throde went into the back room and returned with his broom, a reminder that could not be overlooked. Sweetboy meandered into the main room, yawning, glancing hopefully at the bar. More people straggled out. Ahdio helped one. Throde helped one. The last two, companions, rose. They hoisted their mugs to Ahdio and then to the woman whose face or even hair they had never seen, and drained their cups. With considerable pride, both departed without support.

"Not right out in front now, boys!" Ahdio called after them.

Looking a little nervous, teeth worrying his lip, Throde watched both men all the way out the door.

Ahdiovizun stared at the veiled lady. Throde looked at her, at Ahdio. Who knew where she was looking, under hood and behind veil?

"My lady ..." Ahdio began, and broke off as she rose to her feet.

He and Throde stared as she tossed back her hood, then unclasped the cloak, and with one hand pulled her veil straight out until it dropped free. Her hand fell to her side, carrying the veil. She said nothing. Neither did Ahdio. He stared, mouth open. He dropped one big hand to the back of a chair as if he needed support.

"Not," he said in a very low voice, "possible!"

"Oh," Throde said, with feeling, as he looked upon the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld.

The unveiled lady gazed at him while he and Throde stared at her. She said nothing.

"Throde," Ahdio said, and his voice sounded funny to his helper, "let's leave the tables and sweeping up till tomorrow. Go ahead home, and don't forget to be careful out there tonight."

Swallowing hard, looking at him, Throde stood blinking. He had never seen Ahdio look this way before. The big man looked ... stupid.

Also impatient. "Throde!"

Throde jerked as if awakening, and headed for the back room with his unused broom. The whole night had been truly unique, a succession of new experiences adding new knowledge to Throde's store. It had not ceased. No woman had ever stayed behind this way, not both sober and clothed. And saying absolutely nothing; she was merely ... being here. Nor had Ahdio ever behaved in such a way. Throde had often thought that his huge, tough and yet kind employer should have a woman; even women, in the plural. Yet he had never envisioned such a woman as this; never dreamed that she might be such a beauty as this veiled-as this now unveiled lady.

He set the broom in its place and made sure the back door was locked as well as barred. Then he swung his big hairy cloak about himself, pausing only long enough to lift the hood and close the clasp. Taking his staff, he headed for the front door. He walked between the man and the woman without looking at either, but noticed nevertheless that they remained as if frozen in place, gazing at each other in silence. As he reached the hanging before the door, a new thought struck him and he turned back.

"Ahdio? You're ... all right?"

"Of course. And you be careful, Throde." Ahdio spoke without looking at him. He stood as if in shock, thunder-struck.

"Uh." And, still nervous and going motherly, the youth said, "uh, don't-don't, uh, forget to lock the door after me, Ahdio."

"Good night, Throde."

Throde departed, pulling the door securely shut behind him.

The moment he was gone, the unveiled lady spoke. "I'm sorry I called that warning-you handled everything so well, and purely physically, too, without a sign of your Ability."

Her voice was soft and she seemed to lean toward him, but he stood stiffly, a dozen paces away. Glaring at her. Still he appeared to be in shock, and she saw pain in his face.

"What in four hells are you doing here, Jo?" He could not have made his displeasure more obvious, but the catch in his voice bespoke pain, too.

"I'm sorry I felt I had to come here, in disguise. It's all right, Ahdio, it's all right now. Ezucar died over four weeks ago. I left just days later. I had no care for what 'looked right,' Ahdio. I am a widow. I am free. I may even be able to smile again. I came straight here, with a caravan. I came looking for Ahdiomer Viz ... and I find one Ahdiovizun, wearing mail in a rough, low place peopled by rough, low patrons; tending bar and handling trouble with-with hands and strength alone?!"

He glanced away. "Yes, well ... this isn't Suma, and I had to leave. You know that." He took up a wet cloth and began rubbing the bar's counter-top.

"I know that you are a superlative wizard among wizards, and were surely on your way to being Chief Wizard and Advisor," she said, with a note almost of pleading in her voice. "And then you simply vanished." She looked around, gestured. "And I find you ... in this."

"I didn't vanish, Jodeera. I left because of a woman- she was the wife of a mighty well-off and powerful noble, and I loved her. I couldn't stand being so close to her; couldn't stand being in Suma anymore."

Perhaps he noticed her sudden pained look when he put the word "love" in the past tense; perhaps he did not. She was worse than uncomfortable; she felt positively wretched. Knowing that he was uncomfortable and worse did not help.

"I gave up my magickal practice," he said, staring at the bar, rubbing and rubbing it with his wet cloth. "Completely. I came here and became who and what I am. This is my life. And now-gods, Jo, gods ... why have you come here?"

She straightened up, lifted her chin, put back her shoulders. "Why don't you look at me, Ahdio, and I will tell you." She waited until he did so. She saw the torture in his large dark eyes and knew it showed in hers. First she swallowed hard, and then she told him: "Because that woman you loved; she loved you too and still does, and shamefully soon after Ezucar died, I came after you. Now I am not going to leave, my love; you might try throwing me out but I will not go back to Suma ... or anyplace else, except where you are."

With one huge hand on the bar as if he needed its support to keep his knees from buckling, he stared at her. The look of pain had not left his face. She could not imagine why until he said, "I am not about to take up Practice again, Jo. That is behind me. The wizard Ahdiomer Viz is no more."

"Oh?" she said, putting her head a little to one side. "What about the cats? And that assistant of yours- Throde?"

Again he looked away from her stricken eyes and her beauty. He heard the rustle and the quiet footsteps as she moved toward him, but would not look; could not. Could this be? Didn't she love what he had been, that brilliant and prospering Sumese wizard-on-the-rise? She was a woman of beauty and she had been married to wealth and power; Ezucar of Suma. This was ... this was Sly's Place.

And I am Ahdiovizun, not Ahdiomer Viz. Not anymore.

"That's different. That's all there is, and all there will be of my power and my Practice, Jodeera. I'm so out of practice that one of the cats left me and I can't even locate him. That's all buried. Ahdiovizun is the man who runs Sly's Place in the Maze in Sanctuary, and serves drinks wearing a coat of chain."

He partly turned and bent then, to wriggle his shoulders and let the mailcoat rustle clinkingly down over his head and arms. It became a smallish package, which he placed on the bar as if it were not at all heavy.

"Let it be buried with Ezucar then," she said softly, right beside him behind the bar, "and the rest of the past. The present is that I love you, Ahdio. What about the future? Can't we start it right now?"

He looked at her, and the tears he saw on her cheeks caused those in his eyes to well over. Then he was embracing her and being embraced, both of them striving to meld their bodies into one. The embrace lasted a long, long while, and surely no one who knew or thought he knew Ahdiovizun could imagine him weeping, as he wept now. Some of their murmuring was incoherent but most of it was the repeating of the other's name, over and over.

"Home is where Ahdio is," she murmured, in a moment of coherence, "and the rest of his name doesn't matter. I've come home."

At last she reminded him that he hadn't locked the front door. He did that, and they went upstairs.

The following night she was there, very much there and enough to bring gasps from every patron, men and women alike, and Ahdio stood and bellowed to gain their attention and silence while he made an announcement. What he made clear was that this was his woman. She had better not be touched or called out at or spoken to with disrespect. And Jodeera remained behind the counter, pouring, helping him and Throde.

Of course it did not work. Men who had never bothered to get themselves up and go to the bar kept doing so, rather than calling or signaling to Ahdio and Throde. They fetched and carried their own brew just to be able to approach the counter and have a look at her. Predictably, the looks became more intense and more lustful as the night wore on and the beer and wine flowed. Inevitably someone made a remark. Then someone else did. Someone else, whether from a sense of honor and rightness or in order to curry Ahdio's favor, conked that man with his fired clay cup. It broke on a hard head. The collapsing man's brother went after the mug-wielder. Ahdio came after them both and Throde went after his staff. Jodeera stood looking on, feeling pained and wretched again and showing it.

Her very presence here had caused trouble. Perhaps both she and Ahdio had known it would happen, but both hoped it would work, her beauty in this place. They had' told themselves it would be all right, that it would work out, because they wanted it so.

So there was trouble. Ahdio ended it, and Ahdio closed early.

"Oh darling," she quavered through her weeping, "I'm so sorry!"

"It wasn't your fault and we both know it. And we also know that now you're here, after last night and today, I am not about to let you go. Nothing is going to interfere. Nothing!"

Holding her so fiercely that his hands hurt her upper arms, he stared at her. His Jodeera, who had always been his Jodeera, but they had had to wait so long, so long. He knew what had to be done; what he had to do. He hated it, but he knew that he was going to do it. Tonight, Ahdiomer Viz had to be reborn. Just for tonight.

The hit on Throde came as he limped and tap-tapped homeward, leaning on his long staff. Since everyone knew he carried no money and was harmless, the motive of the three men was vengeance, not robbery. They could not get at Ahdio; they would have their fun with Throde. He recognized the ejected Tarkle and the two who had sat with him, and remained after.

They stood in a line across his path in the alley, smiling. To Throde, Tarkle loomed about as big as an outhouse. He made a show of looking all around. "Don't see Ahdio nowheres. Reckon he won't appear 'tween you and my fist this time. Gimp!"

Throde said nothing, and Tarkle made his move.

Then Throde did. The cripple's staff practically leaped across him into both his hands, becoming the quarterstaff it was. Right end went low to whack Tarkle's left leg just below the knee, hard; Throde reversed the push and pull of his arms and the staff's other end rapped the man's right arm, between shoulder and elbow. The swiftness of Throde's assuming the stance and delivering those blows was not believable, but Tarkle's pain was. He cried out at the first impact and moaned at the second. His better arm dropped to hang useless and he was staggering. Throde was still moving: third stroke high to catch the left side of Tarkle's neck with a meaty thup sound. The bully's only sound was a throaty noise. He went down. One of his astonished cronies had already started moving in; the third underwent a sudden attack of intelligence and paused to draw his dagger. Throde feinted to the right and drove the end of the stave straight into the stomach of his second attacker. He made a truly ugly noise and bent right over and Throde whacked him right on the top and back of his head. The fellow fell onto Tarkle. Tarkle was moving and groaning; his crony wasn't.

And the third man was coming in from the side, his knife out and held low in the manner of a man who knew how to use it on other men and had done so before.

His mouth dropped open. The cripple had shown that he could move, and move fast; now he moved even faster, and in a way and direction not at all believable. The knife glittered as it rushed in, its wielder partly crouched and extending his arm, and Throde wasn't there. He ran several steps right up the wall on his attacker's left with all the speed and facility of a frightened cat. Five steps up he wheeled and came dropping like a stone, his right shoulder hunched above the stave he held in both hands. The knife-wielder, going into shock or something like at the absolutely incredible, knew real fear. He made the wrong move. That cost him his eye, which his dodging put into the path of the down rushing quarterstaff. His cry was a shriek as he went down and Throde landed in a crouch. He had to yank his staff out of the man's eye socket and brain. The last three or four inches were dripping as he turned, crouching, to meet whatever had to be faced and braced next.

That was nothing; mumbling and whimpering, Tarkle was crawling away. Throde's arms quivered under the impetus of adrenaline and excitation, but he stopped himself.

"Guess Throde and me fooled you bastards," he snarled in the best fakey voice he could find.

Tarkle didn't look back. Tarkle kept right on crawling up the alley toward the light. Throde looked down at his two victims. They lay sprawled ugly, messily. So what? This was an alley in the Maze: Who cared?

Throde did. Shaking all over and leaning on his staff, he limped back to the house of Alamanthis, and awoke the physician. Then the youth went on home, limping, his staff clacking the street. Throde lived alone.

The following night, Ahdio and Throde worked alone. Once again Ahdio made an announcement, sadly: his woman was gone. That brought groans and embarrassed, chastened faces and expressions of sympathy. It was the first quiet night at Sly's Place in anyone's memory.

On the night following, however, Ahdio and Throde had help. Mostly she stayed behind the bar, pouring, slapping bread and sausage onto wooden plates. She was not attractive and furthermore was specifically unattractive, this new helper in Sly's. Her big chaincoated employer called her Cleya. Remarks were not made to her. No one bothered to approach the counter to get a look at her, in her long and nigh-shapeless gray dress. Ouleh announced that she liked this Cleya. The reason was simple, and it was Frax who put it best: "Whew. Got a face her mother couldn't love and I've saw better figures on brooms."

The woman now publicly called Cleya did not mind. To be with Ahdio at last, she accepted the price, even this. All her life her beauty had after all been more a curse than a blessing. One man, among all men, had treated her as other than an object, a bauble, and he was the only man she had ever loved. Her father and the powerful noble of wealth, Ezucar, had arranged and forced her marriage to the latter, who wanted an object and a bright and beautiful bauble to wear in public and at his parties. Meanwhile the man she loved had left Suma. Now, years later, she had followed and they were together. The two rooms above the tavern were eminently superior to the servant-staffed mansion of Ezucar. She was sorry that because of her Ahdio had felt that he must take up his Practice again. Yet it was only this once; it was enough and more than enough that at night in their apartment above Sly's Place in the Maze, his spell was off her so that the veil of ugliness was lifted, and she was again his beautiful Jodeera.