So he knew even then that his contact had not played him false; and that it wasJubal. He reached up and pulled off the tight blindfold and ran a hand throughhis hair as he stood and blinked at the black man who faced him across a tableand a single candle-a black man thinner and older than he ought to be, but painaged a man. White touched the ex-slaver's temples, amid the crisp black: lineswere graven deep beside the mouth, out from the flaring nostrils, deep betweendark, wrinkle-set eyes. Jubal's hands rested both visible on the scarredtabletop; those of the hawknosed man in the chair beside him were not visible atall. And Mradhon Vis, who lately sported a drooping black mustache to add to hisdusky sullenness, sat in the comer with one booted foot on the rung of the nextchair and elbow on knee, a broad-bladed knife catching the candlelight withtheatrical display.

A man shoved a chair up at Straton's back; he turned a slow glance that way,took the measure of that man the same as he had of the two more in the comer.Thieves. Brigands. Ilsigis. A Nisi renegade. Jubal from gods knew where. Andhimself, Rankan; the natural enemy of all of them.

"Sit down," Jubal said, a voice that made the air quiver. Straton did that,slowly, without any haste at all. Leaned back and put his hands in his belt andcrossed his ankles in front of him.

"I said I had a proposal," Straton said.

"From you or from the witch? Or from your commander?"

"From me. Privately. In regard to the other two."

Jubal's square-nailed finger traced an obscure pattern on the aged wood. "Yourcommander and I have a certain-history."

"All the more reason to deal with me. He owes the witch. She owes me. I wantthis town quiet. Now. Before it loses whatever it's got. If Tempus is here he'shere for reasons more than one."

"Like?"

"Like imperial reasons."

Jubal laughed. It was a snarl, a slow rumbling. He spoke something in sometongue other than Rankene. The man by him laughed the same. "The Emperor, is it?Is it treachery you propose? Treachery against your commander?"

"No. Nobody benefits that way. You make your living in this town. I haveinterests here. My commander has interests only in getting out of here. That'sin your interest. You can go back to business. I get what I want. My commandercan get out of here without getting tied down in a fight in Sanctuary streets.All that has to happen is a few weeks of quiet. Real quiet. No theft. No gangs.No evidence of sedition."

"Stepson, if your commander heard you promise that he'd have your guts out."

"Give me the quiet I need and I'll give you the quiet you need. You and Iunderstand each other. You won't have a friend left in our ranks-if I fall. Doyou understand me?"

"Do I understand you've got your price, Rankan?"

"Mutual advantage." Heat rose to his face. Breath came shorter. "I don't give adamn what you name it, you know where we all are: trade's slowed to a stop,shops are closed, taverns shut down-are you making money? Merchants aren't; youaren't; no one's happy. And you know and I know that if this PFLS crazinessgoes on we've got a town in cinders, trade gone down the coast, revolutionaryfools in control or martial law as long as it takes, and corpses up to theeaves. You see profit in that?"

"I see profit everywhere. I survive, Rankan."

"You're not fool enough to go up against the empire. You make money on it."

Bodies stiffened all around the room. Strat folded his arms across his chest andrecrossed his ankles top to bottom.

"He's right." Jubal snapped his fingers. "He said the right word. Let's see ifhe goes on making sense. Keep talking."

There was disturbance on the Street of Red Lanterns; but the crowd that gathereddid it in the discreet way of Red Lantern crowds: peered through windows and outof doorways of brothels and taverns and just stopped in ordinary passages downthe Street if they were far enough away. It was glitter and drama, was thisdistrict; and a great deal of the tawdry, and in this thunder-rattling night andthe bizarre quiet in town since the fire, it was a rougher-than-usual place, theclients that showed up being the sort who were less delicate about their ownsafety, the sort who took care of themselves. So the whores on the Street wereunsurprised at the commotion down by Phoebe's: the small office where Zaibar andthe remaining Hell-Hounds served quiet duty as policemen on the Street-thatoffice was unastonished tod, and tried to ignore the matter as long aspossible. Zaibar in fact was deliberately ignoring it, since rumor had spreadwho was on the Street.

He poured himself another drink, and looked up as a rider on a sorrel horse wentclattering past his office as if that man had business.

Stepson. He was relieved, and took a studied sip of the drink he had poured,feeling his problem on its way to resolution without him. The disturbance wasfar from the house in which he had a personal interest; and that rider headeddown the Street was one of Tempus's own, which interference stood a muchlikelier chance of curtailing the trouble down the street. So it was wise tohave sat still a moment and trust the problem to go away; the screams went on,but they would stop very shortly, only one life was in the balance, and themadam of the house (if not the whore) would probably agree that thisintervention was better than police.

They were nothing if not pragmatic on the Street.

"Well," said Jubal. "I like your attitude. I like a sensible man. Question is,is your commander going to like you tomorrow?"

"An empire runs on what works," Straton said. "Or it doesn't run. We can be verypractical."

Jubal considered a moment. A grin spread on his dark, lined face, all theater."This is my friend." He looked left and right at his lieutenants, and his voicehit registers that ran along the spine. "This is my good friend." Looking backat Straton. "Let's call it a deal-friend Straton."

Straton stared at him, with less of relief than of a profound sickness in hisgut. But it was a victory. Of sorts. It just did not come with parades andshouting crowds. It came of common sense. "Fine," he said. "Does this include adeal about that stupid blindfold? Where's my horse?"

"At the contact point. I'm afraid it doesn't include my whereabouts, friend. ButI'll send you back with a man you know, how's that? Vis."

Mradhon Vis slipped his knife into sheath and let the front legs of his chairmeet the floor as he got up.

It was not the man Strat would have chosen to go with, blindfolded and helpless,down an alley. Protesting it sounded like complaint and complaint did nothingfor a man's dignity in this situation that had little enough of dignity about itand precious little leeway. Straton stood up, his arms at his sides as a manbehind him took the chair away. Another man put the blindfold back in front ofhis eyes and tied it with no less uncomfortable firmness. "Dammit, watch it,"Straton muttered.

"Be careful of him," Jubal's deep voice said. But no one did anything about theblindfold.

It was less trouble finding Tempus than Crit had anticipated when he talked toNiko and knew where Tempus had gotten to. He reined in at Phoebe's Inn (so thesign said) and shoved the sorrel's reins through a ring at the building's side.There were bystanders; and part of their interest diverted to him, who addedhimself to the diversion-he scowled blackly and glanced around him with thequiet promise what would befall the hand that touched his horse or his gear.Then he walked on into Phoebe's front room and confronted the proprietor, a fatwoman with the predictable amount of gaud and matronly decorum. "Seen mycommander?" he asked directly.