She had. Chins doubled and undoubled and painted mouth formed a word.

"Where?"

She pointed. "T-two of them," she said. "F-foreign lady, sh-she-"

That took no guesswork. "Tell my commander Critias is downstairs. Do it."

There was another scream from upstairs. Of a different pitch. For a whorehousethe desertion of the front room was remarkable. Not a whore of either gendercame out of the alcoves. The madam ran the stairs and went careening down theupstairs hall, vanishing into the dark.

And still not a beaded curtain shadowed in the downstairs. Not a sound, exceptupstairs: a knock at a door, the madam's voice saying something unintelligible.

A door opened finally. A heavier tread sounded in the upstairs and Crit lookedup as Tempus appeared at the head of the stairs-looked up with a stolid face anda moil of trepidation in his own gut that was only partly due to disturbingTempus at this particularly agitated moment.

He watched Tempus come down the stairs; stood quietly with his hands in his beltand composed himself to inner quiet.

And it occurred to him, staring Tempus eye to eye, that he had been a fool andthat he might have just killed the partner he was trying to save, because it wasnot reason he saw there.

"What?" Tempus asked with economy.

"Strat-after we cleaned up on riverside, the witch-left. Strat and I partedcompany. He's gone missing. He's not back at riverside."

Of a sudden it seemed like his problem, like something he never should havebrought here. He seemed like a thoroughgoing fool. There was another tread onthe stairs now, and that was Jihan coming down, trouble in duplicate. ButTempus's face got that masklike look, his long eyes gone inward and deep as helooked aside, a frown gathering and tightening about his mouth.

"How far-missing?" Tempus asked with uncomfortable accuracy and looked himstraight in the eye.

"He told me to go to hell," Crit said, had not wanted to say, but Tempus did notencourage reticence with that look. "Commander, he'd listen to you. She's gothim-bad. You, he'd listen to. Not me. I'm asking you."

For a long, long moment he reckoned Tempus was going to tell him go to hell too.And assign him there. But he was a shaken man, was Critias. He had seen the mostpractical-minded man he knew go crazy and desert him. Possession he could havecoped with; he might have put an end to Strat the way he would have dispatched acomrade in the field, gut-wounded and suffering and hopeless; a man dreamedabout a thing like that and never forgot it, but he did it. Not this time. Notwith Strat cursing him to his face and telling him he was wrong. He wasaccustomed to regard Strat when he said wrong and stop, and hold it, Crit, Crit,stop it-. Straton the level-headed. Straton who seemed at one moment coldlyrational and in the next rode off on-whatever that bay horse had become. "Wheredid you leave him?"

"Mageguild post. He left me. He rode off. I-lost track of him. He wasn't atIschade's. I thought he'd come to you. Niko said not, Niko said-find you."

Tempus exhaled a long breath, took the sword he was carrying and hung it whereit belonged. Thunder rattled. The inn echoed with it as Jihan came on down thesteps. "Barracks, maybe," Jihan said. "I don't think so," Crit said. "Where doyou think he's gone?" Tempus asked. "To do something," Crit said, and out ofthat fund of knowledge a pairbond held: "To prove something."

Tempus took that in with a grave and quiet look. "To whom?"

"To me. To you. He's being a fool. I'm asking you-"

"You want an order from me? Or you want me to find him?"

Of a sudden Crit did not know what he wanted. One seemed too little; the other,fatal.

"I'll find him," Crit said. "I thought you'd better know."

"I know," Tempus said. "He's still in command of the city. Tell him he'll be atPeres on time. And he won't have done anything stupid; tell him that too."

A horse snorted softly, hooves shifted on cobbles; and Straton heard the soundof their steps between narrow walls, knew before the hands left his arms thatthey had come back to the alley and the little stable-nook where he had left thebay. He felt the grip lift, heard retreating steps as he raised his hands andpulled the blindfold off. The bay whickered softly. A trio of cloaked figureswent rapidly down the alley, one more than had brought him; the third would bethe man who had kept the horse safe in the interval.

He walked over and patted the bay's neck, finding his hands shaking. Not fromany fear of violence. Even Vis's personal grudge did not do that to him. It washimself. It was knowing what he had done.

He took the reins and swung up to the bay's back, reined about to ride out ofthe alley and caught his balance as the bay rose up under him: a cloaked shadowhad slipped round the comer in front of him.

"That horse isn't hard to find," Haught said as the bay walked backward and camedown on four feet again, still shying. Strat reined him out of it, and held him,hand to the sword he had never given up.

"Damn you-"

Haught held up something between two fingers. "Calm yourself. She sent me. Withthis."

Strat reined the bay quieter, still too wary to bring his horse alongside a manwho might have a knife. He slid down to his own feet, keeping the reins in hand,met the ex-slave on a level and took the object Haught offered at arm's length.

A ring lay in his palm. It was Ischade's.

"She wants you-not at the uptown house tomorrow. Stay away. Come to theriverhouse. After midnight."

He closed his hand on the ring. A shudder ran through him with a reaction he hadno wish to betray to the slave's amusement. He kept his face cold and his voicesteady. "I'll be there," he said.

"I'll tell her that," Haught said with uncommon civility, and whisked himselfaround the comer again.

Strat slipped the ring on his littlest finger, and suffered a spasm that tookhis sight away. The bay horse pulled the reins from his hands and then,sheepish, stood there with the reins adangle while his master recollected hissight and got his heart settled from its pounding.

It was apology, from Ischade. It was invitation as plain as ever witch or womansent a man. His heart pounded as he climbed up to the saddle and clenched hisfist on the ring that had now the slow sweet bliss krrf never matched.

He fought his head clear, knew that what the slave asked- what she asked-wastrouble, trouble not with Crit this time. Trouble that might take everything hehad done and his life and sweep everything away, but the witch knew that, butIschade wanted him and by this gift he knew how much she wanted him; he felt itcontinually and the world swam in front of his eyes.

What are you doing? he asked her in absentia. Do you know what you're asking?

And in the gnawing doubt that had been between them at the beginning and nowagain: Does it matter to you?

The bay moved, and the alley passed in a blur of starlit cobbles, the glare of alantern. Things passed in and out of focus.

And in a profound effort he took the ring from off his finger and put it in hispocket where it was only mildly euphoric.

Sweat ran on his body. He mopped at his face, raked his hair back and tried tothink despite the erotic mist that hazed the seeping brick, the effluvium ofrubbish and the gutter. The bay's steps clopped along with a distant, dazed echoin the alley's wending transformation into a street where a dope den and atavern maintained half-open doors and a clutch of krrf-dazed sleepers sitting inthe mire outside. Music wailed; strings needed tuning. No one cared, least ofall the player. The alley meandered on. The horse did, while the mist came andwent.