They grumbled but they had been listening as well; none disagreed. Moria heldthe outer door for the men while Shiey gave her cupboards a final inspection.

"Took my best cleaver, didn't he?" She prowled quickly through the cutlery,slipping her favorite implements through the leather loops of her belt. "Here,lady." She spun around and flipped a serrated poultry knife the length of theroom. Moria felt the hardwood hilt smack into her palm before she'd consciouslydecided to catch the knife rather than dodge it. "Ain't nothin' can't be hurtwi' a good knife," Shiey informed her with a grin.

Walegrin shoved the trencher to one side. Whatever the barracks' cooks hadthrown into the dinner pot smelled as bad as the smoke he had breathed allafternoon, and tasted worse. He had men still out in the streets-more than adozen good men, not including Thrusher, who had yet to return from his specialprivate assignment. Maybe the palace had good reason for wanting plague signsplashed over every other color of graffiti out there; he hoped they did. Thepopulace was reacting with predictable panic.

He'd kept his men busy fighting but now the sun was down. A Rankan oar-bargeflying Vashanka's long-absent standard had tied up at the wharf, its passengersand cargo under imaginary quarantine. No one had yet seen a disease-slaincorpse; rumors were getting wilder and darker with each retelling. So farWalegrin didn't believe any of them, but some of the men were showing doubt atthe edges and the night had just begun.

Before he could decide on a course of action, the door to his quarters slammedopen admitting one of the veterans who'd been with him for years.

"Thrush's at the West Gate with Cythen. They've got a body between 'em an' theysay they won't give it over."

"Bloody hells," the commander exclaimed, crumpling his cloak in one fist. "Watchthe pot, Zump. I'll be back."

He went down the stairs at a run. He'd believed in Kama; believed in the mugs ofale she'd downed with Strat and him a scant week ago. He'd believed she hadn'tput an arrow in Straton and believed she was smart and wary enough to keepherself alive after it'd happened.

The temporary palace morgue was just beyond the public gallows. It glowedfaintly in the late twilight. With plague sign up the gravesmen were taking nochances and had laid a fair carpet of quicklime beneath their feet. Thrush wasarguing loudly with his escort as Walegrin approached.

"As you were," he commanded, positioning himself carefully between the gravesmenand the shrouded corpse. "What's the problem?"

"It's gotta stay here," the chief digger said, pointing to the dark objectbehind Walegrin's feet.

Thrusher sucked on his teeth. "But, Commander, he's one of ours: Malm. Hedeserves the rites inside-beside the men he served with for the last time."

Malm had died two years back and had never stood high in Thrush's estimation.Walegrin peered into the darkness. His friend's face was unreadable. Still, he'dknown Thrusher for thirteen years: if the little man wouldn't leave Kama's bodywith the gravedigger's there had to be a good reason.

"We tend our own," he told the gravesmen.

"The plague, sir. Orders: your orders."

It was easy for the straw-blond commander to lose his temper. "My man hasn't gotthe plague, damn you. He's got a big, bloody hole where his stomach used to be!Take him to the barracks, Thrush-now!"

Thrush and Cythen needed no urging to heave the sagging burden to theirshoulders and double-time it across the parade-ground while Walegrin dueledsilently with the gravediggers.

"Got to tell 'em," the gravesman said, looking away as he cocked a thumbtowardthe Hall of Justice dome. "Orders're orders. Even them's that make 'em can'tbreak 'em."

Walegrin ran a hand through the ragged hair that had escaped the bronze circleton his brow. "Take the message to Molin Torchholder, personally then. Tell himVashanka's rites -want performing in the barracks-plague or no plague."

The least of the diggers headed for the hall. Walegrin waited a moment, thenturned back toward the barracks, quite pleased with himself. Until the gravesmanthreatened him, he hadn't been certain how he was going to get a message to hismentor without drawing the wrong kind of attention.

"Upstairs-Cythen's room," Zump said as soon as he'd crossed the barracks'threshold. Every one of the half-dozen men in the room was watching him. But atleast they weren't thinking about plague or imperial barges. Walegrin forcedhimself to walk slowly as he climbed the half-flight of stairs to where Cythen,the only woman billeted with the regular garrison, slept.

Thrush and Cythen stood guard outside the open door.

"How is she?" Walegrin asked as they slid the bolt open.

"I'm fine," Kama assured him herself, swinging long, leather-clad legs off ofCythen's bed.

A dark smear covered most of the right side of her face but it seemed mostlysoot. She wasn't moving like she'd taken too much punishment.

"I guess I owe you my life," she said uncomfortably.

"I didn't think you'd kill Strat. You'd had too many opportunities before-betteropportunities. And you wouldn't care if he was shacked up with the witch."

She scowled. "You're right on the first, anyway."

"Piffles, Chief," Thrusher interjected from the open doorway. "Two of themguarding the cellar we found her in."

Kama stood in front of Walegrin, looking through and beyond him. She had thatway about her-even dressed in scratched and rag-tied leather she had eleganceand, however unconsciously, the powerful demeanor of her father. The garrisoncommander never had the upper hand with her.

"Personal?" he stammered.

"Personal? Personal? Gods, no. They saw me with Strat and you. They thought I'dsold out-nothing personal about that," she snapped.

Then why lock her up and put an arrow in Strat? And why Strat and not him?-hewas every bit as easy to find. It was personal, all right, as personal as thesharp-faced PFLS leader could make it.

"You've got worse problems," Walegrin told her.

Finally she turned away, watching the lamp-flame as if it were the center of theuniverse. "Yeah, so they tell me. He used one of Jubal's arrows, didn't he? Allhell broke loose, didn't it?"

Walegrin couldn't suppress a bitter laugh. "Not quite. Came close. Seems someonecame out of the witch's house an' dragged .Strat back in. Stepsons thoughtthey'd go in to rescue him. Found the place'd been warded: Nisi warded-likeyou'd remember, I guess. Old Critias lit back for the palace and found out thatRoxane'd broken out of wherever she'd been hiding and went there 'cause someslave-apprentice of Ischade's'd stolen a Globe of Power and stashed it there.So, no, hell didn't quite break out-it's sort of holed up there in the old Peresplace."

Kama ran her hands through her hair. Her shoulders sagged and when she turnedaround again she looked straight at Walegrin. "There's more, isn't there." Shedidn't make it a question.

"Yeah. There's a boat down at the wharf with Vashanka's arrows flying from itsmast. They say it's Brachis at the least and maybe our new Emperor as well.Can't be sure because we've told them the town's under plague sign: no one fromSanctuary's been on board; no one's gotten off either. Whatever it is, it's gotthe whole damn palace fired up. They mean to have the town quiet if they have tokill every known troublemaker before sunrise-and your name's at the top ofeveryone's list. Word was that you didn't even have to be brought in alive."

"Crit?" she asked. "Tempus?"