"Debt?"

"Yes," he said, and never looked at her the while. She had, she thought, guessedwrong.

"But not," she said, "Caronnese."

There was silence.

"Northern," she said.

He said nothing. The sweat ran on his face. He never moved: could not, while shewilled; but never tried: she would have felt a trial of her hold.

"They question you, don't they, about me?- each time. And what do you tellthem?"

"There's nothing to tell them, is there?"

"I doubt that they are kind. Are they? Do you love them, these masters of yours?Do you know what you're really for?"

A flush stained his face. "No," she said sombrely, answering her own question."Or you'd run, even knowing what you'd pay." She touched him as she might somefine marble, and there was such hunger, such desire for something so fine-ithurt.

"This time," she said after measuring that thought, "I take the gift... but Ido with it what I like. My back door, Haught, is on the river, a greatconvenience to me; and bodies often don't surface, do they? Not before the sea.So they won't expect to find you ... So just keep going, do you hear? Servesthem right. Go somewhere. I set you free."

"You can't-"

"Go back to them if you like. But I wouldn't, if I were you. This messagedoesn't need an answer. Don't you reckon what that means? I'd keep running,Haught-no, here." She went to the closet and picked clothing, a fine blue cloakmany visitors left such remembrances behind. There were cloaks, and boots, andshirts-all manner of such things. She threw it at him; went to the table andwrote a message. "Take this back to them if you dare. Can you read?"

"No," he said.

She chuckled. "It says you're free." She took a purse from the table (anotherrelic) and gave that into his hand. "Stay in Sanctuary if you choose. Or go.Take my word. They might kill you-but they might not. Not if they read thatnote. Do as you please and get out of here."

"They'll find me," he protested.

"Trust the note," she said, "or use the back door and the bridge."

She waved her hand. He hesitated one way and the other, went toward the frontand then fled for the back, for the riverside. She laughed aloud, watching hisflight from her doorway, watched him run, run down the riverside until the darkswallowed him.

But after the laughter was dead she read the message they had sent her a secondtime and burned it in the lamp, letting the ashes fall and scorch an amber silk,carelessly.

So Vashanka's faction went on wanting her services, and offered three times thegold. She cared nothing for that at present, having all she cared to have. Shecared not to be more conspicuous, no, not if they offered her a palace for herservices. And they could.

How would that be, she wondered, and how long till neighbors rebelled at thesteady disappearances? She could buy slaves... but enter the Prince's court,but live openly-?

The thought amused, the way irony might. She could herself become Jubal, in atrade that would well suit her needs. A pity she had already taken hire-

But the irony of it palled and the bitterness stayed. Perhaps the Vashankalovers suspected what they did. Perhaps they had some inkling of her motives orthe need-and so they sent the likes of Haught, a messenger they expected to havehad thus silenced on the first visit, then to supply her with more and more; ora lure they dragged past her with cynical cruelty, to ascertain how much theybelieved was truth-what she was, and how long her restraint might go on.

She thought on Haught and thought, as she had each time he came to her; and thattoo they had surely intended. The hunger grew. Soon it would be too strong.

"Vis," she said aloud. The images merged in her mind, Vis and Haught, two darkforeigners, both of whom she had let go-because she was not pitiless. There washell in the slave's eyes, like hers. Time after time he had passed that door ineither direction, and the hell grew, and the terror that was itself a lure-onecould develop such a taste, for the beauty and the fear, for gentility. Like adrug. She had more pride.

She had had no intention of going out at all tonight. But the restlessness grew,and she hated them for that, for what they had done, that now she would kill,the way she always killed-but not in the way they thought. It was the luck thatfollowed her, the curse an enemy had laid on her.

She slung on her black cloak and pulled up the hood as she went out by that backway as well, through the small vine-tangled garden and past the gate to the

river walk, pace, pace, pace along the unpaved way.

And pace, pace, pace along the bridge, a striding of small slippered feet, softagainst the wooden planks; and onto the wet pavings and then the paveless alleysof the Downwind. She hunted, herself the lure, as the slave had been-

Perhaps she would find him, lingering too long in his flight. Then she wouldhave no compunction. A part of her hoped for this, and savored the trust theremight be at first, and then the terror; and part of her said no.

She was fastidious. The first accoster she met disgusted her, and she left himdazed by the close encounter of her eyes, as if he had forgotten why he was inthis place at all; but the second took her fancy, being young and with thatarrogance of the street tough, the selfish self-doubt that amused her in itsundoing, for most of that ilk recognized her in their heart of hearts, and knewthat they had met what they had hated all their twisted lives-

That kind was worth the hunt. That kind had no gentler core, to wound her withregret. This one had no regret in him, and no one in all the world would misshim.

There was an abundance of his kind in Sanctuary and its adjuncts; it was why shestayed in this place, who had known so many cities: this city deserved her...like the young man who faced her now.

She thought of Haught still running, and laughed a twisted laugh, but soon theassailant/victim was too far gone to hear, and in the next moment she was.

iv

"Money," Mor-am said, sweating. His hands shook and he folded his arms about hisribs under his cloak, casting a furtive look this way and that down the alley ofShambles Cross, on the Sanctuary-ward side of the bridge. "Look, I've got a manin sight; it just takes a little to get him here. Meanwhile even Downwind takesmoney-leading a man anywhere takes money."

"Maybe more than you're worth," the man said, a man who frightened him, even inthe open alley, alone. "You know there's a string on you. You know how easy itis to draw it in. Maybe I should just say-produce the man. Bring him here. Ormaybe we ought to invite you in for a talk. Would you like that,-hawkmask?"

"You've got it wrong." Mor-am's teeth chattered. The night wind felt cold evenfor the season; or it was Becho's stuff working at his stomach. He locked hisarms the tighter. "I take chances for what I get. I've got connections. Itdoesn't mean I'm-"

"If we hauled you in," the man said, ever so softly with the animals gruntingsoftly in the distance, doomed to the axe in the morning, "if we did that they'djust change all the drops and meeting places, wouldn't they? So we dribble coininto your hand and you supply us names and places and times, and they do workdon't they? But if they should be wrong-maybe I've got someone supplying meyours. Ever wonder that, Wriggly? Maybe you're not the only hawk-mask who wantsto turn coat. So let's not make up tales. Where? Who? When?"

"Name's Vis. At Mama Becho's."

"That's a tight place. Not easy to get at."

"That's my point. I get him to you." There was a silence. The manbrought out silver pieces and dropped them into Mor-am's hand, then clenchedfingers on his as they closed. "You know," the Rankan said, "the last onenamed your name."