Lalo wondered that the Commissioners had consented to it. Since they came theyhad been busy with inspections and meetings, and listening to interminablereports. Perhaps they were glad of a chance to sit still. Or perhaps they fearedthe consequences of refusing to contribute to a gift for their Emperor, orpossibly they really were eager to have their visit to this outpost of Empireimmortalized. Raximander, at least, had appeared to take the sitting as tacitagreement from Lalo to paint another portrait which the Commissioner would beallowed to see.

Now the picture of the Archpriest was almost complete beside Lord Raximander's.If the thing had been meant seriously, Lalo would have wanted several hours moreto work on the finishing of the gown and hair, but it was already sufficient forthe Vizier's purposes. Lalo looked at it with normal vision for the first timeand repressed a sigh.

Why had he dared to hope that just because the man was a priest he would bevirtuous? But Arbalest was not a pig-more of a weasel, Lalo thought, noting thecovert cunning of his gaze.

"If you are tired we can end the sitting now." He bowed to the priest. "I willnot need your presence for what remains."

When the priest had gone Lalo refilled his mug from the pitcher of beer providedby Coricidius. Aside from the infamous manner of the commission, the Vizier hadnot treated him badly. Having blackmailed him into painting, the old man was atleast allowing him to do so in comfort. They had set aside a pleasant room onthe second floor of the Palace for his use-at the front next to the roof gardenso that windows on three sides gave him light-working conditions, at least, wereideal.

But the painting was an abomination. Lalo forced himself to look at it again. Hehad sketched in columns and a carven ceiling just in case someone should catch aglimpse of the canvas from far away. But the faces with which he was filling theforeground made the rich surroundings seem a travesty.

Everyone at the Palace appeared to believe the tale that the painting was abribe to the Emperor, and some, believing that this must give Lalo someinfluence, were already toadying to him. Even to Gilla, Lalo had had to pretendthat the midnight arrest was a mistake and the commission real. But if she didnot believe him, for once she had the sense to let the subject alone.

Would others do the same? What if the project became so famous that peopleinsisted on seeing the picture? What if one of his sitters proved nimble enoughto get a good look before Lalo could call the guard?

Lalo sighed again, drained his mug, and told the Hell-Hound currently on duty tobring the third subject in.

Lalo sat oh a low stool next to the table where he had laid out his paintingthings, waiting, like them, for the fourth of the Commissioners to arrive forhis sitting. He supposed that he had been lucky to get in Arbalest and the royalrelative yesterday-he glanced at the third picture with distaste. "Somethingoxis," the man's name was, but already he had trouble remembering. Notsurprising-his portrait revealed a bovine complacence that avoided evil mainlythrough lack of energy.

And these are the pride of Ranke? thought Lalo. He found himself almost gratefulto Coricidius. I would never have known-he grimaced at the painting again-Iwould have uprooted my family to seek my fortune in the capital, innocentlycertain it must be superior to Sanctuary. But there, the evil is only betterdisguised....

From the courtyard below he could hear the even tramp of bullhide sandals-thePrince's Guard was drilling again. These days, even the City garrison marchedand polished their armor, but whether it was in hopes of being sent to the waror the opposite, he did not know. Nor, at this moment, did he care. He found ithard to believe that any new invader could make things any better, or worse, inSanctuary.

Still, the incessant marching made him nervous, as if his former certaintieswere illusions, and just around the corner lay some new threat that he could notsee. Restlessly he paced to the window, and was just turning back when the guardbrought the fourth sitter in.

"My Lord Zanderei!" Lalo bowed to the man to whom he had spoken at thereception. "Please be seated-" he indicated the sitter's chair.

"I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Master Limner," the man said plaintively,settling himself. "I was detained at the warehouses. There seems to be someconfusion regarding the grain supplies set aside for the war ..."

Lalo busied himself with his paints to hide a grin. He could well imagine thatthe web of bribes, kickbacks, substitutions and out-and-out shortchangingcharacteristic of business in Sanctuary would make "confusion" anunderstatement. Why had they sent such a clerkly little mouse to deal with thesituation here? Glancing at him again, Lalo realized that Zanderei had one ofthe least remarkable faces he had ever seen.

I suppose it comes of a life-time of deference, he thought. The man displayed noindividuality at all. But for the first time in this project Lalo found himselfeager to set brush to canvas, knowing that once he did, no dissimulation couldhide the truth of the man from him.

"Am I posed correctly? I can turn my head the other way if you like, or fold myhands ..."

"Yes, clasp your hands-your head is very well as it is. You must relax, sir, andthink how near your business is to its conclusion..."Lalo poured thinner intothe cup and dipped his brush.

"Yes," Zanderei echoed softly. "I am almost done. A week or less will show me ifI have accomplished all I was sent to do. The conflict draws very close to usnow." His thin lips curved in the faintest of smiles.

Lalo's eyes narrowed. He drew his brush through the light ochre and began.

A half hour went by, and an hour. Lalo worked steadily without really beingconscious either of the passage of time or of what he was doing. Zanderei waslight and shadow, color and texture and line-a problem in interpretation. Theartist adjusted to the changing light and even gave his model permission to movefrom time to time without emerging from the trance which was his art and hisspell.

Then, from the Hall of Justice below, the gong for the fourth watch began totoll. Zanderei got to his feet, grey robes shifting like shadow around him.Lalo, fighting his way back to awareness like a man awakening from sleep, sawthat dusk was beginning to gather in the corners of the room.

"I am sorry. I must go now." Zanderei took a few steps forward, more smoothlythan Lalo would have expected, considering how long the man had been sittingstill.

"Oh, of course-forgive me for keeping you so long."

"Are you finished? Will you want me to come to you again?"

Lalo looked at the picture, wondering if he had captured the reality of thisman. For a moment he did not understand what he saw. He glanced quickly at theother portraits, but they had not changed, and paint still glistened wetly wherehe had given a last touch to Zanderei's hair. But he had never been unable torecognize the model in one of his portraits before...

He saw a face like stone, like steel, a face with no life but in the eyes, andthere only an ancient pain. And in the hands of this image, a bloodied knife wasgripped fast.

Coricidius wanted to see these men's weaknesses-but I see death here!

And like the canvas, Lalo's face must have revealed the tumult in his soul, fornow Zanderei was blurring towards him in a swordsman's swift rush that broughthim past Lalo to comprehend the picture in one searching stare and still in thesame motion to whirl and flick into the throat of the oncoming guardsman a knifethat had been hidden in his sleeve.