Dubro stared at the ground, fumbling with his hands in evident distress.

'In the rain I cannot see the sun - how shall I know when to return?'

Guard and smith stared at the steely-grey sky, both knowing it would not clearbefore nightfall. Then, with a loud sigh, the Hell Hound walked to the ropes,selected and untied one, which dropped Dubro's 'father' into the mud.

'Take him and begone!'

Dubro shouldered the dead man, walking to Illyra who waited at the edge of theexecution grounds.

'He's - he's -' she gasped in growing hysteria.

'Dead since sunrise.'

'He's covered with filth. He reeks. His face ...'

'You wanted another for the sacrifice.'

'But not like that!'

'It is the way of men who have been hung.'

They walked back towards the charnel-house where Sanctuary's undertakers andembalmers held sway. There, for five copper coins, they found a man to preparethe body. For another coin he would have rented them a cart and his son as adigger to take the unfortunate ex-thief to the common field outside the Gate ofTriumph for proper burial. Illyra and Dubro made a great show of grief, however,and insisted that they would bury their father with their own hands. Wrapped ina nearly clean shroud, the old man was bound to a plank. Illyra held the footend, Dubro the other. They made their way back to the bazaar.

'Do we take the body to the temple for the exchange?' he asked as they pushedaside their chairs to make room for the plank.

Illyra stared at him, not realizing at first that his faith in her had made thequestion sincere.

'During the night the Rankan priests will leave the governor's palace for theestate called Land's End. They will bear Marilla with them. We will have to stopthem and replace Marilla with our corpse, without their knowledge.'

The smith's eyes widened with disillusion. 'Lyra, it is not the same as stealingfruit from Blind Jakob! The girl will be alive. He is dead. Surely the priestswill see.'

She shook her head clinging desperately to the image she had found inmeditation. 'It rains. There will be no moonlight, and their torches will givemore smoke than light. I gave the girl cylantha. They will have to carry her asif she were dead.'

'Will she take the drug?'

'Yes!'

But Illyra wasn't sure - couldn't be sure - until they actually saw theprocession. So many questions: if Marilla had taken the drug, if the processionwere small, unguarded and slowed by their burden, if the ritual were like theone in her dream. The cold panic she had felt as the stone descended on herreturned. The Face of Chaos loomed, laughing, in her mind's eye.

'Yes! She took the drug last night,' she said firmly, dispelling the Face byforce of will.

'How do you know this?' Dubro asked incredulously. 'I know.'

There was no more discussion as Illyra threw herself into the preparation of amacabre feast that they ate on a table spread over their dead guest. The vaguepoint of sundown passed, leaving Sanctuary in a dark rainy night, as Illyra hadforeseen. The continuing rain bolstered her confidence as they moved slowlythrough the bazaar and out of the Common Gate.

They faced a long, but not difficult, walk beyond the walls of the city. AsDubro pointed out, the demoiselles of the Street of Red Lanterns had to followtheir path each night on their way to the Promise of Heaven. The ladies giggledbehind their shawls at the sight of the two bearing what was so obviously acorpse. But they did nothing to hinder them, and it was far too early for themore raucous traffic returning from the Promise.

Huge piles of stone in a sea of muddy craters marked the site of the new temple.A water-laden canopy covered sputtering braziers and torches; otherwise the areawas quiet and deserted.

It is the night of the Ten-Slaying. Cappen Varra told me the priests would bebusy. Rain will not stop the dedication. Gods do not feel rain! Illyra thought,but again did not know and sat with her back to Dubro quivering more from doubtand fear than from the cold water dripping down her back.

While she sat, the rain slowed to a misty drizzle and gave promise of stoppingaltogether. She left the inadequate shelter of the rock pile to venture nearerthe canopy and braziers. A platform had been built above the mud at the edge ofa pit with ropes dangling on one side that might be used to lower a body intothe pit. A great stone was poised on logs opposite, ready to crush anythingbelow. At least they were not too late - no sacrifice had taken place. BeforeIHyra had returned to Dubro's side, six torches appeared in the mist-obscureddistance.

'They are coming,' Dubro whispered as she neared him.

'I see them. We have only a few moments now.'

From around her waist she unwound two coils of rope taken from the bazaar forge.She had devised her own plan for the actual exchange, as neither the dreamspirit nor her meditations had offered solid insight or inspiration.

'They will most likely follow the same path we did, since they are carrying abody also,' she explained as she laid the ropes across the mud, burying themslightly. 'We will trip them here.'

'And I will switch our corpse for the girl?'

'Yes.'

They said nothing more as each crouched in a mud-hole waiting, hoping, that theprocession would pass between them.

The luck promised in her dream held. Molin Torchholder led the small procession,bearing a large brass and wood torch from Sabellia's temple in Ranke itself.Behind him were three chanting acolytes bearing both incense and torches. Thelast two torches were affixed to a bier carried on the shoulders of the lastpair of priests. Torchholder and the other three trod over the ropes withoutnoticing them. When the first pallbearer was between the ropes Illyra snappedthem taut.

The burdened priests heard the smack as the ropes lifted from the mud, but weretripped before they could react. Marilla and the torches fell towards Dubro, thepriests towards Illyra. In the dark commotion, Illyra got safely to a nearbypile of building stones, but without being able to see if Dubro had accomplishedthe exchange.

'What's wrong?' Torchholder demanded, hurrying back with his torch to light thescene.

'The damned workmen left the hauling ropes strewn about,' a mud-splatteredpriest exclaimed as he scrambled out of the knee-deep mud-hole.

'And the girl?' Molin continued.

'Thrown over there, from the look of it.'

Lifting his robes in one hand, Molin Torchholder led the acolytes and priests tothe indicated mud-pit. Illyra heard sounds she prayed were Dubro making his ownway to the safe shadows.

'A hand here.'

'Damned Ilsig mud. She weighs ten times as much now.'

'Easy. A little more mud, a little sooner won't affect the temple, but it's anill thought to rouse the Others.' Torchholder's calm voice quieted the others.

The torches were re-lit. From her hideout, Illyra could see a mud-covered shroudon the bier. Dubro had succeeded somehow: she did not allow herself to thinkanything else.

The procession continued on towards the canopy. The rain had stopped completely.A sliver of moonlight showed through the dispersing clouds. Torchholder loudlyhailed the break in the clouds as an omen of the forgiving, sanctifying,presence of Vashanka and began the ritual. In due time the acolytes emptiedbraziers of oil on to the shroud, setting it and the corpse on fire. Theylowered the naming bier into the pit. The acolytes threw symbolic armloads ofstone after it. Then they cut the ropes that held the cornerstone in its placeat the edge. It slid from sight with a loud, sucking sound.