He was no more sure of his age than anyone else. He might have lived a score ofyears. It might have been fewer. Had a creditable moustache before he wasfifteen.

The raven-wing hair, tending to an indecisive curl, covered his ears withoutreaching his shoulders. He'd an earring under that hair, on the left. Few knewit. Had it done at fourteen, to impress her who took his virginity that year.(She was twoscore-and-two then, married to a man like a building stone with abelly. She's a hag with a belly out to here, now.)

'The lashes under those thick glossy brows of his are so black and thick theylook almost kohled, like a woman's or a priest over in Yenized,' a man calledWeasel told Cusharlain, in the Vulgar Unicorn. 'Some fool made that remark once,in his presence. The fellow wears the scar still and knows he's lucky to bewearing tongue and life. Should have known that a bravo who wears two .throwingknives on his right arm is dangerous, and left-handed. And with a name likeShadowspawn ...!'

His name was not Shadowspawn, of course. True, many did not know or no longerremembered his name. It was Hanse. Just Hanse. Not Hanse Shadowspawn; peoplecalled him the one or the other or nothing at all.

He seemed to wear a cloak about him at all times, a thoughtful S'danzo toldCusharlain. Not a cloak of fabric; this one concealed his features, his mind.Eyes hooded like a cobra's, some said. They weren't, really. They just did notseem directed outward, those glittering black onyxes he had for eyes. Perhapstheir gaze was fixed on the plank-sized chips on his shoulders. Mighty easilyknocked off.

By night he did not swagger, save when he entered a public place. Night ofcourse was Hanse's time, as it had been Cudgel's. By night ... 'Hanse walks likea hungry cat,' some said, and they might shiver a bit. In truth he did not. Heglided. His buskins' soft soles lifting only a finger's breadth with each step.They came down on the balls of the feet, not the heels. Some made fun of that not to Hanse - because it made for a sinuous glide strange in appearance. Thebetter-born watched him with an aesthetic fascination. And some horripilation.Among females, highborn or otherwise, the fascination was often layered withinterest, however unwilling. Most then said the predictable: a distasteful,rather sexy animal; that Hanse, that Shadowspawn.

It had been suggested to him that a bit of committed practice could make him areal sword-slinger: he was a natural. Employment, a uniform ... Hanse was notinterested. Indeed he sneered at soldiers, at uniforms. And now he hated them,with a sort of unreasoning reason.

These things Cusharlain learned, and he began to know him called Shadowspawn.And to dislike him. Hanse sounded the sort of too-competent young snot you stepaside for - and hate yourself for doing it.

'Hanse is a bastard!' This from Shive the Changer, with a thump of his fist onthe broad table on which he dealt with such as Hanse, changing loot into coin.

'Ah.' Cusharlain looked innocently at him. 'You mean by nature.'

'Probably by birth too. A bastard by birth and by nature! Better that all suchcocky snotty stealthy arrogant bravos were stillborn!'

'He's bitten you then, Shive?'

'A bravo and a lowborn punk he is, and that's all.'

'Punk?'

'Well ... perhaps a cut above punk.' Shive touched his mous-tachioes, which hekept curled like the horns of a mountain goat. 'Cudget was a damned good thief.The sort of fellow who made the trade honourable. An art form. A pleasure doingbusiness with. And Hanse was his apprentice, or nearly, sort of ... and he hasthe potential of being an even better thief. Not man - thief.' Shive wagged afinger made shiny by wax. 'The potential, mind you. He'll never realize it.' Thefinger paused on its way back to stroke one moustachio.

'You think not,' Cusharlain said, drawing Shive out, pulling words from a manwho knew how to keep his mouth shut and was alive and wealthy because he did.

'I think not. He'll absorb a foot or so of sharp metal long before. Or dance onthe air.'

'As, I remind you, Cudget did,' Cusharlain said, noting that within the trade noone said 'hanged'.

Shive took umbrage. 'After a long career! And Cudget was respected! He'srespected still.'

'Umm. Pity you admire the master but not the apprentice. He could use you,surely. And you him. If he's a successful thief, there'll be profit for thefence he chooses to -' \

'Fence? Fence?'

'Sorry, Shive. The Changer he chooses to exchange his... goods with, for Rankancoin. There's always a profit to -'

'He cheated me!'

So. At last Shive admitted it. That's how he'd been bitten by this Hanse. Fatand fifty and the second most experienced Changer in Sanctuary, Shive had beencheated by a cocky youngster. 'Oh,' Cusharlain said. He rose, showing Shive asatirical little smile. 'You know, Shive ... you shouldn't admit that. You areafter all a man with some twenty years' experience ... and he has only that manyyears of life, if not less.'

Shive stared after the customs inspector. An Aurveshan raised in Sanctuary andnow employed by their mutual conqueror, Ranke. As well as by an informal leagueof Changers and Sanctuary's foremost thieves; those so successful they employedother thieves. With a distinct curl of his lip - a cultivated artificialmanoeuvre - and a brush of his double-curled left moustachio, Shive returned hisattention to the prying of a nice ruby from its entirely too recognizablesetting.

Just now Cusharlain's prowling the Maze was in service of still anotheremployer, for he was an ambitious and ever-hungry man. An amenable man, toopportunities for profit and new contracts. Today he was merely collectinginformation about the former apprentice ofCudget Swearoath, who had been swungshortly after the new Prince-Governor came out from Ranke to 'whip this Thieves'World of a town into shape'. Above bribery, beyond threat, the (very) young assactually meant to govern Sanctuary! To clean it up! Young Kadakithis, whom theycalled Kittycat!

So far he had angered the priesthood and every thief and Changer in Sanctuary.And a good three-fifths of the taverners. And even a number of the garrisonsoldiers, with those baby-clean, revolting competent Hell Hounds of his. Some ofthe old villa-dwellers thought he was just wonderful.

Probably wets his bed, Cusharlain thought with a jerk of his head - at the sametime as he expertly twitched his robe's hem away from the touch of a leglessbeggar. Cusharlain knew very well that the fellow's legs were single-strapped upunder his long, long, tattered coat. Well, and well. So one boy of nineteen ortwenty, a thief, hated another, a half-brother of the Emperor sent out herebecause it was the anus of the Empire, good and far from the Rankan imperialseat! This the customs inspector had learned today, while gathering informationfor his secretive and clandestine employer. Hanse, Hanse. In all his life thisHanse had held regard for one person other than his cocky self: CudgetSwearoath. Respected senior thief. And Cudget had been arrested, which certainlywould not have happened in the old days. The days BDP, Cusharlain thought;Before this Damned Prince! Far more incredibly, if there could be grades ofincredibility, Cudget had been hanged!

Prince Stupid!

'Ah, the lad knows he can't hope to do injury on the prince,' someone had toldthe night proprietor of the Golden Lizard, who had told Cusharlain's old friendGelicia, proprietor of the popular House of Mermaids. 'He schemes to steal fromthe very Prince-Governor, and make a quick large profit in the doing.'