Hanse stared.

'You do seem to be learning caution, Shadowspawn! I do hope you will accept theemployment I'll soon be offering you. You avoid mentioning that when you cameout of that well you saw no corpse. No; he tried to flee and died a few feetaway. The moment we returned here, I drugged Lirain. Drank it herself; thoughtshe was drinking poison! She has lain with no one this night. I arranged her onthe couch. One absolutely loyal man and I went back and fetched Bourne. Mylady wife and I placed the corpse beside Lirain. Along with a bladder of theblood of a - appropriately! - pig. I thrust my sword into it before I called inQuag and Zaibar.'

Hanse continued to stare. This saffron-haired boy was clever' enough to be athief! Hanse bet he was dissembling still, too; doubtless a favoured rugmerchant had aided in the bringing of Bourne's corpse into the palace!

The prince saw his stare, read it. 'Perhaps I'm not Prince Kitty-cat after all?I will shortly have high respect in Sanctuary, and wide knowledge of the plot isa weapon against my enemies at home. You are a hero - ah.' The prince noddedtowards the doorway, beckoned. An oldish man entered to hand him a sheet ofparchment. It soon bore the governor's signature and seal. The secretary left.Kadakithis handed the document to Hanse with a small flourish and a smile thatHanse saw was distinctly royal. Hanse glanced at it - very impressive - andlooked again at the prince.

'Oh,' Kadakithis said, and no more; a prince did not apologize to a thief forforgetting his lack of education. 'It says that by my hand and in the name ofthe Emperor in Ranke, you are forgiven of all you may have done up to this day,Hanse. You aren't a quintuple murderer, are you?'

'I've never killed anyone, Highness.'

'I have! This very night - last night, rather!'

'Pardon, Highness, but killing's the business of them that rule, not thieves.'

Kadakithis looked long and thoughtfully at Hanse after that, and would likelyquote Shadowspawn long hence. Hanse had twice to mention the ransom at thebottom of the well.

'Ah! Forgot that, didn't I. It's been a bit busy tonight - last night. I'vethings to do. Hanse. A busy day ahead on no sleep and much excitement. I fear Ican't be bothered thinking about some coins someone may have lost down an oldwell. If you can get it out, do. And do return here to discuss employment withme.'

Hanse rose. He felt the kinship between them and was not comfortable with it.'That ... will need some ... some thinking, Prince-Governor, sir. I mean ...work. And for you! Uh, yourself, that is - Your Highness. First I have to try toget used to the fact that I can't hate you any more.'

'Well, Hanse, maybe you can help a few others not to. I could use the help.Unless you take it ill of me to remind you that half of salvage found in thisdemesne is the property of the government.'

Hanse began to wonder about the possibility of transferring the few gold coinsinto one saddlebag. If he was able to get the bags out of the well. That wouldtake time, and help. And that would require paying someone. Or cutting someonein ...

Hanse left the palace wearing a soft new tunic, eyes narrowed. Planning,calculating. Plotting.

Jubal was more powerful than he appeared. Not that his form conveyed anysoftness or weakness. If anything, his shiny ebony skin stretched tight overlithe, firm muscles gave an immediate impression of quick strength, while hisscarred, severe facial features indicated a mind which would not hesitate to usethat strength to his own advantage.

Rather, it was his wealth and the shrewd mind that had accumulated it which gaveJubal power above and beyond his iron muscles and razor-edged sword. His money,and the fierce entourage of sell-swords it had bought him made him a formidableforce in the social order of Sanctuary.

Blood had been the price of his freedom; great quantities of blood shed by hisopponents in the gladiator pits of Ranke. Blood, too, had given him his start atwealth: seizing a poorly guarded slave caravan for later sale at a sinfulprofit.

Where others might be content with modest gains, Jubal continued to amass hisfortune with fanatic intensity. He had learned a dear lesson while glaringthrough hate-slitted eyes at the crowds who cheered his gory pit victories:swords and those who wielded them were bought and sold, and thus accounted asnothing in the minds of Society. Money and Power, not skill and courage, werewhat determined one's standing in the social order of men. It was fear whichdetermined who spat and who wiped in his world.

So Jubal stalked the world of merchants as he had stalked the pits, ruthlesslypouncing on each opportunity and vulnerability as he had pitilessly cut downcrippled opponents in the past. To enter into a deal with Jubal was to matchwits with a mind trained to equate failure with death.

With this attitude, Jubal's concerns prospered and flourished in Sanctuary. Withthe first of his profits, he purchased one of the old mansions to the west oftown. There he resided like a bloated spider in a web, waiting for signs of newopportunities. His fangs were his sell-swords, who swaggered through the streetsof Sanctuary, their features disguised by blue hawk-masks. His web was a networkof informants, paid to pass the word of any incident, any business deal, or anyshift in local politics, which might be of interest to their generous master.

Currently the network was humming with word of the cataclysm in town. The Rankanprince and his new ideas were shaking the very roots of Sanctuary's economic andsocial structure.

Jubal sat at the centre of his web and listened.

*

After a while, the status reports all began to run together, forming one boringmonotone.

Jubal slouched in his throne-like chair staring vacantly at one of the room'smassive incense burners, bought in an unsuccessful attempt to counter the stenchcarried from Sanctuary by the easterly winds. Still the reports droned on.Things had been different when he was just beginning. Then he had been able topersonally manage the various facets of his growing enterprises. Now, he had tolisten while others ... Something in the report caught his attention.

'Who did you kill?' he demanded.

'A blind,' Saliman repeated, blinking at the interruption. 'An informer who wasnot an informer. It was done to provide an example ... as you ordered.'

'Of course.' Jubal waved. 'Continue.'

He relied heavily on informants from the town for the data necessary to conducthis affairs. It was known that if one sold false information to Jubal, one wasapt to be found with a slit throat and a copper piece clenched between theteeth. This was known because it happened ... frequently. What was not widelyknown was that if Jubal felt his informants needed an example to remind them ofthe penalty for selling fabrications, he would order his men to kill someone atrandom and leave the body with the marks of a false informer. His actualinformers were not targets for these examples - good informants were hard tofind. Instead, someone would be chosen who had n;ver dealt with Jubal. As hisinformants did not know each other's identities, the example would work.

'... was found this morning.' Saliman plodded on in his tireless recitationvoice. 'The coin was stolen by the person discovering the body, so there will beno investigation. The thief will talk, though, so word will spread.'