The fat woman gave a sniff of disapproval. "The man is a wild romantic."

The Refluxive said gently, "We would gladly accept you as an associate, but you must discover orthodox methodology. Classes in thought control and projective telepathy are offered twice a week, on Ilsday and Azday. If you care to attend-"

"I'm afraid that this is impossible," said Reith. "But your program is interesting and I hope it brings fruitful returns."

Helsse made a courteous sign; the two departed.

They walked along the quiet avenue in silence. Then Helsse inquired: "What is your opinion now?"

"The situation speaks for itself," said Reith.

"You are convinced then that their doctrine is implausible?"

"I would not go quite so far. Scientists have undoubtedly found biological links between Pnume, Phung, night-hounds, and other indigenous creatures. Blue Chasch, Green Chasch, and Old Chasch are similarly related, as are all the races of man.

But Pnume, Wankh, Chasch, Dirdir, and Man are biologically distinct. What does this suggest to you?"

"I agree that the circumstances are puzzling. Have you any explanation?"

"I feel that more facts are needed. Perhaps the Refluxives will become adept telepathists, and surprise us all."

Helsse walked along in silence. They turned a corner. Reith pulled Helsse to a halt. "Quiet!" He waited.

The shuffle of footsteps sounded; a dark shape rounded the corner. Reith seized the figure, spun it around, applied an arm and neck lock. Helsse made one or two tentative motions; Reith, trusting no one, kept him in his field of vision.

"Make a light," said Reith. "Let's see whom we have. Or what."

Helsse brought forth a glow-bulb, held it up. The captive squirmed, kicked, lurched; Reith tightened his grip and felt the snap of a bone, but the figure, sagging, toppled Reith off balance. From the unseen face came a hiss of triumph; it snatched itself free. Then, to a flicker of metal, it gave a gasp of pain.

Helsse held up his glow-bulb, disengaged his dagger from the back of the twitching shape, while Reith stood by, mouth twisted in disapproval. "You are quick with your blade."

Helsse shrugged. "His kind carry stings." He turned the body over with his foot; a small tinkle sounded as a glass sliver fell against the stone.

The two peered curiously into the white face, half-shrouded under the brim of an extravagantly wide black hat.

"He hats himself like a Pnumekin," said Helsse, "and he is pale as a ghost."

"Or a Wankhman," said Reith.

"But I think he is something different from either; what, I could not say.

Perhaps a hybrid, a mingling, which, so it is said, makes the best personnel for spy work."

Reith dislodged the hat, to reveal a stark bald pate. The face was fine-boned, somewhat loosely-muscled; the nose was thin and limber and terminated in a lump.

The eyes, half-open, seemed to be black. Bending close, Reith thought that the scalp had been shaven.

Helsse looked uneasily up and down the street. "Come, we must hurry away, before the patrol finds us and issues an information."

"Not so fast," said Reith. "No one is near. Hold the light; stand yonder, where you can see along the street." Helsse reluctantly obeyed and Reith was able to watch him sidelong as he searched the corpse. The garments had a queer musky odor; Reith's stomach jerked as he felt here and there. From an inner pocket of the cloak he took a clip of paper. At the belt hung a soft leather pouch, which he detached.

"Come!" hissed Helsse. "We must not be discovered, we would lose all 'place."'

They proceeded back to the Oval and across to the Travelers' Inn. In the arcade before the entrance they paused. "The evening was interesting," said Reith. "I learned a great deal."

"I wish I could say the same," said Helsse. "What did you take from the dead man?"

Reith displayed the pouch, which contained a handful of sequins. He brought forth the clip of paper, and the two examined it in the light streaming out of the inn, to find rows of a peculiar writing: a series of rectangles, variously shaded and marked.

Helsse looked at Reith. "Do you recognize this script?"

"No."

Helsse gave a short sharp bark of laughter. "It is Wankh."

"Hm. What would be the significance of this?"

"Simply more mystery. Settra is a hive of intrigue. Spies are everywhere."

"And spy devices? Microphones? Eye-cells?"

"It is safe to assume as much."

"Then it would be safe to assume that the Refluxive's hall is monitored ...

Perhaps I was too free with advice."

"If the dead man were the monitor, your words are now lost. But allow me to take custody of the notes. I will have them translated; there is a colony of Lokhars nearby and some of them have a smattering of Wankh."

"We will go together," said Reith. "Will tomorrow suit you?"

"Well enough," said Helsse glumly. He looked off across the Oval. "Finally then: what must I tell Lord Cizante as to the boon?"

"I don't know," said Reith. "I'll have an answer tomorrow."

"The situation may be clarified even sooner," said Helsse. "Here is Dordolio."

Reith swung around, to find Dordolio striding toward him, followed by two suave cavaliers. Dordolio was clearly in a fury. He halted a yard in front of Reith and, thrusting forth his head, blurted: "With your vicious tricks, you have ruined me! Have you no shame?" He took off his hat, hurled it into Reith's face.

Reith stepped aside, the hat went wheeling off into the Oval.

Dordolio shook his finger in Reith's face; Reith backed away a step. "Your death is assured," bellowed Dordolio. "But not by the honor of my sword! Low-caste assassins will drown you in cattle excrement! Twenty pariahs will drub your corpse! A cur will drag your head along the street by the tongue!"

Reith managed a painful grin. "Cizante will arrange the same for you, at my request. It's as good a boon as any."

"Cizante, bah! A wicked parvenu, a moping invert. Blue Jade shall be nothing; the fall of that palace will culminate the 'round'!"

Helsse came slightly forward. "Before you enlarge upon your remarkable assertions, be advised that I represent the House of Blue Jade, and that I will be impelled to report to his Excellency Lord Cizante the substance of your comments."

"Do not bore me with triviality!" stormed Dordolio. He furiously motioned to Reith. "Fetch my hat, or tomorrow expect the first of the Twelve Touches!"

"A small concession," said Reith, "if it ensures your departure." He picked up Dordolio's hat, shook it once or twice, handed it to him. "Your hat, which you threw across the square." He stepped around Dordolio, entered the foyer of the inn. Dordolio gave a somewhat subdued caw of laughter, slapped his hat against his thigh, and, signaling his comrades, walked away.

In the foyer of the inn Reith asked Helsse, "What are the 'Twelve Touches'?"

"At intervals-perhaps a day, perhaps two days-an assassin will tap the victim with a twig. The twelfth touch is fatal; the man dies. By accumulated poison, by a single final dose, or by morbid suggestion, only the Assassins' Guild knows.

And now I must return to Blue Jade. Lord Cizante will be interested in my report."

"What do you intend to tell him?"

Helsse only laughed. "You, the most secretive of men, asking me that! Still, Cizante will hear that you have agreed to accept a boon, that you probably will soon be departing Cath-"

"I said nothing of this!"

"It will still be an element of my report."