When Richard had finished unloading the last wagon of iron, he leaned forward and placed his hands on the pile, hanging his head as he panted. The muscles in his arms and shoulders throbbed. It was always easier having two men to handle the bars, one in the wagon, and one on the ground, but the man who was supposed to help with the load had quit several days back, saying he hadn't been treated properly. Richard didn't really miss him all that much; even when the man got up off his backside, his assistance was more trouble than it was worth.

The light coming in the high windows was fading, leaving the sky in the west a deep purple. Sweat ran down his neck, making trails through the black iron dust. He wished he could jump in a cool mountain lake. That thought, in and of itself, was refreshing. He let his mind go there as he caught his breath.

Ishaq came down the aisle with the lantern. "You work too hard, Richard."

"I thought I was hired to work."

Ishaq peered at Richard for a moment, one eye catching the harsh yellow light of the lantern he was holding. "'fake my advice. You work too hard, it's only going to get you into trouble."

Richard had been working at the warehouse for three weeks, unloading wagons and loading others. He'd come to know a number of the other men. He had a good idea of what Ishaq meant.

"But I'm still worried about trying to swim with an iron bar wrapped around my neck."

Ishaq gave up on his scowl and grunted a laugh. "I was just spouting for Jori's sake, that day."

Jori was the driver who had refused to help unload the wagon when it broke down. Richard yawned. "I know, Ishaq."

"This isn't no farm, like where you came from. This is different, living under the ways of the Order. You got to take the needs of others in mind if you hope to get along. It's just the way the world is."

Richard caught the thread of caution in Ishaq's voice, and the meaning of the gentle warning.

"You're right, Ishaq. Thanks. I'll try to remember."

Ishaq gestured with his lantern toward the door. "Workers' group meeting tonight. Best be on your way."

Richard groaned. "I don't know. It's late and I'm tired. I'd really rather-"

"You don't want your name to start going around. You don't want people to start talking that you're not civic-minded."

Richard smirked. "I thought the meetings were voluntary."

Ishaq barked a laugh again. Richard collected his pack from a shelf in the back corner and then ran to the door so Ishaq could lock it.

Outside, in the gathering darkness, Richard could just make out Nicci's curvaceous form sitting on the wall at the warehouse entrance. Her curves often put him in mind of nothing so much as a snake. They had no room, yet, so she often came by the warehouse after she'd spent much of the day waiting in lines to buy bread and other necessities. They would walk together back to their shelter in a quiet alley about a mile away. Richard had paid a small price to some of the boys there to guard their place and make sure no one else took it. The boys were young enough to be thankful for the small price and old enough to be diligent about their job.

"Get any bread?" Richard asked as he approached.

Nicci hopped down off the wall. "No bread today-they were out. But I got us some cabbage. I'll make us a soup."

Richard's stomach was growling. He'd been hoping for bread so he could eat a piece right then. Soup would take time.

"Where's your pack? And if you bought cabbage, where is it?"

She smiled and produced something small. She held it out before them as they walked so as to silhouette it against the deep violet of dusk. It was a key.

"A room? We got a place?"

"I checked the lodging office this afternoon. Our name finally came up.

They assigned a room to us. Mr. and Mrs. Cypher. We can sleep inside tonight. Good thing, too; it looks like it will rain tonight. I already put my things in our room."

Richard rubbed his sore shoulders. He felt a wave of revulsion at the sham she was putting him through. . putting Kahlan through. There were times when he felt a hint of something profoundly important about her and what she was doing, but most of the time he was merely overwhelmed by the lunacy of it all.

"Where is this room?" He was hoping it wasn't clear over on the other side of the city.

"It's one we were at before-not too far from here. The one with the stain on the wall just inside the door."

"Nicci, they all had stains on the walls."

"The stain that looked like a horse's rear end with its tail flicked up. You'll see it soon."

Richard was starving. "I have to go to a workers' group meeting again tonight."

"Oh," Nicci said. "Workers' group meetings are important. They help keep a person's mind on what's proper and on everyone's duty to his fellow man."

The meetings were torture. Nothing worthwhile ever came about at the meetings. They sometimes lasted hours. There were people, though, who lived for the meetings so they could stand up in front of others and talk about the glory of the Order. It was their shining hour, their time to be somebody, to be important.

Those who didn't show up for the meetings were used as examples of people who weren't properly committed to the cause of the Order. If the absent person didn't mend his ways, it was possible he could end up being suspected of subversion. The lack of truth to the suspicion was irrelevant.

Stating the charge made some people feel more important in a land where equality was held as the highest ideal.

Subversion seemed to be a dark cloud hovering constantly over the Old World. It wasn't at all unusual to see the city guard taking people into custody on suspicion of subversion. Torture produced confessions, which proved the veracity of the accuser. The people who spoke at length at the meetings had, by this logic, accurately pointed a finger at a number of insurrectionists, as evidenced by their confessions.

The undercurrent of tension in Altur'Rang left many worried over the constant scourge of insurrection-coming from the New World, it was said.

Officials of the Order wasted no time in stamping it out whenever it was discovered. Other people were so consumed with fear that the finger would turn toward them that the speakers at the workers' group meetings were assured of having a large number of zealous supporters.

In many a public square, as a constant reminder of what would happen should you fall into the wrong company, the bodies of subversives were left to hang from high poles until the birds picked their bones clean. The running joke, if an incautious person said anything that sounded at all out of line, was "You looking to be buried in the sky?"

Richard yawned again as they turned down the street toward the meeting hall. "I don't remember the stain that looks like a horse's rear end."

Rocks crunched beneath their boots as they walked down the side of the dark street. Off ahead of them, in the distance, he could see Ishaq's lantern swinging as the man hurried to the meeting.

"You were paying attention to something else at the time. It's the room where those three live."

"Three what?"

A number of other people, some he knew, most he didn't, hastened along the street on their way to the meeting.

Richard remembered then. He stopped.

"You mean the place where those three bullies live-the three with the knives?"

He could just barely see her nod in the dim light. "That's the place."

"Great." Richard wiped a hand across his face as they started out again. "Did you ask if we could have a different room?"

"New people in the city are fortunate to get rooms. Rooms are assigned as your name comes up. If you turn it down, you go back to the bottom of the list."