A short time later, after dismissing all the other courtiers, Shupansea pattedthe comer of her divan and called Hakiem to join her. "Tell us. Wise One," shesaid with a smile,"what do you see in this determination of the Setmur to buildanother boat that we do not see?"

The storyteller sank heavily onto the cushions; formality disappeared, as itusually did when they were alone. "When one reaches my age one learns toappreciate the value of time. One of the few advantages of being an empress, oreven a prince, is that you rarely have to make a decision in a hurry. In short,I was afraid that in your haste to determine if the boat were truly needed forfishing you might overlook the greater problems involved here."

"You're speaking in riddles," the Beysa scolded. "We have always been frank witheach other. Is this new boat necessary?"

"I haven't any idea, though I suppose I'd trust the opinion of those who maketheir living catching fish. My point is that, needed or not, the boat should bebuilt if you are to begin solving your greater problems."

"That is twice you have mentioned these greater problems. Speak plainly, WiseOne; after a day with our courtiers and subjects we have no patience forriddles."

Hakiem rose and began pacing. "The greatest problem is the friction between ourpeoples. There is far too much killing and hating going on; every day it gets alittle worse, not better. If we are going to live together in Sanctuary withoutdestroying the town and ourselves, there must be peace, and peace must beginsomewhere."

Shupansea leaned back, regarding him with hard, staring eyes that were oldbeyond their years. For a moment she was the Beysa again, the Avatar of thegoddess Bey, and not a young woman. "We did not expect garlands and parades whenwe came here," she explained flatly. "The Set-mur have a saying: 'New fish arebought with blood.' We knew there would be hardship, maybe death, wherever wewent; Beysib themselves are slow to change and slower to accept change they donot want. That is why we have restrained our retribution when our people havebeen slaughtered. We had hoped gold would be enough; but if it must be ourblood, then it will be-and theirs as well."

Hakiem hawked and spat on the polished floor. The Beysa did not threaten often,nor well. "We have a saying too," he retaliated. "'Never pay the asking price-even if you can afford it.' Don't be blind to the first positive sign I've seenwander through this room. Didn't you look at that delegation? Beysib and Ilsigand Rankan, together, proposing a joint action other than slitting each others'throats! Who cares if the boat is necessary-just let them build it!"

The shapely breasts rose and fell in a great sigh. "Ah... we see your point.Yes, the boat shall be built regardless of the cost or need."

"Nonsense," Hakiem said with a grin, "never pay the asking price. Make themsubmit an accounting; question every board and nail on it. They'll cheat youanyway, but there's no sense in letting them think you don't care about money;they care very much about it. But you must discuss the matter with the Prince."

"Why?" She was sincere, and that pained Hakiem even more.

"Wood is scarce in Sanctuary, and the building of a new boat will require thefelling of trees. For generations the Governor has been the protector of ourlittle forests. If you have truly left Kadakithis as governor, then he mustissue die edict about the trees-or you should not pretend that he is governor ofanything."

The Beysa smiled as she nodded her understanding of the situation, and was aboutto say something else when the Prince strode into the room.

"Shupansea, I was wondering if... Oh, hello. Storyteller."

"Your Highness," Hakiem responded, bowing as low for the Prince as he did forthe Beysa.

The Prince and his entourage were currently living in the Summer Palace, a half-finished rambling structure out beyond Downwind, having surrendered theGovernor's palace to the Beysa two days after the fleet arrived. Hakiem tried toclose his rumor-sensitive ears to the signs of ever-increasing familiaritybetween the Prince and the Beysa, but it was almost impossible. The Prince wasnever at the Summer Palace and never more than a few moments away fromShupansea; his courtesans had been spirited back to the capital, and MolinTorchholder, who should have been above such things, seemed to be encouragingthe entire affair.

"Just one little matter, then we can be alone," Shupansea told Kadakithis with aradiant smile. "Tell me, you don't care if a few trees are cut down if it willget the townspeople and my people working together, do you?"

"If trees are what you want, take them all," the Prince said with a casual shrugof his shoulders and an equally radiant smile.

"I think, then, that I should withdraw now, 0 Empress. The matter seems to besettled now."

Hakiem paused outside the Presence Chamber, trying to control the irritationand, yes, the dread that had been generated by the exchange. Was the Prince soinfatuated with Shupansea's overly obvious charms that he had thrown away whatlittle judgment and free will he possessed? Was Sanctuary a Beysib property now,completely and without any recourse? The storyteller liked the Beysa and alwaysadvised her honestly, but he was Sanctuary's proudest citizen. It grieved himbeyond speech to see what they were doing to his city.

He was suddenly aware that the room behind him was perfectly quiet now; thelovers had escaped. His eyebrows went up as his lips tightened. Perhaps thewhite bird could mate with the black one. And if they did, what became of allthe other birds who were left?

From a hunting blind of artfully piled garbage guarded by a dozen fat, half-tamed rats, an Ilsig head, then another, and another, caught the moonlight asthe death squad emerged from the tunnels to go stalking Beysibs in the Maze.

They called their leader "Zip," when they called him anything at all. He didn'tencourage familiarity; he'd always been a loner, a creature of the streetswithout family or friends. Even before the Beysib had come and the waves ofexecutions had begun, the street urchins and the Maze-dwellers had stayed clearof the knife-boy who was half Ilsig and half some race much paler, who hired outfor copper to any enforcer in the Maze or disgruntled dealer in Downwind. Andwho, it was said, brought an eye or tongue or liver from every soul he murderedto Vashanka's half-forgotten altar on the White Foal River's edge.

Even his death squad was afraid of him. Zip knew. And that was fine with him:every now and again, a member was captured by the Rankan oppressors or theBeysib oppressors: the less these idealists of revolution knew of him, the lessthey could reveal under torture or blandishment. He'd had a friend once, or atleast a close acquaintance-an Ilsig thief called Hanse. But Hanse, with all hisshining blades and his high-toned airs, had gone the way of everything inSanctuary since the Beysibs' ships had docked: to oblivion, to hell in a basket.

Standing up straight for a moment in the moon-licked gloom to get his bearings.Zip heard laughter rounding a comer, saw a flash of pantaloon, and ducked backwith a hiss and a signal to his group, who'd been trained by Nisibisi insurgentsand knew this game as well as he.

The moonlight wasn't bright enough to tell the color of the Beysib males'-Zipdidn't think of them as "men"- pantaloons, but he'd be willing to bet they wereof claret velvet or shiny purple silk. Killing Beysibs was about as exciting askilling ants, and as fruitless: there were just too damned many of them.