It had begun with the hawkmasks and the Stepsons; with beggars and hawkmasks;priests and priests; and gods; and wizards; and nowadays murder crept uptown insmall bands, to prove the cleverness of some small faction in reaching theunreachable; and striking the unstrikable; thus fomenting terror in the streetsand convincing the terrorized that to join in bands was best, so that nowadaysone went in Sanctuary with a mental map not alone of streets but of zones ofallegiance and control, and planned to avoid certain places in certainsequences, not to be seen passing safely through a rival's territory.

Haught ignored most lines-by night. There were some foolhardy enough to touchhim. Not many. He was accustomed to fear, and, truth, he felt less fear nowadaysthan previously. He was accustomed to horrors and that stood him in good stead.

He had been prenticed once, up by Wizardwall; and his last master had beengentle, for one of Wizardwall.

"Why do you stay?" his present teacher asked.

"Teach me," he had said that morning, with a yearning in him only the dance hadhalfway filled: he showed her the little magic that he had remembered. And shehad smiled, had Ischade of no country at all: smiled in a very awful way."Magus," she had said, "would you be?"

He had loved Moria at that time. Moria had been gentle with him when few hadbeen. And he had thought (he tormented himself with the dread that it was nothis thought at all, such were Ischade's powers) that it was well to please thewitch, for Moria's sake. So he would protect Moria and himself: to be alliedwith power was safety. Experience had taught him that.

But deep in his heart he had seen that Ischade was nec-romant, not hieromant;that the lighting of candles and the stirring of winds were only tricks to her.

And he had breathed the wind and sensed the power, and he was snared for reasonsthat had nothing at all to do with love or gratitude, for he was Nisi andwitchery was in his blood.

Tonight he walked the streets and crossed lines and no one dared touch him. Andsomething cramped in him for years spread wings (but they were dark).

He might have lived in the uptown house.

But he took the other way.

The sound of the river was very close here, where the old stones thrust upthrough newly trampled brush. Squith shivered, blinked, caught something darkerthan the night itself in this place unequally posed between two houses on theriver.

"Squith," a woman said.

He turned, his back to an upthrust stone.

"No respect?" she asked.

He took his hand from the stone as if he had remembered a serpent coiledthereby. Vashanka's. All these stones were; and he would not be here by anychoice of his.

"Moruth-Moruth couldn't come. 'S got a c-cold."

"Has he?" The woman moved forward out of the dark, dark-robed, her face duskyand all but invisible in the overhang of sickly trees. "I might cure him."

Squith tumbled to his knees and shook his head; his bowels had gone to water."S-sent me, he did. Respectful, he is. Squith, he says, Squith, you goes andtells the lady-"

"--What?"

"Me lord does what you wants."

"He may survive his cold. It's tonight, beggar."

"I go tell him, go tell him." Squith made it a litany, bobbed and held his gutand sucked wind past his snaggled row of teeth. He had a view of a cloak-hem, ofbrush; he kept it that way.

"Go."

He scrambled up, scrabbling past thorns. One tore his cheek, raked his sightlesseye. He fled.

Ischade watched him, and forbore spells that would have urged him on his way.Roxane was at home tonight, not so far away. Thorns regrew. Snakes infested theplace. Burned patches repaired themselves with preternatural speed.

A beggar sped toward the beggar-king Moruth. A black bird had landed inDownwind, on a certain sill. And Squith came. Moruth had a cold, and languishedin mortal cowardice.

But Moruth had met something one night in a Downwind alleyway that mightilyconvinced him where his interests lay.

"Go to Roxane," she had whispered in Moruth's unwashed ear. "Go to Yorl, towhatever wizard you choose. I'll know. Or you can promise beggars they'll besafe on the streets again. At least from me. From other things, perhaps. Or atworst they'll be avenged. When a bird lights on your sill-come to Vashanka'saltar on the Foal. You know the place."

A nod of a shaggy head. The beggar-king knew, and babbled oaths of compliancy.

Wings fluttered nearby. She glanced up where the dead branches overhead gaverest to other shadows, inky as her robes. A messenger returned.

It was a familiar room, one they had used before and had rather not use again;but it was Vis they had, and Straton operated under certain economies thesedays-not to let Vis see too much; and not to let Vis be seen.

Vis glared at him, between two Stepsons-real ones- who had brought him to thisattic unbruised. So one reckoned. Vis had a ruffled look-smallish and wideshouldered and dark, and with a look in those dark eyes under that shag of hairthat said he had as lief kill as talk to them.

That was well enough. Straton had killed a few of Vis's sort, in this room,after they had been useful. Vis surely had the measure of him and of this place.There was outrage in that stare and precious little hope.

"You had news," Strat said. "I trust you-that it's worth both our time."

"Damn you. I came to you. I sent for you-I thought I could trust you-if theytold you any different-"

"News," Strat said. Outside, on the stairs, a board creaked. But that was thewatch he had passed. He sat down in the single chair at the single table which,like the ropes on the wooden wall, had their uses. Mradhon Vis stood therebetween two guards, all disarranged-they would have found a knife on him, atleast; maybe a cord; seldom a penny, though Vis sold himself to at least twosides. Jubal's. Theirs. Gods knew who else. Hence the guard. Hence the forcedmeetings. The streets were quiet, too quiet. There had been nothing on thebridge but one one-eyed, halfwit beggar. Nothing stirring anywhere on the streetoutside.

"Get them out of here," Vis said.

"You want to talk this over, or just talk. Vis? You got me here. I've got allnight. So have they."

Vis thought that over. So he had run his bluff and made his point. But he wasnot stupid; and knew where his remaining chances lay. "I get paid for this."

"One way or the other."

"There's rumor out.. .got something coming down."

"What?"

"Not sure." Vis came closer and began to lean on the table. Demas moved to stophim. Strat held up his hand and Vis stayed unmolested. "Something-I don't knowwhat. Nisi squads-they've got a big one brewing. Heard talk about something downat the harbor. Uptown at the same time."

"What's your source?"

"I don't tell that."

"Huh." Strat rocked the chair back, foot braced "That so?"

"Word's out they've got help. Understand?"

"The Nisi witch?"

There was long silence. Vis stayed where he was. Sweat was on his brow.

"Something got your tongue?"

"I'm Nisi, dammit. She can smell-"

"Roxane might help you. Might not. I don't think I'd shelter with that one.Vis."

"Word's out she's looking for revenge. The harbor- some move there. That's whatI heard. Heard someone's going to move there, hit the Beysibs; maybe warehouses.Death squads. I don't know whose. But I know who pays them."

Strat let the chair thump down. "Don't leave town, Vis."

"Dammit, you're going to get me killed-you know what they'll do, with youbringing me in here?"