"You go on making your reports. If anything comes down and we don't find outunderstand? Understand, Vis?"

Vis backed away.

"Let him go," Strat said. "Pay him. Well. Let him figure how to get himselfclear. Tomorrow. Whenever. When I'm clear. When this is proved one way or theother."

"You want a partner?" Demas asked.

Strat shook his head and gathered himself to his feet. "We've got difficulties.Stay here. Vis, mind you remember who pays you most. You want more-you tellus... right?"

Vis gave him a sullen look-not greedy, no. It was an invitation to a finalmeeting-more demands. And Vis knew it.

"I'll see to it," Strat said to Demas. "I don't think anything will happen here.Just keep him off the streets." He took a cloak from the peg by the door,nondescript as other clothes they kept here. The horse he rode was the bay, notnondescript, but it would serve.

"You're going to Her."

He heard the upper-case. Turned and looked at Vis, who stood there staring athim.

"You met the one she's got?" Vis asked. "She's finally got a lover she can'tkill. Fish-cold, likely. But she's not that particular."

Strat's face was very calm. He kept it that way. He thought of killing Vis. Orpassing an order. But there was a craziness in the Nisi traitor. He had seen aman look like that who shortly after set himself on fire. "Be patient with him,"he said. "Don't kill him." Because it was the worst thing he could think of fora man with such a look.

He left then, opened the door onto the dark stinking stairs and shut it behind.

The footsteps thumped away below, multiplied; and Mradhon Vis stood there in agray nowhere. Tired. Cold, when the room was far too close for cold.

"Sit down," one said.

He started to take the chair. A foot preempted it. The other Stepson leaned onthe table. It left him the floor.

He went over to the comer, liking that at his back more than empty air, bracedhis shoulders, and slid down against the wall. So they all sat and waited. Hedid not stare at them, not caring to provoke them, recalling that he had triedthat with their chief and recalling why he tried-a dim rage of sympathy for afellow fool.

She. Ischade. It took no guesswork where the Stepsons would look for help whenRoxane was on the move. Where that one would look for help, where his thoughtsbent. He had kept a watch on Straton-for the pay he got from other sources; andhe knew. That was a man infatuated with death, with beating it day by day. Herecalled it in himself; until the day he had learned death's infatuation withhim-and that put a whole different complexion on matters.

Fool, 0 Whoreson. Fool.

Sanctuary's enemies ringed it round and, with the border northward cracking,Ranke went suicidal as the rest. The very air stank-autumn fogs and smokes; thefevered river-wind found its way through streets and windows, sweet withcorruption; and there was no sleep these nights. There was nowhere to go. Partof Nisibis had slipped through the wizards' hands; but Nisi gold. Nisi trainingstill funded death squads throughout Ranke-not least among their targets wereNisi rebels like himself. It was desert folk moving in Carronne; Ilsigi inSanctuary port; gods knew where the Beysib came from, or what really sent them.

He knew too much; and dreamed of nights, same as the Stepson dreamed: theStepson's cause was tottering and his own was dead. And the river-wind goteverywhere in Sanctuary, sickly with corruption, sweet with seduction; andpromised - promised -

He had tried, at least. That was the most unselfish thing he had done in half ayear. But no one could save a fool.

There were houses in the uptown more ornate than their own. This was one, withwhite marble floors and Carronnese carpets and gilt furnishings; a fat fluffydog of the same white and gold that yapped at them until a servant scooped itup. And Mor-am thought hate at the useless, well-fed thing, hate at the servant,hate at the long-nosed fat Rankan noble who came waddling from his hall to seewhat had gotten past his gate.

"I've got guests"-the noble wheezed (Siphinos was his name)-"guests, youunderstand...."

Mor-aro sucked air and stood taller, with a drawing of one eye, while in thecomer of the good one he spied Ero spying out the other hall beyond the archway."I tell Her that?"

"Out." Siphinos waved at the servants, fluttering Mor-am toward a door, theaccounts room: they had been there the last time. Siphinos closed the doorhimself. Ero stayed outside.

"You were to come after midnight-only after midnight-"

Mor-am held up the packet; and the pig's face and the pig's eyes suddenly hadsobriety and a furious red-cheeked dignity, amid all his jowls. Mor-am gave himback his own one-eyed stare and handed it over, watched him examine the seal.

"It'll be coming here," Mor-am said. "That's the word comes with this. They gottheir eye on you. Death squads move uptown tonight. You hear me, man?"

"Whose? When?" The flush went hectic. A sweat glistened on jowls and brow. "Giveme names. Isn't that what we pay you-"

"Word for Torchholder this time. Get the word upstairs. Tell him-look out hiswindow tonight. Tell him-" he tried to recall precisely the words he had beenprimed with, that Haught had told him a dozen days ago-"tell him he'llunderstand then what the help we give is worth."

No shrieking, no cursing, not the least cracking of the fat man's fury. Ilsigidog, the look said, wishing him to heel. And fearing the bite he had.

"He knows," Mor-am said, neat and measured, and gods, gods, let the tic staystill. "He can tell the prince-g-govemor-" Damn the twisting of his face, thedrawing of his mouth. "He'll know where his safety is. He'll pay the cost,whatever we ask. We got our means. Tell Kittycat look out his window too."

Alarms were on their way, plainclothes and moving with deliberation, not panic,word back to the command post, to various places and offices. And Straton rodealone now- imprudence, perhaps; but a full troop of Stepsons clattering up theriverside slow or fast, plainclothes or not-drew too much attention. He slouchedlike a drunk, kept the bay to an amble, and sweated the entire last block. Hehad sent his three companions off the other way. Foalside was a mixed kind ofstreet, wide near the bridge and well-used; but higher up the Foal, buildingscrowded close and the street became a rough track with only the remnant ofancient stones for pavings. Trees grew untended on the Foalside in a wideninglower terrace by the road. Weeds crowded close on that margin. And crouchedlike some lurking aged beast- a cottage occupied the upper terrace, thenorthern house on that black river, a tiny place like the southern one-bothof which had been singed, both of which had been swept over with fire enoughto blacken the brush and kill the trees that grew hereabouts. But nowadaysneither showed traces of burning; and both stood just as before, surroundedwith brush, and smelling that wet, old smell of places long untended in thedark, in the starlight, with old trees lifting autumn (unscarred) branchesat the sky.

Ischade maintained a fence and hedge: her house clung to its strip of riverterrace and faced beyond its yard and gates a row of warehouses, at a littlerespectful distance from the ordinary world, distance which the wise respectedone of those places in every town, Strat thought, which had that dilapidatedlook of trouble and contagious bad luck.

Ischade's territory. He had been in it for the length of the solitary ride. Andno squad he knew of dared that little strip of street or the warehouses near it.