Dragonbait mewled once with consternation and pulled from his belt a folded piece of paper. He grasped the edges, and the sheet unfolded like a delicate Turmish paper sculpture. Dragonbait paused beneath a lantern pole, squinted at the human letters and lines scrawled in octopus ink, looked around for a landmark, then squinted again at the map. He growled.

Alias had already crossed the street and was about to plunge into a wide alley before she sensed that her companion was no longer in tow. With a huff, she stomped back across the street and tugged on the paladin's cloak. "Will you come on?" she demanded, "rd like to make this exchange and find decent quarters before midnight."

Dragonbait did not look up from the map. "I do not recognize this area," he said flatly.

"Don't worry," Alias reassured him breezily. "We're on Silverpiece Way, north of the market. We cut down this alley, cross Naga Way, go left on Southgate Market Street to where Fishman's old place was before the fire, go right, and we're there." "This alley is not on the map," he countered.

"Of course not," replied Alias, "You think an ink-stained mapmaker is going to risk his hide in this neighborhood? Anything you see sketched in the poorer sections of town-it comes from a cartographer's imagination-it's just doodles. The poor don't buy maps, and the wealthy never come this way. Come on. I know where we're going. I grew up here, remember?"

"You did not. You were born-" Dragonbait began arguing, but stopped when he realized he was addressing Alias's back as she headed for the alley.

He refolded the map hastily, shoved it into his belt, and chased after his companion, emitting clicks-the saurial version of grumbling.

Alias had not grown up in Westgate. She had not grown up anywhere. She was a magical creation designed by an alliance of evil beings who tricked the great bard Finder Wyvernspur into building her. Their intent had been to use her as their personal assassin, but she had found the strength of will to turn on them and destroy them. A swirling azure tattoo graced her right arm from elbow to wrist, a constant reminder of her previous enslavement, and of her quest for freedom.

Nonetheless, in order to complete the illusion of a real human, Finder had invested Alias with memories of growing up in Westgate. Although the memories were total fiction, they provided her with an intimate knowledge of the city-a knowledge that, so far, seemed infallible.

The shortcut Alias took now plunged through an even more decaying quarter, of the city. The alley was wider, as if the buildings on each side did not want to get too close to the greenish sewage that flowed down the center of the lane. The walls had been blackened by decades of grime and colored with graffiti. Any windows or doors that had once opened to the alley at the ground level were walled over with mismatched stone only slightly less dirt-encrusted than the surrounding stone.

Dragonbait ambled after Alias with a growing feeling of anxiety. He concentrated on his shen sight, the ability to perceive good and evil, a gift from his gods to aid him in his duties. Although he could see nothing in the darkness, he could sense trouble up ahead on the right, two souls pricked by constant greed and rotted by a disgusting pleasure in the pain and humiliation of other creatures.

First one, then the other-hulking brutes, human, but a head taller than even Alias-stepped from the shadows. They were dressed in dark leather jerkins and trousers. The satin capes that hung over their shoulders fit so poorly that Alias suspected the capes had been acquired from much smaller and no doubt weaker persons. They had kohl-marked eyes and a broad swipe of soot running from temple to temple. They reminded Dragonbait of raccoons-with unsheathed swords.

The leader held up a gloved hand and thundered, "Hold, travlers. You need to answer a few questions."

Dragonbait growled, and Alias gave a short, almost imperceptible nod. She didn't need shen sight to realize the pair meant trouble. "Who's doing the asking?" the swordswoman inquired politely.

"We are humble customs agents," said the lead raccoon, and his companion stifled a grin. "It is our duty to make sure travlers have the proper paperwork for items they bring in t' sale in Westgate, transactions they revoke here, and material for exportating-ah-talcing out."

Alias, who could hardly check her own amusement, wondered who had taught this thief his patter. She heard the scrape of boots on hard earth behind her, and guessed there were more "agents" blocking escape from the mouth of the alley. Dragonbait would be aware of them with his shen sight.

"Ah," said Alias, throwing back her cloak in a gesture to show that her hands were empty, and incidentally giving her easy access to her scabbard, "but as you can see, we have no such paperwork. Your fellow customs agents at the watch dock determined that we carried nothing of sufficient value to warrant any fees. As you can see, we carry only personal property. So you need waste no more of your time on us." She smiled sweetly.

The second raccoon edged forward and whispered something in the leader's ear. The lead raccoon waved him back in annoyance. "Well, y"know those boys at the dock are so overwarked, they get careless," the leader said. "For instance, your pet-"

"He is not a pet," Alias snapped, her smile becoming brittle. "He's my companion."

"-carries an interesting staff," continued the raccoon leader.

"My companion uses the staff because he is lame," Alias argued, her tone now more severe.

"Nonetheless, we'll have t'zamine it, prob'ly take it back to our superiors for-um-" The thief fumbled for the word. No doubt he was new to the shakedown trade, more accustomed and suited to the mindless violence of muggings. "Proper evaluation?" suggested Alias.

The thief nodded. "Prop'revaluation," he agreed and flashed a gap-toothed smile.

"I see," said Alias. "Dragonbait, show the nice man your staff."

The saurial limped forward, looking like a tired, lost, wounded puppy. He held his arms out with his palms upward, the staff resting across them. The raccoon leader towered over him and reached out to snare his prize with a free hand.

Dragonbait arched his tail around and slapped the ornamented end of the staff. The thick ash of the lower portion of the staff swung upward and smashed the thief square in the face..The thief dropped his sword and grasped his nose and mouth with both hands. Sputtering blood and bits of teeth, he fell to his knees.

Alias tensed, listening to the shuffle of heavy boots behind her and, without looking back, swung an elbow upward sharply. There was a cracking sound as her elbow guard connected with something solid. A rearguard raccoon gasped and groaned, having discovered that grabbing the swordswoman from behind was not as simple as it looked.

Alias spun about, launching a kick in the direction of the groan. She struck her assailant in the hip, and he crashed to the ground. From behind him came a fourth raccoon, wielding a blade.

The swordswoman retreated a step, pressing her back briefly against the saurial's as she drew her slender sword. Dragonbait's hand slid back and patted her hip, indicating that, although he'd dropped the staff, he had no intention of drawing his own enchanted blade from the swordswoman's second scabbard. For such dishonorable opponents he preferred to go hand to hand.

The paladin hopped onto the kneeling raccoon leader's shoulders, driving the thief into the ground, then used him aa a springboard to leap, snarling and clawing, toward the leader's companion. A trained fighter might have had the presence of mind to meet the charge with his sword, but the companion reacted instinctively, raising both arms to protect his face from what appeared to be a raging beast. Dragonbait landed hard on his foe, sending him sprawling back into the brackish green sewage flowing through the center of the alley, knocking the wind out of the thief. The last thing the human saw was the saurial's gleaming, sharp white teeth, then Dragonbait snapped his jaw shut and head-butted him in the face. The human remained motionless as the water dammed up behind him and finally flowed around him. Dragonbait rose, pawing and sniffing with distaste at the evil-smelling, oily liquid splattered on his tunic.