Crown Alley seemed like a prosperous street, if not an especially busy one. The homes and shops that lined its twisted length were in good repair. Some of the shops even boasted signs with only words and no pictures, an indication that they expected a better class of literate clientele. Pretentious, thought Tycho. Crown Alley ended in high town, but it started in dockside.

The pretention of the street had one tremendous benefit, though. The snow had been cleared away, shoveled up in great heaps. The walking was easier than pretty much anywhere in dockside. Drier, too-the temperature had risen above freezing again and in dockside, snow was turning into wide, slushy puddles. In Crown Alley, the melt water flowed into a carefully cleared gutter and gurgled its way down to the sea.

Tycho stamped on the paving stones, knocking off the wet clumps that clung to carefully cleaned boots. His coat was clean, too, dirt and stains brushed away by Laera. His strilling had been left behind. He wore his best clothes, his dark curls had been brushed and dressed, and he had shaved again-two days in a row! All the way through middle town, young women and old had turned to watch him pass. Tycho had favored them all with a smile and the prettiest ones with a wink.

Smiles and winks covered up a case of nerves as bad as he had ever had.

He found the leatherworker's, shop. Four steps took him down into a shadowed stairwell opposite a heavy door-strangely heavy for a simple shop. There was an iron knocker set in the door's center. He lifted it and knocked sharply.

A hatch in the door opened and eyes peered out. "Yes?" asked a woman's voice pleasantly. Tycho gave his best smile.

"I've come about a saddle," he said. The eyes looked him over and disappeared as the hatch shut. A bolt was drawn and the door opened. The woman on the other side looked as tough as a piece of the leather that filled the cellar beyond her. She gestured him inside. Tycho entered, pausing just inside the door to let his eyes adjust from the brightness of the street. The woman hissed at him.

"In or out, make up your mind."

"In," Tycho replied and took another step forward. The woman shut the door behind him. A tall man appeared through an interior door as she returned to a workbench. He gave Tycho another looking over and pointed at the long, fabric-shrouded bundle the bard carried.

"That a sword?" he asked. Tycho nodded. The tall man grunted. "Leave it here."

"I can't. It's what I came about." He flipped back the cloth to reveal the hilt of Li's saber. "I understand the Hooded has an interest in exotic weapons." The tall man's eyes narrowed.

"Who?"

Tycho smiled at him. "No one," he said. "I'm just here about a saddle."

"Sweet chum right you are." The tall man held out a meaty hand. "I'll carry the sword." Tycho hesitated for a moment, folded the cloth back over the saber, and handed it to him. The tall man hefted the weapon like an expert and grunted approvingly at the weight. "This way," he said, turning back to the inner door. Tycho followed him through. He held the door wide for a moment.

"You don't often see an inside door this heavy," he commented.

The tall man paused on a flight of stairs leading up. "No, you don't. But if you're lucky, you'll see it again on the way back out. Now close it." Tycho shrugged, pulled the door shut, and stomped up the stairs after him. They would be on the main floor of the house above the leatherworker's shop now, he guessed. The stairs, however, led into a short hallway with murder slots in one wall-he wouldn't have wanted to come up the stairs unannounced. A crossbow bolt fired through one of those slots would probably put a hole right through a person. The tall man led him past the slots confidently, though, and up to an open doorway. He stood aside and let Tycho go ahead of him.

The doorway led into a large, bare room. The walls were undecorated plaster. Tycho could see the faint outlines where windows had been boarded up and plastered over. The room was lit by two lanterns that rested on its only piece of furniture: a heavy table. Seated on the other side of the table was a man in thick robes. A loose, baglike leather hood covered his face. Tycho nodded to him respectfully. "Olore, Hooded."

There were three visible holes in the hood: two narrow ovals for the eyes and an even narrower slit over the mouth. Tycho saw dark eyes flicker through the ovals. The Hooded nodded to him in return and he caught the barest murmur of a whisper.

"Olore, Tychoben Arisaenn." Standing beside the Hooded, a young woman spoke his words out loud. Just as Jacerryl had said: an interpreter. Tycho caught himself thinking of Magistrate Vanyan and his self-important aide, Dorth. Unlike Dorth, the young woman at the Hood-ed's side seemed like nothing more than a shadow. She stood perfectly still, moving only her lips and eyes. Her hair was pulled back tight, her skin was pale, and she wore clothes of exactly the same color as the Hooded's robes. She bore a striking resemblance to the leatherworker in the cellar shop. Tycho held back a shudder and focused on the Hooded.

It wasn't so strange that the gang leader knew his name. A sharp man would know the names of many people. Tycho just hoped he didn't know too much more, especially about details of the past two days. He bowed again. "Jacerryl Dantakain sent me to you, Hooded," he said carefully, testing the waters.

The Hooded made no visible reaction, but just murmured to the young woman at his side. "I know Jacerryl Dantakain," she said for him. "We've dealt together in the past."

Simple, noncommittal. No mention of the beljurils, of course. Tycho wondered if the Hooded knew how Jacerryl had come by them. "Jacerryl told me you were a connoisseur of exotic weapons. The other day, he showed me a pair of wide swords he bought from you. I have something I think might interest you. Your man "

He started to twist around, but the Hooded just shook his covered head. He raised a hand-gloved in the same leather as his hood-and gestured. The tall man came forward and set Li's saber on the table before him. The Hooded folded back the wrappings carefully. When the weapon was revealed, he nodded. "A Shou dao," he said. His young interpreter delivered the words so smoothly, it was easy to forget she was there. The Hooded ran a hand along the red leather of the scabbard, wrapped it around the brass-fitted grip, and pulled the weapon out. The blade flashed bright. Li had spent as much time in polishing the saber as Tycho had in getting dressed. The Hooded looked at it-appreciatively, Tycho thought-and glanced up at the tall man. "Get Tycho a chair."

The tall man went out through another door and came back with a simple, straight-back chair that he thumped down in front of the Hooded's table. Tycho sat as the Hooded continued to examine the saber, looking at the blade, at the fittings on the hilt, at the condition of the grip. Finally, he nodded and murmured again to his interpreter. Even seated a little closer, Tycho still couldn't quite hear what he said, but the interpreter relayed, "Well used, but well taken care of. A fine weapon-and all the way from Shou Lung unless I'm wrong." She paused, the Hooded said something else, and she added, "Fifteen Sembian gold fivestars."

Tycho's eyebrows rose. "Fifteen Sembian gold would be a fine price-if you were buying a common sword from a smith in Sembia." He leaned forward. "Thirty-five."

The Hooded muttered something his interpreter didn't repeat, but Tycho could have made a good guess at what was said. The robed man considered the saber again. "This did come from farther than Sembia," he admitted. "Twenty."

"You're robbing me," Tycho said bluntly.

The Hooded looked at him and he caught a glimpse of eyes with all the warmth of ice. "This is a warrior's weapon. A good story might increase its value. Where did you get it?"