"I recognized it because we had one near where I grew up," she said. "My father took me to see it once, when I was young. That one stood alone in the desert, like it was abandoned, but he said it was alive, and we shouldn't get too close. It's strange to see one underwater."

"Well, at least it's not in the city," he said.

"Hey, get off that!" shouted a passing woman. Tamsin jumped down from the statue's base. A few heads turned, but no one else stopped them as they ran down the hill to the docks.

In stories Jordan had read, a city's docks was always the place where lowlife sailors and prostitutes waited to prey on travellers and lost children. He had always pictured the wharves of a seagoing city as full of one-eyed men with swords and nasty dispositions, with bodies in the alleys and kegs of wine rolling down from visiting ships.

Rhiene was not like that. Of course, it was an inland port; most of the traffic here came from barges that simply shuttled between the city and the far end of the lake, a distance large enough to cut a day or so off the travel time of wagons coming from the south. There was supposedly a river that emptied into the lake somewhere, and boats went up that too, but not, apparently, pirate ships. The docks were clean and well kept, and other than one disciplined work gang unloading a shallow single-masted ship, there was no great activity.

"This is pretty stale," said Tamsin. "Let's find the marketplace."

"There might be more than one," he pointed out.

"Whatever."

They wandered in the crowds for a while, and though Tamsin looked quite blasé about it all, Jordan felt overwhelmed by the huge press of people. Hundreds visible at any time, and around every corner there was a new hundred. Most of the people in sight were dressed similarly, men in fashionable townsman's jackets, the women in long pleated dresses that swept the road gracefully. He had to conclude that they all lived here. Could he live in such a place, with so many neighbors?

For a while they stood at the gates of the University of Rhiene, gazing at the sun-dappled grounds and ivied buildings. Queen Galas had walked here, he thought, and knowing this suddenly made her seem real in a new way. They had shared something, Jordan and Galas, if only the fact of having stood here.

In a flux of troubled emotions, he let himself be swept along by Tamsin, until they came to a market.

If Jordan had thought there were many people in the streets, this place was as crowded as Castor's during a wedding, only the mob went on and on, dividing and subdividing into alleys and sidestreets. Lean-tos and carts stood along all the walls, and some enterprising men and women had simply laid their goods out on blankets in the street. A roar of voices welled from the press of people, animals, and running children. Smells of incense, manure, fresh-cut wood and hot iron filled Jordan's head, making him dizzy.

Tamsin laughed. "This is the place! See, Jordan, this is the place to be in Rhiene!" She ducked into the press.

"Wait!" Shaking his head but grinning, he ran after her.

The chaos had an infectious energy to it. You could not walk slowly in this place. After a few minutes, Jordan found himself darting around like Tamsin, poking about on tables of turquoise baubles, then flitting over to a fruit seller, nearly stumbling over a one-legged woman selling cloth dolls from her mat—wishing he had more than the few coins in his pockets.

The only problem was, the roar of voices tended to trigger his visions. Every now and then Jordan had to stop and shake his head, because he would hear Armiger's voice coming at him from within his own skull, or that of a doctor with whom the general was speaking. Such moments no longer frightened him, but they made it hard to concentrate on the here and now.

Then, in the very middle of the market, he was stopped in his tracks by another voice that rang sudden and clear in his mind:

"Go to the woman with the brown knapsack. Tell me what's inside it."

"What?" He looked around, blinking.

"I didn't say anything," said Tamsin. "Oh, look. A magician."

There he was—a lean, well-groomed man standing on a little stage at the back of a short alley. A large audience stood in silence, listening as he recited something. His eyes were closed, and he had one hand touched dramatically to his forehead.

A young woman in peasant's garb emerged from the audience. She went hesitantly up to stand beside the magician, and at his urging, opened the pack she'd been carrying. As she displayed each of the items inside, murmurs then applause ran through the audience. Shortly thereafter a small rain of coins landed at the magician's feet.

Jordan and Tamsin watched for a while. The magician was guessing the contents of people's bags, pockets or just what they held in their clenched fists. He was always right. The crowd was amazed, and all too willing to pay to watch the performance continue.

Every time the magician was presented with a puzzle, Jordan heard something no one else seemed to hear. This man had the same power Turcaret had possessed, a limited power to speak with the Winds—or at least with mecha. When Jordan concentrated he could see, almost as if he were imagining it, something like a diaphanous butterfly hovering above the crowd. When the magician commanded it, the invisible thing wafted over to the satchel, bag, case or box, and penetrated its surface with fine hairlike antennae. Almost like a mosquito, he thought.

Jordan's heart was pounding with an excitement he had not felt since he had sat by the lakeshore and learned how the waves spoke. There was no trick to what this man was doing; Jordan could do it. What was amazing was that the little mechal thing allowed itself to be commanded—and the Winds did not rain fury on the magician for commanding it.

"Come on, let's go," said Tamsin.

"Wait. I want to try something."

"Oh, forget it, Jordan, you'll lose your shirt. He's got the game rigged somehow."

"Yes, and I know how."

"Go to the jewelbox held by the man in green and tell me its contents," commanded the magician.

Jordan closed his eyes and, in his mind, said, "Come here."

The butterfly was clearly visible now, like a living flame over the dark absences of the crowd. It was like no mechal beast he had ever seen; it was more like a spirit. It hesitated now over the man the magician had ordered it to, then drifted in Jordan's direction. It circled his head, as though inspecting him.

"Return." It was the magician, calling his servant.

Who was the stronger here? Jordan smiled, and said, "Stay."

"Return! Return now!"

The crowd was beginning to mutter.

"Ka! Return to me at once!"

"What are you?" Jordan asked the fluttering thing.

"I am Ka. I am test probe of the Ventus terraforming infrastructure. I am a nano-fibre chassis with distributed processing and solar-powered electrostatic lift wires. I am—"

Jordan had been wondering for days what he should ask the next thing he spoke to. "Do you speak to the Heaven hooks?"

"No. I report to desal 463."

Faintly, he heard the magician announcing that today's performance was over. The crowd broke into guffaws and jeers. Someone demanded their money back.

"Jordan," hissed Tamsin. "What are you doing? Let's go?"

"Wait." Then, to Ka, he said, "Will you tell desal 463 that you spoke to me?"

"Yes."

"No, don't do that!"

"Okay."

Jordan opened his eyes. Okay?

"The show's over," said Tamsin. "Let's go."

"I'm doing something."

"No you're not. You're standing there like a slackjawed idiot. Now come on." She pulled on his arm.

"Ka, where are you! Please Ka, come back!"