«I will send a man. But take another step and I will have you killed and face the penalty. You understand this?»

Blade smiled. He was already beginning to cool down. «I understand that. But I would ask a favor. I am sick of my apartment and sick of women-«

One of the guards laughed and said: «I wish I might share that sickness.»

The subchief frowned and there was silence in the ranks. He turned to Blade again. «I am sorry for that, but I cannot help you.»

Blade turned on his charm. «You could permit me to stroll a bit, to stretch my legs and free my brain, to cleanse my nostrils of the stench of women.» He pointed to the main sewer just beyond the guard station. «A few paces up and down, what could it matter? And I have Jantor's ear, as you know. I could speak well of you, or ill.»

Still the subchief hesitated. Blade cajoled. «Even if you send a man to Jantor you still have twenty, counting yourself. Ten before and ten behind. What can I do? How could I escape or cause you trouble even if I had a mind?»

The subchief pondered this for what seemed to Blade an eternity. This Gnoman, like all the ordinary ones, thought in slow motion. But at last the man nodded. «All right. A few paces up and down, no more.»

Blade thanked him and added, «I will see that Jantor hears of your kindness.»

Torches flared up and down the main sewer. The tunnel itself was very like the one into which Blade had first dropped. As he walked slowly up and down-he managed nearly a hundred yards before he was prodded back-he noticed one of the huge sewer lids overhead. There would be a kiosk up there, he supposed, and leaning against a nearby wall was a ladder. As he strolled past it a second time he examined it carefully. It would just reach the sewer lid. This must be one of the sally ports by which Jantor's men left the sewers and invaded the city above. Blade remembered the surprise he had felt when Jantor informed him that he had been watched from the beginning. How stealthy they were, these Gnomen, when it suited their purpose. But for that single clanging lid he might still be ignorant of their existence.

He paced the permitted distance a dozen times before the messenger returned, breathless from running. Blade watched as the man spoke to the subchief. They were again at the entrance to the tunnel leading back to Blade's apartment. The subchief came to Blade.

«Jantor has sent his answer. He cannot see you now. He is displeased that you sent to him. But he believes you that it is important and he will come to see you later. At no fixed time, but when he chooses. He warns you not to repeat this thing. He sends his love and desire to Alixe and longs to see her soon. That is all. You are to return to your apartment at once.»

Blade, having worked off his anger, felt that he had won a small victory, unimportant as it was. He had lost his head and his temper, but nothing had had come of it. He was content. He smiled at the subchief and thanked him and once again promised that Jantor would hear good things of him.

As he made his way down the tunnel, past the waiting line of women, he could hear them whispering among themselves. None would meet his eye. They were a mangy lot, dirty and stupid, and he shivered a bit with apprehension. He could not keep up the stud game much longer. If only Norn would bring him word that Sybelline was ready to see him, and if only he could figure out a way to meet the white-haired woman. He was near the breaking point and something must be done. He could not straddle the fence forever. He must soon commit himself, to either Jantor or Sybelline, and if all he heard was true, only Sybelline knew the secret of the power.

When he entered the apartment there was no sign of Sart or the child Alixe. Child? Blade scowled. Vixen. A bitch of tender years.

There were no sounds in the apartment. He went straight to his bedroom and undressed. Might as well get on with his duties, he thought. Sart was probably sleeping or busy with his household duties. Alixe was no doubt sulking in her own chamber. There were nine rooms in the apartment, but Blade, apart from the bath, bedroom, and the eating room, had paid them little attention. He had never been in Sart's room; beyond that lay several other chambers he had not investigated.

When he was ready he went to the door and called to the single guard who monitored the line. «Send the next one in.

He serviced three of the women, taking a brief respite between them, and knew he was through for the day. He was sure that he would never achieve another erection. He spoke to the guard. The women were sent away grumbling.

Blade called for Sart. He wanted food, a bath and sleep — long and blessed sleep.

Sart did not answer after repeated calls. Blade went looking for his man. He was not in the kitchen nor the bathroom; not in his sleeping chamber. Blade stroked his beard, puzzled. The man had to be here. There was no way he could get past the guards or pass through the only entrance without Blade knowing.

He took a torch from a wall sconce and went back along a dark corridor to the rooms he had not yet explored. With the torch flaring before him, he stalked through the gloom to the rearmost chamber.

«Sart?» he called.

From a dark corner came a whimpering sound. Blade thrust the torch in that direction. Sart was on his knees, cowering and groveling, covered with sweat and blood. On his shiny bald head were bloody streaks where he had made the fylfot sign. Blade came to stand beside him. His temper had grown short again.

«What is it now, fool? Get up. Why did you not answer my call?»

Sart whimpered and would not look at Blade. Blade nudged the Gnoman with his foot. «Get up, I said. What is it? What's wrong?»

Sart groveled, moved obscenely on his knees and tried to embrace Blade's legs. The great brute was crying. «Save me, master. Save me. I did not mean to do it. I swear I did not. But she taunted me. She would not leave me alone. I-«

Blade's brain went cold. He pushed Sart away from him, held the torch high and swept it about the chamber. Alixe was in a corner, broken and crumpled, her head twisted, her childish breasts bitten and bloody. Her slim thighs were covered with blood.

Blade went to stand beside her. He knelt and held the torch close. Her features were pulped and her mouth gaped toothlessly. Sart must have struck her a terrible blow with his fist. Blade made sure that she was dead and then turned to Sart.

The man wriggled toward Blade on his knees and began to beat his forehead against the sandy floor. He trembled, sobbing and crying.

«I did it, master. I cannot remember much now, but I did it. She taunted me and I begged her to stop but she would not. When at last I made to take her, she laughed and struck me and said she would tell Jantor and have me sent to the pits for daring to touch her.»

Blade had seen worse things in Dimension X, but not much worse. He felt ill. He kicked Sart away from him and said, «Get on your feet. Stop crying. And be quiet. I must have time to think.»

He did not look at Alixe again. Poor stupid, spoiled little bitch. She had asked for it, no doubt of that, but none of that mattered now.

Blade was responsible for his slave. That was Gnomen law. He thought fast. As precious as he was to the Gnomen, he did not believe that it would counterbalance Jantor's first wild rage when he found out what had happened to his daughter. He was likely to have Blade slain on the spot or sent to the pits. As for Sart, that miserable creature was doomed beyond all saving.

Sart lumbered to his feet. He watched Blade, cringing and continually making the sign of the fylfot on his bald head, but now there was a crafty gleam in his reddish brown eyes. Suddenly Blade realized what was happening. Sart was thinking.

Gnomen did not weigh or consider words or ideas. A rare thought, when it came, was blurted out.