From his bag he then produced a piece of string marked in bright red near either end. Stretching the length of string out on the parchment, he very carefully adjusted the position of the device until one of the string's red marks lay exactly across from the blood drop, the other directly beneath the beaker spigot. Finally satisfied, he replaced the string in his bag.

"Are you ready?" he asked, turning to the robed one beside him.

"I am," the other replied seriously, grasping the hourglass.

"You realize they must be exactly timed," the first man said, holding the release handle of the beaker spigot.

"Of course," the other said eagerly. "Begin the count."

"On my mark," the first man said. "Five, four, three, two, one, now!"

Simultaneously, the two men moved, one turning over the hourglass, one hand hovering above it, the other releasing a single drop of the strange red fluid from the beaker down onto the parchment.

Almost immediately, the two drops of fluid flowed toward each other across the parchment and joined in a single, larger drop of red. The man holding the hourglass waved his hand. A blue glow formed around the device, and the black spheres stopped falling-one of them in midair. Twenty-Nine gasped. Then, wide-eyed, he turned his eyes back to the red drop to see that it had begun to trace a design onto the surface of the parchment. After it finished forming its design, the fluid began to retrace its path over and over again atop its original lines.

Amazed, Twenty-Nine looked over at the man whose blood had accomplished this marvel. The man looked stunned.

The robed one on the right then produced a single piece of parchment from his case. He spent what seemed to be a great deal of time nervously looking from one sheet to the other, and back again. Finally, he raised his eyes to his associate.

"They match!" he shouted. "It is he! We have found him!"

His partner turned to him. "How many spheres?" he asked eagerly.

The other narrowed his eyes, and stared intently at the glass. His mouth fell open.

"Only one and one half!" he whispered in awe, barely able to croak out the words. "The second sphere didn't even reach the bottom! I have never seen such blood assay quality!"

Barely able to contain his joy, his colleague again reached into his case. This time he produced a thick magnifying lens mounted on a tripod. Unfolding the tripod's three legs, he carefully placed it over the strange red design. Standing, he closed one eye, using the other to peer down through the lens. He remained that way for some time.

"A left-leaning signature!" he announced. "And the angle is the most severe I have ever encountered!"

"And there are no Forestallments to map!" the other said. "His blood is unadulterated, just as Krassus predicted! We could not have asked for more!"

Stunned, the two men sat back in their chairs. The one on the right looked up in awe at the confused slave. Then he nodded to a nearby bleeder.

"Take him," he ordered. The bleeder immediately stepped behind the man and grasped him by both arms. "Should any harm befall him, you forfeit your life!"

"I understand, my lord," the bleeder answered obediently.

The man behind the table then turned to another bleeder. "Go and fetch Janus," he said. "Tell him we have good news. And for the moment, none of the other slaves are to go anywhere."

"Yes, my lord," the monster answered. In a flash he was gone, easily wending his bulky form through the crowd.

Twenty-Nine looked back down at the tabletop, and to the design on the parchment, and the weird devices the two men had used in their examination of the slave's blood. He shook his head, understanding none of what had just transpired.

The man named Wulfgar was faring no better. Confusion and hate filled his eyes as he stood there gripped from behind, waiting for the one called Janus.

Finally, the crowds of slaves began to part. Turning, Twenty-Nine looked to see who it was.

It was the Harlequin.

Ignoring everyone but the men seated at the table, he strode forward to face them. "What is it?" he asked.

"We have finally found him, Janus," one of them said proudly, as if having just obediently returned with a bone thrown by his master. "The blood signature is conclusive."

Janus picked up the two parchments. He gazed back and forth between them for some time. Finally he returned his red-masked eyes to the ones behind the table.

"You are sure?" he asked sternly. Turning, he looked briefly at Wulfgar. "Trust me when I say that Krassus will not be amused should he again return to this forsaken place, only to find this to be yet another false alarm."

He turned back to the robed ones. "What did the blood assay reveal?" he asked.

"A blood quality of one and a half," one of them replied promptly. "We have never seen its like. That is, of course, with the exception of the Chosen Ones."

"And the craft tendency?" Janus asked.

"Left-leaning," the man seated on the right answered. "To a degree never before seen."

"You don't say," Janus mused. Removing his fancy handkerchief from a pocket, he dusted off the lens atop the tripod. Placing his eye to it, he examined the design on the parchment for some time. Finally, he raised his head back up.

"Very well," he said finally. "I stand convinced."

The painted freak turned toward Wulfgar. "All of that magnificently endowed blood, just waiting to be trained," he mused. Grasping Wulfgar's chin, he examined the slave's face as he turned it this way and that in the dim light of the torches.

"And you are so beautiful, as well," he added. Then, letting out an exasperated breath, he backed away, all the while staring with revulsion at the slave's soiled, torn loincloth and filthy, bare feet. Reaching into a pocket, he produced a small, golden tin of snuff. With careful movements, he held a pinch up to his nose and sniffed hard. A sudden, forceful sneeze followed. Then he smiled.

"No matter," he said, sniffing twice again. "Your disgusting aroma can be remedied. And beautiful you are, my dear Wulfgar, despite your current state. You are living proof that the licentious tart that was your mother somehow always managed to vomit forth impressive children, no matter the quality of the fool she laid with. How nice."

The slave's answer was immediate: He summoned all the saliva he could and spat it directly into Janus' face.

Slowly Janus wiped the spittle from his face with his embroidered handkerchief. "So much defiance," he said softly. "And how like your half brother and sister you seem to be."

Confusion flashed across Wulfgar's face.

"Ah, but you don't know about them yet, do you?" Janus asked nastily. "All in good time. We'll see to it that the demonslavers watch over you well."

Twenty-Nine looked over to the white-skinned monster on his right. Demonslavers. So that was what they were called.

Janus turned back to Wulfgar and looked into the slave's hazel eyes. "Assign this one to Krassus' personal quarters," he ordered the ones at the table. "And keep the door securing our new charge locked at all times. See to it that he is bathed and properly fed. Nothing but the finest for our friend, wouldn't you agree? Also see to it that our guest has some finery to wear. His forthcoming station shall require it. Otherwise, he is not to be disturbed unless I order it." He smiled again. "I want him to be sleek and happy when he first meets his new teacher." The robed men nodded.

Wulfgar struggled in vain to free himself from the demonslaver's iron grip. "What do you want of me?" he growled. "What is it that I am supposed to do for you?"

Janus smiled. "Be at peace," he cooed softly. "For the time being, all that matters is what we shall be doing for you."

It was at that point that a single, defiant voice rang out from the crowd of slaves.