The Amnesian Hero came close to requesting the Bureau of Human Affairs, but at the last moment found the strength to resist the temptation. Whoever he was, he was certainly a man of renown, and men of renown did not put their personal needs above their promises.

"If you don't know who you wish to see, I am authorized to give you a list."

The clacking of hooves deeper in the building grew so loud that the Thrasson expected to see an enormous bariaur rounding the counter at any moment. Voices in the impatient crowd began shouting suggestions, some more polite than others. The guards yelled back, bellowing warnings about staying in control and complying with the rules. To make his answer heard above the clamor, the Amnesian Hero nearly had to shout.

"I'm not here about my name. I want to see the Lady of Pain!"

The old bariaur yanked off his spectacles, and, save for the mounting echoes of hooves on marble, the chamber abruptly fell silent. The clerk leaned out over the counter and, bushy white brows half-arched, peered down at the Amnesian Hero.

"Pardon me. Did you say, the Lady of Pain?"

The Amnesian Hero nodded. "I did." He gestured at the large amphora he was still balancing against the counter. "I have a gift for her."

Nervous laughter rustled through the crowd, drawing several stem threats from the guards. On the other side of the counter, the steady clacking of the hooves suddenly ceased. The bariaur's face turned a deep shade of crimson.

"This is no time for jokes, berk! You're the one who declared an information emergency!"

"I am not joking," the Amnesian Hero replied. "I came to deliver a gift to the Lady of Pain. My question is: where do I find her palace?"

A brief clatter sounded from the rear of the counter, then a second bariaur appeared beside the clerk. She was by far the largest the Amnesian Hero had ever seen – at least that he remembered seeing-looming a full head above her associate. In fact, she was so large that the silk-draped swell of her broad, goatlike forequarters was visible over the lip of the counter. Her face was gaunt and amazingly flat, save for a long narrow nose hanging like a bartizan over her gash of a mouth. Her hair was dyed the same pale blue as the hall's marble walls, and she wore it in a long, unruly mop that could not quite conceal the two golden horns curling back from her temples.

The Amnesian Hero felt his mouth gaping open. He promptly clamped it shut and averted his gaze. Horns were something of a deformity on female bariaur, and it would be unseemly to stare.

The female took a moment to glower over the crowd, then turned her glare upon the clerk. "You rang the emergency bell, Earlick?"

Though she pronounced it "Earlick," Erlik was a common enough name for the Thrasson to suspect she was being intentionally insulting.

Without looking the female in the eyes, Erlik nodded. "I did, Madame Mok." The clerk squinted at his ledger and laid a finger on the appropriate line. "A human, one Amnesian Hero of Thrassos, Arborea, Layer the First, declared an Emergency Priority and paid the fee."

Madame Mok glared down at the Amnesian Hero, her sour face now absolutely curdled. "And this Amnesian Hero, has he no real name, Earlick?"

"None that I can recall." The Amnesian Hero was tired of being treated as though he were not there. "I remember nothing before awakening on the shore near Thrassos, where the kind citizens cared for me until I grew strong enough to repay them by slaying a hydra that had-"

"Silence, berk!" Madame Mok snapped. "We have our procedures in this hall…"

The Amnesian Hero bristled under the rebuff, but inclined his head politely and allowed Erlik to answer for him.

Erlik swallowed, then licked his lips. "The Amnesian Hero cannot recall his name."

"I see. And has a Mercykiller confirmed his claim? Or could this be another attempt by the Hall of Records to embarrass us?"

The color drained from Erlik's face. "I d-don't have the auth-th-thority to auth-th-thorize-"

"Of course you don't." Madame Mok turned to the Amnesian Hero, then pointed at one of the door sentries standing beside him. "You will look into the Mercykiller's eyes and repeat your name."

Growing more perturbed with each passing moment, the Amnesian Hero turned to the guard. Though there were not many Mercykillers in Arborea, the Thrasson had heard the name before. They were a group of fanatics who dispensed "justice" to the "guilty"-though no one in Arborea seemed to have a clear idea of who the guilty were or what justice they received.

The Amnesian Hero met the Mercykiller's gaze, and the sentry's pupils suddenly seemed as glimmering and dark as cavern pools. The Thrasson felt a gentle tingle behind his brow and realized the fellow was looking someplace beyond his eyes. It did not matter to the Amnesian Hero; the best thing that could happen to him would be for the guard to discover that he did know his name.

"I cannot remember my name," said the Thrasson. "I recall nothing before awakening on-"

"That's enough – I don't need your whole life history." The Mercykiller turned to Madame Mok and nodded. "He's telling the truth."

She smiled rather wickedly. "Now that we have established who you are – or, rather, who you are nor – what do you want from the Hall of Information? I believe I overheard something about a gift?"

"For the Lady of Pain." The Amnesian Hero rested a hand on his amphora. "My question is: where do I find her palace?"

Again, a nervous chuckle rose from the crowd. Even Madame Mok sneered in amusement. "And this gift, it is from you?"

The Amnesian Hero scowled. "Am I not the one who paid good gold to have his question answered?"

"You paid to have your appointments expedited – as they have been," Madame Mok corrected. "But I am in control here. If you wish to have your question answered, you must comply with my procedures."

The Amnesian Hero ground his teeth and said nothing.

"Is the gift your own?" demanded Madame Mok.

"No, I am only the bearer. The gift comes from Poseidon, King of Seas and Cleaver of Lands."

Madame Mok's face turned as pale as alabaster. An astonished drone buzzed through the foyer, and people who had been waiting in line all day long began to scramble for the exits. The guards turned away from the crowd and formed a ring around the Amnesian Hero, who, though surprised by the reaction, was glad to be at last accorded the proper respect.

"Poseidon?" Madame Mok asked. "The god Poseidon?"

"Of course. What mortal would dare send a gift to the ruler of Sigil?"

Madame Mok fixed the Amnesian Hero with her harshest stare. The Thrasson stood proudly while she scrutinized his patrician features, the rich red tint of his bronze armor, the silver-gilded hilt of his star-forged sword, even the polished leather of his sandal straps. When her gaze finally returned to his face, her expression had changed from imperious to suspicious. She slipped back from the counter's front edge.

"You're a proxy, then?"

"Hardly. A proxy is a servant. I am a man of renown, beloved of the people and favored of the gods, as befits the bearer of a gift from the King of Seas."

The color began to return to Madame Mok's face. "Then you are not invested with Poseidon's power?"

"I have might enough of my own." The Amnesian Hero glanced contemptuously at the ring of glaive blades leveled at his chest. "Now, if you will direct me to the Lady's palace, I will deliver the gift and be gone from this swarming city."

"And this gift, what is it?" Madame Mok leaned over the counter to peer down at the amphora. "Some of that rancid pine sap you Thrassons call wine?"

"I suspect not." Poseidon had told the Amnesian Hero only that the jar contained a treasure that the Lady of Pain had lost before the founding of Sigil. "However, since the Cleaver of Lands bade me never to remove the stopper, I cannot say what the amphora holds – nor would I, if I knew. What passes between Poseidon and the Lady of Pain is no business of mine – or yours."