Nobody could prove that this was other than a natural disaster; an 'act of gods'was the unfortunate turn of phrase.

When at last Crit and Strat had done with the dicey process of standing aroundlooking inconsequential while in fact, by handsign and courier, they mitigatedKadakithis's bent to compromise (for which there was no need except in theBeysib matriarch's mind), they retired from the dockside.

Crit wanted to get drunk, as drunk as humanly possible: helping the Mageguilddefend its innocence, when like as not some mage or other had called the storm,was more than distasteful; it was counterproductive. As far as Critias wasconcerned, the newly elected First Hazard ought to step forward and takeresponsibility for his guild's malevolent mischief. When frogs fell from thesky, Straton prognosticated, such would be the case.

They'd done some good there: they'd conscripted Wrigglies and deputizedfishermen and bullied the garrison duty officer into sending some of his men outwith the long boats and Beysib dinghies and slave-powered tenders which searchedshoals and coastline for survivors. But with the confusion of healers andthrill-seeking civilians and boat owners and Beysibs on the docks, they'd had tocall in all the Stepsons and troops from road patrols and country posts in casethe Beysibs took their loss too much to heart and turned upon the townsfolk. .

On every corner, now, a mounted pair stood watch; beyond, the roads weredesolate, unguarded. Crit worried that if diversion was some culprit's purpose,it had worked all too well: an army headed south would be upon them with nowarning. If he'd not known that yesterday there'd been no sign of southwardtroop movement, he confided to Straton, he'd be sure some such evil was afoot.

To make things worse, when they found an open bar it was the Alekeep, and itsowner was wringing his hands in a corner with five other upscale fathers. Theirsons and daughters had been out all night; word to Tempus at the Stepsons'barracks had brought no answer; the skeleton crew at the garrison had moreurgent things to do than attend to demands for search parties when manpower wassuddenly at a premium; the fathers sat awaiting their own men's return and thushad kept the Alekeep's graveyard shift from closing.

They got out of there as soon as politic, weary as their horses and squinting inthe lightening dark.

The only place where peace and quiet could be had now that the town was waking,Crit said sourly, was the Shambles drop. They rode there and fastened the ironshutters down against the dawn, thinking to get an hour or so of sleep, andfound Niko's coded note.

'Why wouldn't the old barkeep have told us that he'd set them on his daughter'strail?' Strat sighed, rubbing his eyes with his palms.

'Niko's legend says he's defected to the slums, remember?' Crit was shrugginginto his chiton, which he'd just tugged off and thrown upon the floor.

'We're not going back out.'

'I am.'

'To look for Niko'! Where?

'Niko and Janni. And I don't know where. But if that pair hasn't turned up thoseyoungsters yet, it's no simple adolescent prank or graduation romp. Let's hopeit's just that their meet with Roxane took precedence and it's inopportune forthem to leave her.' Crit stood.

Straton didn't.

'Coming?' Crit asked.

'Somebody should be where authority is expected to be found. You should be hereor at the hostel, not chasing after someone who might be chasing after you.'

So in the end, Straton won that battle and they went up to the hostel, stopping,since the sun had risen, at Marc's to pick up Straton's case of flights alongthe way.

The shop's door was ajar, though the opening hour painted on it hadn't come yet.Inside, the smith was hunched over a mug of tea, a crossbow's trigger mechanismdismantled before him on a split of suede, scowling at the crossbow's gutsspread upon his counter as if at a recalcitrant child.

He looked up when they entered, wished them a better morning than he'd had sofar this day, and went to get Straton's case of nights.

Behind the counter an assortment of high-torque bows was hung.

When Marc returned with the wooden case, Straton pointed: 'That's Niko's isn'tit - or are my eyes that bad?'

'I'm holding it for him, until he pays,' explained the smith with theunflinching gaze.

'We'll pay for it now and he can pick it up from me,' Crit said.

'I don't know if he'd ...' Marc, half into someone else's business, stepped backout of it with a nod of head: 'All right, then, if you want. I'll tell himyou've got it. That's four soldats, three ... I've done a lot of work on it forhim. Shall I tell him to seek you at the guild hostel?'

'Thereabouts.'

Taking it down from the wall, the smith wound and levered, then dry-fired thecrossbow, its mechanism to his ear. A smile came over his face at what he heard.'Good enough, then,' he declared and wrapped it in its case of padded hide.

This way, Straton realized, Niko would come direct to Crit and report when Marctold him what they'd done.

By the time dawn had cracked the world's egg, Tempus as well as Jihan was sated,even tired. For a man who chased sleep like other men chased power or women, itwas wondrous that this was so. For a being only recently become woman, it was atriumph. They walked back towards the Stepsons' barracks, following thecreekbed, all pink and gold in sunrise, content and even playful, his chuckleand her occasional laugh startling sleepy squirrels and flushing birds fromtheir nests. .

He'd been morose, but she'd cured it, convincing him that life might take abetter turn, if he'd just let it. They'd spoken of her father, calledStormbringer in lieu of name, and arcane matters of their joint preoccupation:whether humanity had inherent value, whether gods could die or merely lie,whether Vashanka was hiding out somewhere, petulant in godhead, only waiting forgenerous sacrificers and heartfelt prayers to coax him back among his Rankanpeople - or, twelfth plane powers forfend, really 'dead'.

He'd spoken openly to her of his affliction, reminding her that those who lovedhim died by violence and those he loved were bound to spurn him, and what thatcould mean in the case of his Stepsons, and herself, if Vashanka's power did notreturn to mitigate his curse. He'd told her of his plea to Enlil, an ancientdeity of universal scope, and that he awaited godsign.

She'd been relieved at that, afraid, she admitted, that the lord of dreams mighttempt him from her side. For when Askelon the dream lord had come to takeTempus's sister off to his metaphysical kingdom of delights, he'd offered thebrother the boon of mortality. Now that she'd just found him, Jihan had addedthroatily, she could not bear it if he chose to die.

And she'd spent that evening proving to Tempus that it might be well to stayalive with her, who loved life the more for having only just begun it, and yetcould not succumb to mortal death or be placed in mortal danger by his curse,his strength, or whatever he might do.

The high moon had laved them and her legs had embraced him and her red-glowingeyes like her father's had transfixed him while her cool flesh enflamed him.Yes, with Jihan beside him, he'd swallow his pride and his pique and give evenSanctuary's Kadaki-this the benefit of the doubt - he'd stay though his hearttugged him northward, although he'd thought, when he took her to their creekbedbower, to chase her away.

When they'd slipped into his barracks quarters from the back, he was no longerso certain. He heard from a lieutenant all about the waterspouts and whirlpools,thinking while the man talked that this was his godsign, however obscure itsmeaning, and then he regretted having made an accommodation with the FrothDaughter: all his angst came back upon him, and he wished he'd hugged hisresolve firmly to his breast and driven Jihan hence.