'There's a man,' Dolon said at once, in a low, soft voice, 'pinned to the WhiteFoal bridge tonight. How would this go on happening? Shall I guess?'

The tic grew more pronounced, spread to the left, scar-edged eye. The handsjerked as well, until they found each other and clasped for stability.'Stepson?' Mor-am asked needlessly, a hoarse thin voice: that too the fire hadruined.

Dolon nodded and waited, demanding far more than that.

'They would,' Mor-am said, lifting his shoulder, seeming to give apologies forthose that had ruined him for life and made him what he was. 'The bridge, youknow - they - h-have to come and go -'

'So now we and the hawkmasks have a thing in common.'

'It's the same t-thing. Hawkmasks and Stepsons. To t-them.'

Dolon thought on that a moment, without affront, but he assumed a scowl.'Certainly,' he said, 'it's the same thing where you're concerned. Isn't it?'

'I d-don't t-take Jubal's pay.'

'You take your life,' Dolon whispered, elbows on the desk, 'from us. Every dayyou live.'

'Y-you're not the same S-Stepsons.'

Now the scowl was real, and the moment's sneer cleared itself from the man'sruined face.

'I don't like losing men,' Dolon said. 'And it comes to me -hawkmask, that wemight find a use for you.' He let that lie a moment, enjoying the anxiety thatcaused, letting the hawkmask sweat. 'You know,' he said further, 'we're talkingabout your life. Now there's this woman, hawkmask, there's this woman - we know.Maybe you do. You will. Jubal's hired her, just to keep her out of play. Maybefor more just now. But a hawkmask like yourself - maybe you could tell her justwhat you just told me ... Common cause. That's what it is. You know who'slooking for you? I'm sure you know. I'm sure you know what those enemies can do.What we might do; who knows?'

The tic became steady, like a pulse. Sweat glistened on Mor-am's brow.

'So, well,' Dolon said, 'I want you to go to a certain place and take a message.There's those will watch you -just so you get there safe and sound. You cantrust that. And you talk to this woman and you tell her how Stepsons happen tosend her a hawkmask for a messenger, how you're hunted - oh, tell her anythingyou like. Or lie. It's all the same. Just give the paper to her.'

'What's it s-say?'

'Curiosity, hawkmask? It's an offer of employ. Trust us, hawk-mask. Her name'sIschade. Tell her this: we want this beggar-king. More, we've got one manmissing on that bridge tonight. Alive, maybe. And we want him back. You'reanother matter ... but I'd advise you come back to us. I'd advise you don't lookher in the eye if you can avoid it. Friendly advice, hawkmask. And it's all thetruth.'

Mor-am had gone very pale. So perhaps he had heard the rumours of the woman.Sweat ran, in that portion of his face unglazed by scars. The tic had stopped,for whatever reason.

The wind caught Haught's cloak as he ran, rain spattered his face and he let itgo, splashing through the puddles as he approached the under-stair door withinthe Maze.

He rapped a pattern, heard the stirring within and the bar thrust up. The doorswung inward, on light and warmth and a woman, on Moria, who whisked him insideand snatched his dripping wrap. He put chilled arms about her,'hugged her tight,still shivering, still out of breath.

'They got a Stepson,' he said. 'By the bridge. Like before. Mradhon's cominganother way.'

'Who?' Moria gripped his arms in violence. 'Who did they get?'

'Not him. Not your brother. I know that.' His teeth wanted to chatter, not fromthe chill. He remembered the scurrying in the alley, the footsteps behind himfor a way. He had lost them. He believed he had. He left Moria's grasp and wentto the fireside, to stand by the tiny hearthside, the twisted, mislaid bricks.He looked back at Moria standing by the door, feeling aches in all his scars.'They almost got us.'

'They?'

'Beggars.'

She wrapped her arms about herself, rolled a glance towards the door as someonecame racing up at speed, splashing through the rain. A knock followed, the rightone, and she whisked the door open a second time, for Mradhon Vis, who came indrenched and spattered with mud on the left side.

Moria stared half a heartbeat and slammed shut the door, dropping the bar down.Mradhon stamped a muddy puddle on the aged boards and stripped his cloak off,showing a drowned, dark-bearded face, eyes still wild with the chase.

'Slid,' he said, taking his breath. 'There's a patrol out. There's watchers Youget it?'

Haught reached inside his doublet, pulled out a small leather purse. He tossedit at Mradhon Vis with a touch of confidence recovered. At least this they haddone right.

Then Moria's eyes lightened. The hope came back to them as Mradhon shook thebright spill of coins into her palm, three, four, five of them, good silver; ahandful of coppers.

But the darkness came back again when she looked up at them, one and the other.'Where did you get it, for what?'

'Lifted it,' Haught said.

'Who from?' Moria's eyes blazed. 'You by-Shalpa double fools, you lifted it fromwhere?'

Haught shrugged. 'A greater fool.'

She hefted coin and purse, down-browed. 'At this hour, a merchant abroad in theMaze? No, not likely, not at all. What did I teach you? Where did you get thishaul? From what thief?' They neither one answered, and she cast the prize on tothe table. Pour silver coins among the copper.

'Light-fingers,' Mradhon said. 'Share and share alike.'

'Oh, and share the trouble too?' She held up the missing coin and dropped itdown her bodice, dark eyes flashing. 'Share it when someone marks you out? Idon't doubt I will.' She walked away, took a cup of wine from the table, andsipped at it. She drank too much lately, did Moria. Far too much.

'Someone has to do it,' Haught said.

'Fool,' Moria said again. 'I'm telling you, there's those about don't takekindly to amateurs cutting in on their territory. Still less to being robbedthemselves. Did you kill him?'

'No,' Mradhon said. 'We did it just the way you said.'

'What's this about beggars? You get spotted?'

'There was one near,' Haught said. 'Then - there were three of them. All atonce.'

'Fine,' said Moria in steely patience. "That's fine. You're not half good. Mybrother and I -'

But that was not a thing Moria spoke of often. She took another drink, sat downat the table in the only chair.

'We got the money,' Haught protested, trying to cheer her.

'And we're counting,' said Mradhon. 'You go ahead and keep that silver, bitch.I'm not going after it. But that's all you get, 'til you're worth somethingagain.'

'Don't you tell me who's worth something. You'll get our throats cut, rollingthe wrong man.'

'Then you by-the-gods do something. You want to lose this place? You want us onthe street? Is that what you want?'

'Who's dead over by the bridge?'

'Don't know.'

'But beggars sent you running. Didn't they?'

Mradhon shrugged.

'What more do we heed?' she asked. 'Stepsons. Now Becho's vermin. Thieves.Beggars, for Shipri's sake, beggars sniffing round here.'

'Jubal,' Mradhon said. 'Jubal's what we need. Until you come through withJubal's money -'

'He's going to send for us again.' Her lip set hard. 'Sooner or later. We justgo on checking the drops. It's slow, that's all: it's a new kind of business,this setting up again. But he won't touch us if you get the heat on us; if yougo off making your own deals. You stay out of trouble. Hear me? You're not cutout for thieves. It's not in you. You want to go through life left-handed?'