There was another brief exchange of foreign words before Prism spoke again toCythen. 'The shape-changer is known to us - as we are known to him. It is aserious charge you and he bring before us. This woman, your sister, was not ourvictim. You, of course, do not know us well enough to know that we speak thetruth in this; you will have to trust us that this is so.'

Cythen opened her mouth to protest, but the woman waved her back to silence.

'I have not doubted the truth of your words,' Prism warned. 'Do not be sofoolish as to doubt mine. We will study this matter closely. The dead woman willbe avenged. You will be remembered. Go now, with Bey, the Mother of us all.'

'If it wasn't you, then who was it?' Cythen demanded, though the women werealready melting back into the shadows. 'It couldn't have been one of us. None ofus has the venom, or knows of the Harka Bey ...'

They continued to vanish, as silently and mysteriously as they had arrived.Prism lingered the longest; then she, too, vanished and Cythen was left towonder if the alien women had been there at all.

Still full of the delayed effects of her terror, Cythen clambered loudly overthe wall. The Maze was still black as ink, but now it was silent, caught in thebrief moment between the activities of night and those of the day. Her softfootfalls echoed and she pulled the dark cloak high around her face, until theMaze was behind her and she was in the Street of Red Lanterns, where a fewpatrons still lingered in the doorways, shielding their faces from her eyes. Thegreat lamps were out above the door of the Aphrodisia House. Myrtis and hercourtesans would not rise until the sun beat on the rooftops at noon. But herstaff, the ones who were invisible at night, were working in the kitchens andtook Cythen's hastily scribbled, disappointed message, promising that it wouldbe delivered as soon as Madame had breakfasted. Then, weary and yawning, Cythenslipped back into the garrison barracks where Walegrin, in deference to her sex,had allotted her a private, bolted chamber.

She slept well into the day watch, entering the mess hall when it was deserted.The gelid remains of breakfast remained on the sideboard, ignored by the endemicvermin. It would taste worse than it looked, though Cythen was long past theluxury of tasting the food she ate: one ate what was available or one starved.She filled her bowl and sat alone by the hearth.

Bekin's death was still unexplained and unavenged and that weighed more heavilyupon her than the greasy porridge. For more years than she cared to remember,her only pride had been that she had somehow managed to care for Bekin. Now thatwas gone and she stood emotionally naked to her guilts and unbidden memories. Ifthe Harka Bey had not appeared, she might still have blamed them but, despitetheir barbaric coldness, or perhaps because of it, she believed what they hadsaid. The warmth of tears rose within her as her brooding was broken by thesound of a chair scraping along the floor in the watchroom above her. Ratherthan succumb to the waiting tears, she went to confront Walegrin.

The straw-blond man didn't notice as she opened the door. He was absorbed in hissquare of parchment and the cramped rows of figures he had made upon it. Withone hand on the door, Cythen hesitated. She didn't like Walegrin; no one reallydid, except maybe Thrusher - and he was almost as strange. The garrison'sofficer repelled compassion and friendship alike and hid his emotions sothoroughly that none could find them. Still, Walegrin managed to provideleadership and direction when it was needed - and he reminded Cythen of no oneelse in her troubled past.

'You missed curfew,' he greeted her after she closed the door, not looking upfrom his figures. His hands were filthy with cheap ink, the only kind availablein Sanctuary. But the numbers themselves, Cythen saw as she moved closer, wereclear and orderly. He could read and write as well as swing a sword; in fact, hehad education and experience equal to her own, and at times her feelings for himthreatened to take wild leaps beyond friendship or respect. Then she wouldremind herself that it was only loneliness that she was feeling and theremembering of things best left forgotten.

'I left word for you,' she stated without apology.

He kicked a stool towards her. 'Did you find what you were looking for?'

She shook her head and sat on the stool. 'No, but I found them all right.Beysib, and from the palace, by the look of them.' She shook her head again,this time recalling the strange faces of the two women she had seen. 'Theysneaked up on me; I couldn't see how many there were. One came after me with apair of those long-hiked swords of theirs. She spun them so fast I couldn't seethem any more. Fighting with them's like walking into the mouth of a dragon.'

'But you fought and survived?' A faint trace of a smile creased Walegrin's face.He set his quill aside.

'She said they were testing me - but that's because she couldn't kill me likeshe'd planned. Her swords couldn't stop mine, and mine didn't break hers; thatBeysib steel is good. I guess we were both surprised. And then she figured shebetter talk to me, and listen ... But she never blinked while I talked to her sothis Harka Bey, whatever it is, really must be from the palace and around theBeysa, right? The closer they are to the Imperial blood the more fish-eyed theyare, right? And while I was talking to her a snake, one of those damned redmouthed vipers, crawled up out of her clothes and wound up around her neck,lookin' at me as if its opinion was the one that really mattered. And the otherone - the one who came forward after the test - her face was shiny and purple!'

'Then she should be fairly easy to identify if she's the one who killed yoursister.'

Cythen froze on the stool, searching the past few days, the past few months forany slip of the tongue when she might have let him know what Bekin was to her;that she pursued the killer of a Red Lanterns courtesan out of anything morethan outrage or simple compassion.

'Molin told me,' Walegrin explained. 'He was looking for a pattern.'

'Molin Torchholder? Why in the name of a hundred stinking little gods shouldVashanka's torch know anything about me or my sister?' The anxiety and guilttransformed themselves into anger; Cythen's rich voice filled the room.

'When Myrtis asks Lythande and Lythande asks Enas Yorl and they ask for aspecific person to escort the corpse from pillar to post then, yes - somehowMolin Torchholder hears about it and gets his answers.'

'And you're his errand boy? His messenger?' She had touched a sore point betweenthem in her anger, and by the darkening of his face she knew to regret it. Backin the first days of chaos after the Beysib fleet heaved over the horizon, MolinTorchholder had been everywhere. The archetypical bureaucrat had kept hisbeleaguered temple open for business; his Prince well-advised, the Beysib amusedand, ultimately, Walegrin and his band employed in the service of the city. Inreturn, Walegrin had begun to hand back a portion of the garrison's wages forMolin's speculations. It was not such a bad partnership. Walegrin's duties kepthim apprised of the merchant's activity anyway, and Molin seldom lost money. Butfor Cythen, whose family, when she'd had a family, had been rich in land, notgold, the rabid pursuit of more gold than you needed was degrading. And, thoughshe would never admit it directly, she did not want Walegrin degraded.

'He told me,' Walegrin replied after an uncomfortable silence, his voicecarefully even, 'because you are still part of this garrison and if something isgoing to make you act rashly he would want me to know about it. Bekin's deathisn't the only one that's got us edgy. Each night since she died at least twoBeysib have been found dead, mutilated, and the lord-high muckety-mucks arethinking about showing some muscle around here. We're all under close watch.'