'If he was so damned all-fired concerned about how rashly I might act, then whyin his departed god's name didn't he keep Bekin from getting killed in the firstplace?'

'You hid her too well. He didn't know who she was until she was dead, Cythen.You bought Myrtis's silence; she was the only one beside you who knew - andmaybe Jubal, I guess. But, did you know she was working the Beysib traffic onthe Street?' Walegrin paused and let Cythen absorb the information she obviouslyhad not had before. 'Most of the women won't, you know. I guess it's not justtheir eyes that're different. But she was killed by a Beysib serpent - a jealouswife maybe? And, now that Beysibs are getting killed by an ordinary rip-andslash artist in numbers and places that can't all be written off tocarelessness, you are a suspect, you Know.'

The anger had burned itself out, leaving Cythen with gaping holes in herdefences; the grief slipped out. 'Walegrin, she was mad. Every man looked thesame to her - so of course she'd work the Beysib, or Jubal. She didn't livehere. She couldn't have known anything, or done anything to make someone killher. Damn, if Molin cares who services the Beysib stallions he could haveprotected her anyway.' A few tears escaped and, shamed by them, Cythen hid herface behind her hands.

'You should tell him that yourself. You're not going to be any use to me untilyou do.' Walegrin rolled the parchment, then stood up to fasten his sword-beltover his hips. 'You won't be needing anything - let's go.'

Too surprised to object, Cythen followed him into the palace forecourt. Ahandful of gaudy Beysib youths, brash young men and lithe, bold women, pushedloudly past them, the exposed, painted breasts of the women flashing frombeneath their capelets in the sunlight. Walegrin affected not to notice; no manin Sanctuary would notice the flaunted flesh - not if he valued his life. TheBeysib had made that very clear in the first, and - thus far - only, wave ofexecutions. Cythen stared, though not as well as the Beysib could stare, attheir faces and finally looked away, unable to find any individuality in thebarbaric features. Prism could have walked beside her and she would not haveknown it.

One of the Beysib lords strode by, magenta pantaloons billowing around him, aglittering fez perched atop his shaved head, and a well-scrubbed Sanctuaryurchin struggling with a great silk parasol behind him. Both Walegrin and Cythenhalted and saluted as he passed. That was the way now, if you accepted theirgold.

She was grateful for the shadows of the lower palace and the familiar sound ofservants shouting in Rankene at each other as they approached the much-reducedquarters of Kadakithis and his retainers. In truth, though, she no longer wantedto see the priest, if indeed she had ever wanted to see him. Her anger hadescaped and now she only wanted to return to her tiny room. But Walegrin poundedon the heavy door and forced it open before the Torch's pet mute could lift thelatch.

Molin set down his goblet and stared at Cythen in the old-fashioned way thatsaid: What has the cat dragged in this time? Cythen tugged at her tunic, wellaware that the clothes of a garrison soldier, no matter how clean or cared for,were unseemly attire for a woman - especially one who had been an earling'sdaughter. And if he knew about Bekin, then he might have known the rest as well.She would have run from the chamber, had that been an option, but since itwasn't, she squared her shoulders and matched his appraising look with one ofher own.

The priest was Rankan and he'd managed to retain all the implied power andmajesty that that word had ever carried, despite the low ceilings and thelaundry-women battling outside his window. Bands of gold decorated the hems ofhis robes, adorned his boots, and circled his fingers. His midnight hair wascombed to surround his face like a lion's mane - yet it was not so dark or shinyas his eyes. If the Torch's god had been vanquished, as some claimed; if thePrince was simply a puppet in the hands of the Beysa; if his prospects forwealth and honour had been reduced, then none of it showed in his appearance ordemeanour. Cythen looked away first.

'Cythen has some questions I can't answer for her,' Walegrin said boldly as helaid the parchment on the priest's table. 'She wonders why you didn't protectBekin when you first suspected there might be danger in dealing with the Beysib,as she did.'

The Torch calmly unrolled the parchment. 'Ah, three caravans yesterday; seventyfive soldats. We've almost enough. They agree the first boat should be boughtwith Rankan gold, you know. The longer we can keep the capital ignorant of oursituation here, the better it will be for all of us. If they knew how much goldwas floating in our harbour, they'd bring half the army down here to take itfrom us - and neither we nor they want that.' He looked up from the parchment.

'Have you found me a man to take the gold north yet? I'll have other messagesfor him to carry as well. The war's not going well; I think we can lure Tempusback to his Prince. We're going to need that man's unique and nasty talentsbefore this is over.' He rerolled the parchment and handed it over to themute.

Walegrin scowled. He had no desire to have Tempus back in the town. Molin sippedat his wine and seemed to notice Cythen for the first time again. 'Now then, foryour companion's questions. I was not aware of the unfortunate woman'srelationship to Cythen until after she was dead. And I certainly did not knowthere was danger in bedding a Beysib until it was too late.'

'But you were watching her. You must have suspected something,' Cythen snarled,grinding her heel into the lush wool-and-silk carpet and banging her fist on thepriest's fine parquet table.

'She was, I believe, a half-mad - or totally mad, you'd know better than Iharlot at the Aphrodisia. I can not imagine the dangers or delights of such alife. She entertained a variety of Beysib men, one of the few who would, and asthe welfare of the Beysib is important to me, I kept tabs on them, and thereforeher. It is a pity she was murdered - that is what happened, isn't it? But, madas she was - sleeping with the Beysib - isn't it better that she's departed? Herspirit is free now to be reborn on a higher, happier level.'

Theology came easily and sincerely to the priest. And Cythen, who knew her ownsins well enough, was tempted to believe the resonant phrases.

'You knew something,' she said pleadingly, clutching her resolve. 'Just like theHarka Bey suspected something when I told them.'

Torchholder swallowed his pious words and looked to Walegrin for confirmation.The blond, ice-eyed man simply nodded his head slightly and said: 'It had beensuggested by Yorl. Cythen seemed the most appropriate one for the task; shevolunteered anyway.'

'Harka Bey,' the priest repeated, mulling over the words. 'Vengeance of Bey, Ibelieve, in their language. I've heard rumours, legends, whatever about them,but everybody's denied that there's anything to the legends. Poison-bloodedfemale assassins? And real enough that Cythen met with them? Very interesting,but not at all what I'd expected.'

'I believe, your Grace, that Yorl only suggested contacting the Harka Bey. Itseems unlikely that they would have killed the girl: Indeed they deny it,'Walegrin corrected, clenching Cythen's upper arm in a bruising grip to keepher quiet.

'What did you expect?' Cythen demanded of Molin, wrenching free of Walegrin andraising her voice. 'Why is it so important that she slept with the Beysib men?Which one of them do you suspect of murder?'