There were half a dozen regulars in the bar, fishermen and fish-merchants. WhenSamlor looked away from the spectacle, he found the local men staring at him. Hegave a scowl of surprise when he noticed them; but even as the locals retreatedinto their mugs in confusion, Samlor understood why they had looked at him theway they had. The Cirdonian had nothing to do with the arrests on the docks justnow; but he had nothing to do with this tavern, either. He had sat here duringthree noons and drunk ale ... and on the third day, the Beysibs made an arreston the dock below. To the vulnerable, no coincidence is chance. These fishermenwere unusually vulnerable to all the powers of the physical world as well asthose of the political one. No wonder the Beysib counterparts of these men hadturned to a god their overlords would not recognize; a personification, perhaps,of mystery and of the typhoons that could sweep the ocean clear of small boatsand simple sailors.

Hort slipped into the cantina. He was dressed a little on the gaudy side. Still,he wore his clothes with the self-assurance of a young man instead of a boy'snervous gibing at the world. He raised a finger. The bartender chalked the slateabove him and began drawing a mug of ale for the newcomer.

'I'm not sure you want to be seen with me,' Hort muttered to Samlor as he tookhis ale. 'The fellows they just carried off -' he nodded, as he slurped thebrew, towards the trawler bobbing high on its lines with the mast still swingingabove it from the sheer legs. 'Kummanni, Anbarbi, Arnuwanda. I talked to themjust last night. About what you needed to know.'

'That's why they were arrested?' the caravan-master asked. He tried to keep hisvoice as calm as if he were asking which tailor had sewn the younger man'sjerkin.

'I would to god I knew,' Hort said with feeling. 'It could be anything.Tudhaliya is - Minister of Security, I suppose. But he likes to stay close tothings. To keep his hand in.'

'And his swords,' Samlor agreed softly. His eyes traced the path the horsemenhad taken as they rode off, towards the palace and the dungeons beneath it.'Would enough money to let you travel be a help?'

Hort shrugged, shuddered. 'I don't know.' He drained his mug and slid it to thebartender for a refill.

'I'm not afraid to be seen with you,' Samlor said. 'But I'm not sure you want totell me about the - cult - with so many other people around.' He smiled aboutthe cantina. The men there had just furnished him with a tactful way to prod thefrightened youth into his story.

Hort drank and shuddered again. He said, 'Oh, I was raised with everyone here.Omat's my godfather. They won't tell tales to the Beysib.'

It wasn't the time for Samlor to comment. He assumed it was obvious anyway.Anyone will talk if the questions are put with sufficient forcefulness. But Hortmust have known that too. The local man was not a coward, and he was not theworse for never having asked questions the way Lord Tudhaliya would. The waySamlor hil Samt had done, when need arose, might Heqt wash him . with mercy whenshe gathered him in ...

'There's a boat went out last month at the new moon,' Hort said beneath amoustache of beer foam. 'A trawler, but not fishing. Do you know what Death'sHarbour is?'

'No.' Samlor had poled a skiff as a boy, when he hunted ducks in the marshessouth ofCirdon. He knew little of the sea, however, and nothing at all of theseas around Sanctury.

'Two currents meet,' Hort explained. 'Any flotsam in the sea gets swept into theeye of it. Wrecks, sometimes. And sometimes men on rafts, until the sun driestheir skin to parchment shrouding their bones.' He laughed. 'Sorry,' he said. 'Iforget what sort of story I meant to tell you.' The smile faded. 'Nobody fishesin Death's Harbour. The bottom is deeper than anyone here ever set a line.Scooped out by the currents, I suppose. The fish won't shoal there, so it's nouse to us. But a Beysib trawler went there last month, and it's coming back nowslower than there's any reason for. Except that it's going to arrive tonight,and the moon is new again tonight.'

'Star's aboard her, then?' Samlor asked and sipped more ale. The brew wasbitter, but less bitter than the gall that flooded his mouth at the thought ofStar in Beysib hands.

'I think so,' Hort agreed. 'Anbarbi didn't approve. Of any of it, I think,though none of them said what was really going on. We'd seen the boat at sea, myfather, all of us from Sanctuary that go to sea ourselves. That's what we talkedabout, though they didn't much want to talk. But from what Anbarbi let drop, Ithink there was a child on the trawler. At least when it put out.'

'And it'll dock here this evening?' the Cirdonian said. He had set down his mugand was flexing his hands, open and shut, as if to work the stiffness out ofthem.

'Oh -' said Hort. He was embarrassed not to be telling his story more in thefashion of an intelligence summary than of an entertainment with the discursionswhich added body to the tale and coin to the teller's purse. 'No, not here.There's a cove west a league of Downwind. Smugglers used it until the Beysibcame. There are ruins there, older than anybody's sure. A temple, some otherbuildings. Nobody much uses them now, though the Smugglers'11 be back whenthings settle down, I suppose. But the boat from Death's Harbour will put inthere at midnight. I think, sir. I tell stories for a living, and I've learnedto sew them together from this word and that word I hear. But it doesn't usuallymatter if my pattern is the same one that the gods wove to begin with.'

'Well,' Samlor said after consideration, 'I don't think my first look at thisplace had better be after dark. There'll be a watchman or the like, I suppose... but we'll deal with that when we find it. I -' he paused and looked straightat the younger man instead of continuing to eye the harbour. 'We agreed thatyour pay would be the full story when I had it to tell ... and you'll have that.But it may be I won't be talking much after tonight, so take this,' his clenchedhand brushed Hort's flexed to empty into the other's palm, 'and take myfriendship. You've - acted as a man in this thing, and you have neither bloodnor honour to drive you to it.'

'One thing more,' said the youth. 'The Beysib - the Setmur clan, I mean - arereal sailors, and they know their fishing, too ... But there are things theydon't know about the harbourages here, around Sanctuary. I don't think they knowthat there's a tunnel through the east headland of the cove they've chosen forwhatever they're going to do.' Hort managed a tight smile. Sweat beaded on hisforehead. The risk he was taking by getting involved with the stranger was veryreal, though most of the specific dangers were more nebulous to him than theywere to Samlor. 'One end of the tunnel opens under the corniche of the headland.You can row right into it at high tide. And when you lift the slab at the otherend, you're in the temple itself.'

Hort's coda had drawn from his listener all the awed pleasure that a story welltold could bring. The local man stood up, strengthened by the respect of astrong man. 'May your gods lead you well, sir,' Hort said, squeezing theCirdonian's hand in leave-taking. 'I look forward to hearing your story.'

The youth strode out of the cantina with a flourish and a nod to the otherpatrons. Samlor shook his head. In a world that seemed filled with sharks andstonefish, Hort's bright courage was as admirable as it was rare.

To say that Samlor felt like an idiot was to understate matters. It was the onlychoice he could come up with at short notice, however, and which did not involveothers. At this juncture, the Cirdonian was not willing to involve others.