The black girl was bending over him, whispering solicitously and sliding her warm, pink tongue between his lips. She was good at her work. He had grown to trust her; she had shown herself one of his best purchases ever. During his recent indisposition she had proved better than Terebinthia, seeming to know exactly what he needed and how to help him to recover his spirits. The true reason for this, he knew, was the existence of some strange affinity between them. She possessed, he had come to realize, a ruthlessness, a well-masked savagery in certain ways akin to his own. At his heart lay a murderous hatred of the rich

world that had spurned a starving ragamuffin from its doors-until that ragamuffin had learned to pander to its filthy desires. He longed for that world's destruction. So did she. At least, she longed for some sort of destruction. He was no fool; he could perceive that. She was like him to the extent that hatred was what made her live; though hatred of precisely what he had not as yet been able to discern, for she was inscrutable. Now that he came to think of it, she might make a useful secret agent.

Now she was looking into his eyes, murmuring very close and low in a language unknown; sibilant and eager, an invitation, a promise of something lewdly delectable. In response to this cryptic incitement he began to have second thoughts. To have her to gratify him now would be more enjoyable, all things considered, than the Tonildan. How pleasant his life was! His great wealth, his enemies destroyed, every luxury and indulgence at his command! Her strange, unknown words sounded in his ears like an affirmation of security, an invincible charm. Yes, she understood him very well, this fellow-pirate. He was in haste for her.

Even the High Counselor could not gratify his lust openly, in the gardens of the Barb and the presence of provincial barons and their wives. Impatient, he raised himself in the cushions and looked about for the soldiers.

"The boat, my lord," whispered the black girl. "There's a boat, do you see? Just down there, look. We'll go a little way off, in the boat. That'll be the easiest Way."

Two of the attendant soldiers came forward to help him to his feet, but he waved them away, content to clutch her arm. Ah, but he hardly needed help! He felt young again, on his way to the iron-hills of Gelt, on his way to make money once more in Kabin of the Waters: a sharp fellow, one who knew very well how to sail with the stream; one who had grown fat on the blood of his enemies. Only a few steps, yes, just a few gasping steps to the water-side. Slaves had filled the narrow flat-bottomed boat with cushions and into these he sank, while the black girl, seated at his feet, loosed the cord, took up a paddle and pushed gently away from the bank.

"We needn't go far, my lord," she said, smiling down at him. "Just up among those trees. No one'll see us there."

Now the boat was gliding smoothly, only a few feet from the bank, slipping quietly up the margin of the lake, past

the scullions dousing their fires and the cooks packing up their utensils after the evening's work. There was a pleasant smell of smoldering logs. The black girl had slipped out of her clothes and now sat naked on the thwart, her body gleaming in the moonlight as she bent, dipped her paddle and rose again, this side and that, gently guiding the boat towards the zoan grove bordering the far end of the gardens. The moon had dropped behind the trees and the inshore water was lying in deep shadow. Into this warm seclusion the boat slid with scarcely a ripple-merely a light chuckling under the bow and then a gentle scraping as it touched the bank and came to a stop. Laying down her paddle, the black girl knelt and secured the cords fore and aft to two projecting roots.

Now she was stretched beside him, fondling him, her fingers deft and busy under his thin robe. In growing excitement he began caressing her thighs, clutching her, fondling her breasts.

"You're the god Cran, my lord," she whispered, "and I'm your Sacred Queen."

Laughing, she mounted astride him, sinking down upon him, panting. Her rapid plungings began to shake and agitate the boat, sending a succession of ripples out across

the water.

"Ah, now, my lord!" she cried. "Now! Now!" Yet thereupon, unexpectedly, she rolled quickly over and away from him, slipping out of his embrace.

As she did so, two figures rose silently out of the undergrowth of the zoan thicket. The taller, holding a wooden stake sharpened to a point at one end, plunged it downward into the huge belly, leant on it and then, jabbing, levered it back and forth. His companion, a woman carrying a knife, crouched down and drove it again and again into the folds of fat at the High Counselor's throat. Once only he cried out-a roaring bellow which died away as the blood filled his mouth and spurted over his neck and shoulders.

The black girl, snatching the knife, drove it twice into her own thigh and once into her arm. Then, while the attackers made off, one dragging the other by the wrist, she began to scream. As her blood ran down, mingling with her master's, he clutched in agony at the stake jutting from his paunch, shuddered and lay still.

When the first of the soldiers and kitchen-slaves came

bursting through the undergrowth from the gardens, they found only the High Counselor's concubine beside the body, sobbing hysterically, calling on her gods and beating blindly, with bloody hands, at assailants who were nowhere to be seen.

The murder of Sencho-be-L'vandor, High Counselor of Bekla, at a state festivity, within earshot and almost within sight of the High Baron, the Sacred Queen and some two or three hundred assembled dignitaries of the empire, spread not only shock but something close to panic, first througjh the upper and then the lower city. The deed was bewildering and minatory as an earthquake tremor. None could tell what might be going to follow; whether this was simply an isolated act of vengeance carried out by two of the great number with good reason to hate the High Counselor, or the prelude to an organized, armed insurrection against the Leopard regime. How many murderous agents might there be in the city? How many in other cities-in Thettit, Ikat, Dari-Paltesh? Who might be those marked down as their victims?

Fear and suspicion ran everywhere: among the guests, making haste to be gone from the gardens; many, as they went, arranging to remain together for the rest of the night and set out for home no later than dawn; among slaves and servants, warned by their masters to go armed, to keep strict watch and trust no one: among soldiers, an hour ago glad not to have been sent to the Valderra, now ordered to search cellars and attics in the dark; among tradesmen and merchants, fearful for their stock; among shearnas and their admirers, both, as they learned the tidings, reflecting how little they really knew of this other who lay staring and wondering beside them in the lamplight; among the priests of Cran, hiding the temple treasures and sending young Sednil hotfoot to the upper city with an urgent request for the guard to be doubled. Fear was in the creak of a door, the howling of a dog, the sound of footsteps outside.

The sheer audacity of the killing intensified the dread it

evoked. If the High Counselor, in the very midst of his luxury, could fall a victim, with slaves and soldiers on every hand, then who could count himself safe? And the unknown killers had vanished like ghosts at cock-crow. From the upper city, completely walled round and sentinelled, out of which was no egress save by the Peacock Gate, they had simply disappeared. Search, next day, of every slope and cleft on Mount Crandor revealed no least trace of them. So incredible was this that many wondered whether in fact there had ever been any assailants at all. The High Counselor's black concubine, who had been with him when he met his death, had, of course, been held for questioning, as had the other, the Tonildan girl who had accompanied him to the gardens that night. To some, despite the gruesome and brutal nature of the High Counselor's wounds, it seemed more likely that the black girl herself had killed him than that two intruders, for whose existence there was only her word, should have contrived to escape from the upper city unseen. But no, said others: she might, to be sure, have taken a knife with her in the boat unnoticed by her tipsy, lecherous master; but the stake had been cut from the zoan thicket and sharpened there (shavings had been found; and the stump). And this the girl would not have had time to do, even supposing that her master had been too gorged and heedless to stop her. Ah, but might it not have been left there, ready for her use, by an accomplice? Well, possibly. Anyway, they all concluded, she was unlikely to come out of the business with her life. Whatever part she might or might not have played, the authorities, if only to be on the safe side, would no doubt put her out of the way.