'Two,' the smith insisted.

'Dubro!'

They all turned to face the small woman who had emerged from the enclosurebehind the forge.

'Do it for one,' she said quietly. 'He needs it.'

She and the smith locked eyes in a battle of wills, then the giant nodded andturned away from his wife.

'S'danzo?' the Old Man asked before the woman disappeared into the darkness fromwhich she'd come.

'Half.'

'You've got the sight?'

'A bit,' she admitted. 'I see your plan is unselfish but dangerous. I do not seethe outcome - except that you must have Dubro's help to succeed.'

'You'll bless the trap?'

The S'danzo shook her head. 'I'm a seer, not a priest. I'll make you a symbolthe Lance of Ships from our cards - to put on the trap. It marks good fortune insea-battles; it might help you.'

'Could I see the card?' the Old Man asked.

The woman disappeared and returned a few moments later bearing the card, whichshe held for Panit. Looking over his father's shoulder, Hort saw a crudely drawnpicture of a whale with a metal-sheathed horn proceeding from its head.

'A good card,' the Old Man nodded. 'For what you offer - I'll pay the twosilvers.' She smiled and returned to the darkness. Dubro stepped forward withhis palm extended. 'When I pick up the trap,' Panit insisted. 'You needn't fear.I won't leave it to gather dust.'

The giant frowned, nodded and turned back to his work.

'What are you planning?' Hort demanded as his father started off again. 'What'sthis about a sea-battle?'

'All fishing is sea-battle,' the Old Man shrugged.

'But, two silvers? Where are you going to get that kind of money after what yousaid in the boat this morning?'

'We'll see to that now.'

Hort realized they weren't returning to town but heading westward to theDownwinders' hovels. The Downwinders or ... 'Jubal?' he exclaimed. 'How're yougoing to get money from him? Are you going to sell him information about themonster?'

'I'm a fisherman, not a spy,' the Old Man retorted, 'and the problems of thefishermen are no concern of the land.'

'But...' Hort began then lapsed into silence. If his father was going to beclosed-mouthed about his plans, no amount of browbeating was likely to budgehim.

Upon reaching Jubal's estate, Hort was amazed at the ease with which the Old Manhandled the slaver's underlings who routinely challenged his entry. Though itwas well known that Jubal employed notorious cut-throats and murderers who hidtheir features behind blue-hawk masks, Panit was unawed by their arrogance ortheir arms.

'What do you two want here?' the grizzled gate-keeper barked.

'We came to talk to Jubal,' the Old Man retorted.

'Is he expecting you?'

'I need an appointment to speak with a slaver?*

'What business could an old fisherman have with a slaver?'

'If you were to know, I'd tell you. I want to see Jubal.'

'I can't just...'

'You ask too many questions. Does he know you ask so many questions?'

That final question of the Old Man's cowed the retainer, confirming Hort's townrefined suspicions that most of the slaver's business was covert rather thanovert.

They were finally ushered into a large room dominated by a huge, almost thronelike, chair at one end. They had been waiting only a few moments when Jubalentered, belting a dressing-gown over his muscular, ebony limbs.

'I should have known it was you. Old Man,' the slaver said with a half-smile.'No other fisherman could bluff his way past my guards so easily.'

'I know you prefer money to sleep,' the Old Man shrugged. 'Your men know ittoo.'

'True enough,' Jubal laughed. 'So, what brings you this far from the docks soearly in the day?'

'For some the day's over,' Panit commented dryly. 'I need money: six silverpieces. I'm offering my stall on the wharf.' -

Hort couldn't believe what he was hearing. He opened his mouth to speak, thencaught himself. He had been raised to know better than to interrupt his father'sbusiness. His movement was not lost on Jubal, however.

'You intrigue me. Old Man,' the slaver mused. 'Why should I want to buy a fishstall at any price?'

'Because the wharf's the only place your ears don't hear,' Panit smiled tightly.'You send your spies in - but we don't talk to outsiders. To hear the wharf youmust be on the wharf- I offer you a place on the wharf.'

'True enough,' Jubal agreed. 'I hardly expected the opportunity to fall my waylike ripe fruit...'.,..•.

'Two conditions,' the Old Man interrupted; 'First; four weeks before you own mystall. If I repay the money - you don't own my stall...'

'All right,' the slaver nodded, 'but...'

'Second: anything happens to me these next four weeks you take care of my wife.It's not charity; she knows the wharf and the Nya - she's worth a fair wage.'

Jubal studied the Old Man a moment through hooded eyes. 'Very well,' he saidfinally, 'but I sense there is much you are not telling me.' He left the roomand returned with the silver coins which rattled lightly in his immense palm.'Tell me this. Old Man,' he asked suspiciously, 'all these terms - why don't youjust ask for a loan?'

'I've never borrowed in my life,' Panit scowled, 'and won't start now. I pay asI go - if I don't have enough I do without or I sell what I must.'

'Suit yourself,' the slaver shrugged, handing over the coins. 'I'll be expectingto see you in thirty days.'

'Or before.'

The silence between father and son was almost habitual and lasted nearly untilthey had reached the town again. Strangely, it was the Old Man who broke thesilence first.

'You're being quiet, boy,' he said.

'Of course,' Hort exploded. 'There's nothing to say. You order things we can'tpay for, sell your life-work to the biggest crook in Sanctuary and then wonderwhy I'm quiet. I know you don't confide in me - but Jubal! Of all the people intown ... And that talk about conditions! What makes you think he'll stand by anyof them? You don't trust soldiers but you trust Jubal!'

'He can be trusted,' the Old Man answered softly. 'He's a hard one when he's gotthe upper hand - but he stands by his word.'

'You've dealt with him before? Nothing can surprise me now,' Hort grumbled.

'Good,' his father nodded, 'then you'll take me to the Vulgar Unicorn?'

'The Vulgar Unicorn!' He was surprised.

'That's right. Don't you know where it is?'

'I know it's in the Maze somewhere, but I've never been there.'

'Let's go.'

'Are you sure you want the Vulgar Unicorn, Old Man?' Hort pressed. 'I don'tthink a fisherman's ever set foot in there. The people who drink at the Unicornare mercenaries, cut-throats and a few thieves thrown in for good measure.'

'So they say,' the Old Man nodded. 'Wouldn't be going there if they weren't.Now, you leading or not?'

All conversation stopped as they entered that infamous tavern. As he struggledto see in the darkness, Hort could feel the eyes of the room on his, sizing themup, deciding if he was a challenge or a victim.

'Are you gentlemen looking for someone?' The bartender's tone implied he didn'tthink they should stay for a drink.

'I want some fighting men,' the Old Man announced. 'I've heard this is theplace.'

'You heard right,' the bartender nodded, suddenly a bit more attentive. 'If youdon't know who you want, I'll be glad to serve as your agent - for a modest fee,of course.'

Panit regarded him as he'd regarded his fellow fisherfolk. 'I judge my ownpeople - go back to your dishes.'

The bartender clenched his fists in anger and retreated to the other end of thebar as the Old Man faced the room.