"Dealer drops out," said Dumarest, and threw in his cards.

He heard the quick intake of breath from those who stood around the table, Lallia among the watchers, Lin at her side.

Envir sucked in his cheeks and slowly counted his chips. "Damn it," he said. "Damn all the luck. Well, to hell with it. I think you're bluffing." He pushed forward a pile of chips. "I'll see you!"

Yalung slowly put three tens on the table. "Is that enough?"

"Like hell it is!" The seller of dreams glowed his excite shy;ment. "I've got a flush. That means I win."

"Not quite." Yalung put down the rest of his cards. An ace and another ten. "Four tens. The pot is mine, I think?"

Envir cursed in his disappointment.

VII

joy was at carnival.

Streamers of colored smoke hung in the air, luminous in the dying light, and from all sides rose the sound of music and gaiety. Tents, booths, collapsible shops, the open rings of combat and the closed enclaves of sensory titivation, jug shy;glers, tumblers, contortionists, men who promised eternal hap shy;piness, and harpies who roved, hard-eyed and falsely charm shy;ing, offering pleasure to those who had come to join in the fun.

"We could do well here," said Lallia as she stood beside Dumarest at the head of the ramp. "When it gets really dark I could get to work. Drunken fools won't object to a

woman's caress and they'll be too bemused to guard their pockets. With you to take care of any trouble we could clean up."

"No," said Dumarest.

"Why not?" Her tone was mocking. "Morals, lover?"

"Sense. The risk is too great for the reward."

"We need money," she insisted. "Your share is hardly enough to buy me some new clothes. Can you think of a better way to get it, Earl?"

He ignored the question, looking instead at the ships lit shy;tering the field. Mostly they were old, battered, traders like the Moray, but a few were new and one was big. A vessel strange to the Web and one which could be heading Out shy;side. The woman at his side he walked towards it, climbing the ramp to the open port. Shadows moved within the dim interior and a man, neat in his uniform, eyes and face hard, stepped before him.

"You want something?"

"A berth if it's going."

"You from the Moray?"

"Yes," said Dumarest.

"Then forget it," said the man. "There's no berth going especially to anyone from that hulk." He glanced at Lallia. "Your woman?"

"His wife," said Lallia. "What have you got against the Moray?"

"Personally, nothing," admitted the man. "But her reputa shy;tion stinks. If you'll take my advice you'll forget to mention her. Say you're from the Argos or the Deltara-both of those left just before the carnival."

"I'll remember that," said Dumarest. "If you haven't got a berth then how about traveling Low?"

"That might be possible." The man hesitated. "Look, I can't give you a definite answer until the captain tells me what space we'll have available. You'd better come back later-we're not due out for a couple of days yet but as far as I know if you can pay you'll get passage. Fair enough?"

"Thanks," said Dumarest. "I'll be seeing you."

He was thoughtful as he walked towards the edge of the field. The other ships would be similar, with only a single man in charge or locked while their crews went about their business or pleasure. Lallia touched his arm.

"Did you mean that, Earl? About leaving, I mean?"

"Yes."

"And me?"

She was worried, he could tell it by the way she clung to his arm, the expression in her eyes. "You'll come with me," he promised. "The Web is no place for a woman to be stranded."

Her smile was his reward. "Thank you, lover. Now let's go and get ourselves some fun."

They passed from the field into a welter of noise, con shy;fusion, and frantic activity punctuated by shouts, shrieks, and bellowing laughter. A procession weaved down the street, monstrous heads bobbing in fabricated distortion, voices echoing from the diminutive bodies.

A troupe of zingart dancers spun and stamped, froth bubbling their lips, naked bodies scarred with symbolic designs. Their hair was fuzzed into gigantic balls, nose and ears pierced with skewers, bells around wrists, neck, and ankles. Two dwarfs scuttled beside them, collecting boxes rattling as they thrust them before the watchers.

The zingart dancers were followed by a dozen flagellants, chanting as they each lashed the other with spiked whips. The flagellants passed and a host of women rotated bellies and breasts as they clustered around a tall, bearded an shy;chorite. After them came a cluster of masked and decorated figures, some with whips hanging from their wrists, others with tufts of spiked fur.

Something exploded high above and the darkening sky shone brilliant with a gush of luminous stars.

Dumarest followed Lallia as she pushed her way through the crowd. The lustrous mane of her hair reflected the color shy;ful embers above, their dying light illuminating her long legs as they flashed beneath the hem of her iridescent dress. A masked reveler, one of a group of the local nobility, caught her arm as she passed.

"Come, my sweeting," he purred. "Such tender flesh should not pass uncaressed." He dropped both hands to her shoulders, forcing the material from her rounded breasts, his head dipping as he pressed his lips against her body.

Dumarest paused, watching, his muscles tense. Lallia did not seem to object to the rough treatment. She laughed and pressed herself closer to the gaudy finery the man wore. And then suddenly he cried out and thrust her away.

"Bitch! You she-devil! I'll teach you to hurt your betters!"

His hand bent, caught the whip dangling from his wrist, raised it high to slash across her face. He cried out again as Dumarest caught the raised hand, his fingers closing hard against yielding bone.

"You are excited, my lord," said Dumarest coldly. "I think it best that you take a little rest."

Abruptly he pushed, catching the man off-balance, thrust shy;ing him to sprawl in the road among the feet of dancing monstrosities. He rolled, trying to avoid the kicks of en shy;larged feet, soiling his finery with dirt and liquid filth.

Dumarest caught Lallia by the arm and urged her from the scene of the incident.

Laughing she held up a purse. "You see, lover, how easy it is? That fool was too intent on what he wanted to miss this. When I had it I hit him where it hurts. Shall we do it again?"

"No."

"But, lover, we need the stake. Why miss the chance?" "He wasn't alone," said Dumarest. "And you are rather unmistakable. When he misses his money he will come look shy;ing and his friends with him. I don't think they will be very gentle if they find you."

Lallia shrugged. "So?"

"So we find you something else to wear." Dumarest looked at the purse in her hand. "And you can pay for it.

The merchant was an old man with a stoop so pronounced that it gave him the appearance of a tall, thin bird of prey; an impression heightened by his hooked nose and balding head. He fingered Lallia's dress and sucked in his cheeks. "It is good," he admitted. "Fine and unusual material, but the customers for such are few. I am far from the field and must depend on local trade. It could lie for months and then, perhaps, I would have to sell it at a fraction of its worth."

"That's all I'm asking," said Lallia. She had taken charge of the transaction as soon as she had entered the shop. "One of your gowns, a coat, some other things. You should make a fat profit."

"My dear, you are a shrewd woman but you know little of local conditions. At carnival everyone goes mad, but normally a woman would be stoned for wearing a thing like this. However …"