It was in such pinches Melot Cassissinin's mind went blank and the same blind stubbornness which had just driven her legs up the stairs took over her mouth. "Master Toth, would you be Master Toth?"

"Dr. Toth, yes, I am, madam."

She flushed again, hotter than before: and part of the heat was shame and part was rage, since he used a lady's word and hid behind that sober, careful fact to laugh at her. "I want a consul-tation." She had practiced this word. She got it out unstammered. She stared him in the eyes and refused to give way an inch, though he seemed taller than before and closer. "I haven't got much money. But it's not like you'd have to do more than tell me what to do." She fished at her collar and started to haul up her purse, never turning her back, and the heat burned her face, not from embarrassment of where the purse was, but from what little sum it held and what it had cost her. It was too little, she knew that it was too little, and she preferred his cold contempt to his laughter. Laughter would cut like a razor. Laughter would kill the rest of her soul and she would go away and kill a wizard or two. Or try. And she held the purse out, hating the way her hand shook; and she turned out the money, which was four large silver coins and three small ones. And two coppers.

He left them in her hand and walked away from her to draw up another, smaller stool. "Sit down," he said, and went and pulled his own stool out from the table. Melot came and sat, her left hand clenched on her money; her skirts spread about her on the dusty floor. She reached and swept back the hood of her cloak and stared at the doctor as she sat down on his tall stool. Tremors threatened her. She tried to keep her teeth from chattering, her throat from freezing up. This was a dangerous man, this was a man wizards were afraid of; and he sat there like a boy on a stableyard fence, his long arms about his knees, the spectacles in his fine fingers glinting with gold and glass in the dusty daylight from the window, his books abandoned on his desk.

"I'm listening," he said. "Tell me your name. Tell me anything that seems important. We'll discuss a fee when I know what your case is."

"My name is Melot Cassissinin." Now, now the stammer threatened in earnest and she fought it back with deliberation. "My brother's Gatan. Same name. He's got this trouble. This wizard got him, this other wizard, well, there's going to be this duel—"

"Be specific. Tell me all the details."

"This wizard—he, well, he was always hanging round the tavern, the Ram, over by the Rains—"

"You're a long way from home."

"—he, well, I work there; and he was always trouble, I mean, he got drunk and when he got drunk he was trouble, and my brother, well, he'd talk to him sometimes to calm him down, I mean, he was bothering me, he'd try, and my brother, well, he never liked that, but he's got a way about him, my brother does. He can charm the moon out of the sky, and he always knew how to handle this wizard—"

"Tell me his name. I know a good many."

"Othis."

"Ah." The dark, close-set eyes flickered. " Thatone. Yes, I do know him." Melot looked up at him, sweating; and he gave her no helpful clues what kind of knowledge this was or how close or friendly. "Well, when this Othis would give me trouble, my brother'd go and talk to him and put him off and sometimes master Othis'd sit and talk at him for hours— Well, maybe he told my brother something, maybe this other wizard— Hagon, Hagon's his name—" She looked again for clues and got none. "Well, he took exception, he did, to something, and somehow maybe this Othis and this Hagon were old enemies; so Hagon came into the Ramand he grabbed me and he wanted my brother to come with him or he'd mess me up good, he said, that was what he meant, anyhow. So Gatan went with him instead, me yelling after him and trying to stop him, but this Hagon he knocked me down, not with his hand, but just like I hit a wall, and he and Gatan went off in the dark.

"Well, I was scared; and I hadn't got any help, this man I know, well, he wasn't taking on any wizard, so I went myself, and I hunted up Othis and tried to talk to him, but he was all—well, he shoved me off and called Gatan names and said as how Gatan had made a friend—a friend

!—he oughtn't, and said as how he was going to get revenge on this Hagon and on my brother—" Melot drew breath. Her hands shook. She clenched them both on her knees and stopped the tremor. "This Hagon investedsomething in my brother, that's what Othis said; and Othis wants to put some kind of hold on him too; and now they got this problem, because they can't untangle it, and they've set up to have this duel to settle it, tomorrow, except—except—well, where's my brother in this? Who's going to see he doesn't get hurt? I mean, it's not right, Gatan never worked for either of them, they got no right, have they? They can't do that, fight over him, I mean. I figured you'd know it wasn't right, you'd just sort of like write a letter for me to these two, and maybe—maybe a letter where it could do some good, I mean like you were my lawyer and you were going to do something, but you don't have to really, I mean, just the letters, that's all. I got money enough for that; or I can get more if you tell me what. I mean, just scare 'em a little. That's all."

"That's very interesting," the doctor said, and the heat went to Melot's face, a suspicion of condescension. "You're not a witch, then?" the doctor asked.

"I wait tables."

"But you're not a witch."

"Man, there's no one got less luck than me."

"Not born fortunate."

"My mother coughed me out. Thought I was a stomach-ache." Melot clenched her fingers on her silver coins. "It was my birthday this Hagon walked in on, I mean, what kind of luck is that?"

"How many days ago?"

"Three."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-three."

"Interesting. Interesting." The lawyer hopped up from his stool and put his spectacles on, went over to a stack of books and pulled out the second from the top. He opened it on the table and leafed through it, unfolding pages into untidy charts. "What hour of the day?"

"Third." The numbers came together out of nowhere and coincided, and Melot got off her stool and stood there with her hands clenched on her coins and her heart thumping away. "I got no luck, I never had any luck."

"There are two kinds," the doctor said, and sent the shivers down her back.

"You just write the letters, master Toth, that's all I want, I mean it's Gatanin trouble, not me." The doctor looked up over his spectacles, his dark eyes full of surmise and, for the first time, alarm. "Gatan's birthday."

"Same. Same—we always, I mean, we always thought it was funny, like he had the luck I missed, charming folk was his talent, only he was four years later—"

"The wrong one. Hagon got the wrong one. So did Othis." "What are you talking about?" The words came out blunt and plain and Melot felt a rush of panic. She laid her fistful of money on the table by the book. "I can't afford you doing all that. Just the letters. I mean, all you have to do is write what right is. They'll listen to you."

The doctor hopped up and pulled out another book. He opened it and stood there riffling through it and reading here and there. "No, no," he said, and: "No, not here, not that, not here—"