Lioe shook her head, was suddenly grateful for the other’s steadying arm. “Not really, just cuts and bruises.” She looked down, saw her knee raw and scraped through the ripped trousers. “I went into the canal, back toward Betani Square.”

“Jesus,” the woman said. “The current’s murder there. You were lucky.” She shifted her grip, taking more of Lioe’s weight, said firmly, “Come on. You’ll want to talk to the Lockwardens.”

“Lockwardens?” Lioe echoed, and then remembered. They were the local police, responsible for the locks and storm barriers as well as the usual laws.

“Our police,” the woman answered. “You’re an off‑worlder, then?”

Lioe nodded.

“The bastards will pick on strangers,” the woman said, with a kind of dour satisfaction. “Come on, it’s not far.”

Lioe let the stranger half lead, half carry her across the courtyard, suddenly too tired, too drained to care if she were part of the group. The woman paused by her tree, stooped with surprising grace to collect her mask, and Lioe realized with a sudden pang that she had lost the mask Gelsomina had given her. It was a strange thing to bother her, but her eyes filled with tears, and she stood shivering for a moment, mouth trembling painfully.

“Easy now,” the big woman said. “Not far.”

The nearest Lockwardens’ station wasn’t far, barely forty meters along a narrow side street. It occupied the corner of one of the larger buildings, and all its windows blazed with light. The door stood open, men and women in uniforms that Lioe didn’t recognize hurrying in and out, clutching workboards and datablocks and even sheafs of paper. Someone exclaimed, seeing their approach, but Lioe was too tired and too cold to care. She let herself be led into the station, and then into a side room, unable to focus on the questioning voices that surrounded her. Someone eased her into a chair–a warm, well‑padded chair–and then wrapped her hands around something warm, held it to her lips. She sipped obediently, and recognized the flat, bitter taste of antishock drugs beneath the sweet tea. In the distance, she heard the soft chirping of a medical scanner, and looked up in confusion.

“Finish the tea,” a new voice said, and she did as she was told. Someone else–she was aware of him only as a pair of long‑fingered, rather beautiful hands–wrapped the edges of a heated cocoon blanket closed around her. She had been sitting in it, she realized, and she huddled into its stiff embrace, letting its creeping warmth seep into her, drying her clothes. The tea was starting to work; she looked up, feeling more alert than she had before, and saw a spare, greyhaired woman sitting on the edge of a table opposite her. She herself was sitting in the only chair.

Even as she realized that, a male voice said, “Let me take a look at your face.”

She turned her head obediently, winced as the long fingers probed the cuts on her cheek and jaw. The man–he wore a medic’s snake‑and‑staff earring–winced in sympathy, and reached for the supply box that lay open at his feet.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and laid a delicate mist of disinfectant over the entire side of her face. The stuff stung for a moment, and then a sensation of coolness seemed to spread across her jaw. She felt an applicator dab quickly at each of the cuts–it hurt, but remotely, the pain reaching her from a distance–and then the medic said, “All right, you can look now.”

Lioe opened her eyes, to see that the woman was still staring at her. Lioe’s identification disks and the contents of her belt purse were spread out on the tabletop beside her.

“So, can you tell me what happened, Na Lioe?” The hard‑boned face was not unfriendly, but Lioe found herself choosing her words with care.

“A bunch of guys tried to kidnap me, pulled a gun on me–this was on the little street that runs away from Betani Square, where the Mad Monkey is. I ended up jumping into the canal to escape, and I got kind of banged up.”

“Kidnap?” The woman’s voice sharpened. “The woman who brought you in said you’d been mugged. Why would someone want to kidnap you?”

“Because–” Lioe stopped abruptly. I’m not fully sure why, but it’s bound to have something to do with Ransome, and Damian Chrestil and the cargo that I helped bring in, and the hsai, or at least hsai politics. And even if I did know what was going on, I don’t know how much I can afford to tell you: Ransome’s in this up to his neck, and he’s a Burning Brighter working for the hsai. She shrugged, feeling more bruises on her arm and shoulder. “I don’t know. It was what they said–”

“Why don’t you tell me about this from the beginning?” the woman said, not ungently. “My name’s Telanin. I’m the chief of the station.” She looked at the medic, who nodded.

“Let me just get you another cup of tea,” he said. “And then I want to look at your knee.”

“Thanks,” Lioe said. Her clothes were drying nicely in the cocoon’s steady warmth; only her shoes stayed cold, squishing slightly when she moved her toes, and she loosened the cocoon’s lower edges to kick them off. She took the mug the medic held out to her, sipped cautiously, and wasn’t surprised to taste more of the bitter restoratives beneath the minty tea. It wasn’t as sweet as the first mug. The medic set her shoes aside to dry under the orange‑red glow of a drying rack, and pulled the cocoon aside to begin working on her leg.

“About what happened?” Telanin said, and Lioe dragged her attention back to the other woman.

“Sorry.” She pulled the cocoon closer around her body, buying time. “I was supposed to meet someone in Betani Square to watch the puppet show, but she didn’t show up. She had to work this morning; I had a feeling she wouldn’t be able to make it. So I stayed to watch the show anyway, and this man came up to me, said he had a message from Roscha–that’s the woman I was supposed to meet. He said she wanted to meet me at the place called the Mad Monkey, and went off. I waited a little bit, but I was getting bored with the show, so I decided to see if she was there, at the Monkey, I mean. A couple of guys followed me away from the square, and there was a third man waiting in the street–he was the one with a gun.” And he said “someone” wanted to talk to me. But if I mention that, she’ll want to know why this mysterious someone would go to this much trouble over me.

“Did any of them say anything, say what they wanted?” Telanin asked. Her hand was resting on the control pad of an ordinary‑looking noteblock, Lioe saw, and she chose her words very carefully.

“Something about coming quietly, I think. It happened pretty quickly.”

Telanin’s fingers shifted almost imperceptibly, recording the answer. “So they didn’t say anything else, nothing about kidnapping?”

Lioe shook her head, contrived to look sheepish. “I guess I overstated it.”

Telanin nodded. “What about this woman you were meeting, this Roscha? Did you see her?”

Lioe shook her head again.

“How well do you know her–what’s her full name?”

“Jafiera Roscha.” Lioe paused. “We met at one of the Game clubs, Shadows, a couple of days ago. I’m only on planet for few days while my ship is in for repairs, but I’m a Gamer, and I’ve been spending my time in the clubs.”

“So you don’t know her well?” Telanin persisted.

“She’s a Gamer,” Lioe said again, and was suddenly aware of how ridiculous she must sound. We’ve played together, I’ve seen her play my characters–yes, I know her very well, and not at all. About like I know Ransome. She shrugged, helplessly, and the other woman nodded.

“Jafiera Roscha’s known to us, though she’s never been involved in the bash‑and‑grab gangs. But it’s worth checking out, see if she set you up. She hasn’t been asking you about your movements, whether you carry cash, anything like that, has she?”

Lioe shook her head.

Telanin nodded again. “We’ll check her out, though. It seems odd they’d use her name, otherwise. How many people knew you were meeting Roscha today?”