„What are we talking about?"

„We needed you in the Thing. To stand witness for yourself. We couldn't find you, and couldn't argue for you because you never told us... ."

„To the point. What did those idiots do?"

„They passed a succession law," Prataxis said. „Seems they started on it when we locked ourselves up out here. It went through today. The Estates bought enough votes... ."

„Succession law? The Estates?" Red crept through the King's beard. Prataxis handed him a rolled copy. He did not read it immediately. Derel would not be here, in this mood, were its terms acceptable. „Where the hell were you? Why didn't you stop them?"

„We were here till today," the Baron reminded him. „Along with Sir Gjerdrum, Colonel Abaca, and everybody else who might have made a difference. Mundwiller couldn't beat them alone."

Ragnarson ripped the roll open, read, hurled it away. He sat on the stairsteps, folded his fists before his face, gnawed the knuckle of a thumb.

Kristen retrieved the copy. She scanned it, stiffened. It fell from her hand. She glared at the men, flung herself from the hallway.

Ragnarson muttered, „Fulk. With Inger Regent. That's not what I wanted. Definitely not what I wanted."

Derel refrained from saying I told you so. „That's why I scrambled so hard trying to find you. Never occurred to me to look here till Gjerdrum mentioned meeting you at the gate."

„All right. We blew it. They slipped one past us. How do we undo it?"

„Lawfully, we can't," Hardle said. „They made a good job of it."

„Laws can be unpassed, can't they?"

„We could change it if we muster the votes. What the Baron wants to say is, we can't."

„Why the hell not? Get all our people here and ram it through."

„We've been deserted. On this, not in general. There's a lot of relief about having everything settled. Some of our people don't want the question reopened. They want a denned succession."

„But. ..."

„The future is enemy territory," Prataxis said. „Most people don't have your take-what-comes attitude. They want it scouted out."

„Damn! Hand me that thing, Derel. Maybe there's a hole in it somewhere."

Prataxis retrieved the document. „No loopholes, Sire. Some good men shaped it up."

He saw that. Fulk was his successor, with Inger Regent should the throne come vacant before Fulk achieved his majority. Which, without doubt, the Estates hoped fervent­ ly. Next came any other children Inger might bear, then Inger herself in a twistback counter to all tradition. Only then did the line leave Inger's control. It swung to Bragi's grandson, and from the younger Bragi to Ragnarson's sons. A complex document and, as Prataxis said, without loop­ hole or leeway.

„Well. Damn my eyes. This'll learn me, won't it? Guess we have to live with it." Again he stared at the floor. After a time, „Thanks for coming round. I'll be along. Strategy session. Got to talk to Kristen first."

Derel and Baron Hardle bowed slightly, departed. Their faces were greyer than ever.

One day's victory had segued into another's defeat. The old ways were threatening a return.

Ragnarson continued reflecting on what that document meant beyond what it said. It constituted a quiet, gentle­ manly declaration that the Estates had returned to the field.

It was a letter of marque for anyone who cared to take his head. From now on he had better be damned careful, damned quick on his feet.

Michael's face crossed his mind. He smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. It was wicked. „Kristen. Let's talk now."

Michael strode into Arsen Street, stopped. „What the hell?"

He had not visited Arsen Street since that infamous night of the coronation. In those days it had been the heart of the underworld, the city's vice center. It had had a more than shopworn look, and had been both dark and dangerous.

The buildings had received facelifts. Lamps illuminated the pavement. Armed watchmen stood at each corner. A lady of quality passed Trebilcock, unafraid of the night. „What the hell?"

The Fat Man's was as changed within as without. That screaming, ramshackle dive had gone elegant. The doorman wore livery, and was mannered. „Are you a member, sir?"

„A guest. Of Aral Dantice. Where's Gus?" The former bouncer/doorman had been seven feet tall, nearly as wide, and as mean as his place of employment.

This doorman was offended. „The gentleman hasn't been here for some time."

„The gentleman hasn't. There've been some changes."

„Indeed. If you'll follow me. Mr. Dantice has his own booth."

Some changes, Michael thought. A neighborhood had clawed its way up to respectability and he hadn't known. He did not like that. He wanted to know what was happening everywhere, all the time.

Maybe he was too outward-directed, paying too much attention to the provinces and Ravelin's neighbors. Vorgreberg was, after all, the kingdom's heart.

Aral was waiting. „You look puzzled, Michael."

„It's changed."

„Not as much as you think. We're just trying to reach a class with more money."

„We?"

„Me and the Fat Man. We're the bosses down here. Though he's out front."

„You?"

„I sort of decided to diversify when my Dad died."

„I knew you were into smuggling, but... Hell, all traders are smugglers."

Aral laughed softly. „Don't look so shocked, Michael."

„It's not shock. It's old-fashioned surprise. I'm supposed to know things. I didn't know about this."

„Why should you? You're supposed to watch the King's enemies. He doesn't have any down here."

A waiter appeared. He offered Aral a bottle of wine. Dantice sniffed, nodded. The waiter went for glasses. Real glasses, not the hardy stoneware taverns used to lessen breakage. Aral awaited Michael's reaction. Trebilcock had been raised in genteel circumstances.

Michael ignored him. He compared customer faces to the file in his mind. Known hoodlums? A few. Merchants. Minor nobility... .

Aral grumbled, „Hang up your hat. Relax."

„In a minute."

„What is it?"

„I need your help."

„I'll do what I can. You know that. What is it? Business or personal?"

„Business. I need to know what's going on in Throyes and Al Rhemish. I've lost my assets there."

Dantice nodded. He sipped his wine. „I see."

„I want to watch Hsung close. He'll be trickier than ever. And Norath... ."

„Norath?"

Michael had not told Aral about his visit to Al Rhemish. He did so now. „Somehow, he got out of Palmisano alive. He's back in business. In Al Rhemish. Running Megelin."

„Another one?" Dantice looked worried. „Mike, how many of them got away? Are they all out there laughing at us?"

„What do you mean?"

„I don't know for sure. Some hints out of the north Basin. Strange doings. Sound like the Old Meddler."

„Couldn't be. The King killed him. Norath is the prob­ lem. I need information from Al Rhemish. Please."

„I'll do what I can. It won't be easy. The desert run is dangerous. Now I know why. Come on. Let's enjoy."

They strove valiantly, but the evening failed. They were not the men of years before. Michael had too much on his mind. Dantice kept letting a lost love's face get in his way.

Josiah Gales shivered continuously, though the apart­ ment was warm enough. He felt the cold breath of Death.

„You think he suspects?" Inger asked.

„No, My Lady. I think he knows. I think he has for some time. I think the wizard does too. And Trebilcock has a strong suspicion."

Inger shivered too. „Damn," she said softly. „We'd better be careful."

„Damned careful. It could be worth our heads. I have a feeling he's giving me the rope to hang myself now."

„Back off. Stay away from everything. Be the ideal sol­ dier."

„I suggest we all take that approach. My Lady, not even you are untouchable."