On the morning of Locke's ninth day in Salon Corbeau, the Bau-mondains were finished with his chairs.

"They look magnificent," said Locke, running his fingers lightly over the lacquered wood and padded leather. "Very fine, as fine as I had reason to hope. And the… additional features?"

"Built to your specifications, Master Fehrwight. Exactly to your specifications." Lauris stood beside her father in the Baumondain workshop, while ten-year-old Parnella was struggling to brew tea over an alchemical hearthstone at a corner table covered with unidentifiable tools and half-empty jars of woodworking oils. Locke made a mental note to smell any tea offered to him very carefully before drinking. "You have outdone yourselves, all of you."

"We were, ah, financially inspired, Master Fehrwight," said the elder Baumondain. "I like building weird things," Parnella added from the corner. "Heh. Yes, I suppose these would qualify." Locke stared at his suite of four matching chairs and sighed in mingled relief and aggravation. "Well, then. If you" d be so kind as to ready them for transport, I shall hire two carriages and take my leave this afternoon." "In that much of a hurry to leave?"

"I hope you'll forgive me if I say that every unnecessary moment I spend in this place weighs on me. Salon Corbeau and I do not agree." Locke removed a leather purse from his coat pocket and tossed it to Master Baumondain. "An additional twenty solari. For your silence, and for these chairs never to have existed. Is this clear?"

"I… well, I'm sure we can accommodate your request… I must say, your generosity is—"

"A subject that needs no further discussion. Humour me, now. I'll be gone soon enough."

So that's all, said the voice in Locke's head. Stick to the plan. Leave this all behind, and do nothing, and return to Tal Verrar with my tail between my legs.

While he and Jean enriched themselves at Requin's expense and cheated their way up the luxurious floors of the Sinspire, on the stone floor of Lady Saljesca's arena the defaults would go on, and the faces of the spectators would be the same, day after day. Children tearing the wings from insects to laugh at how they flailed and bled… and stepping on one every now and again.

"Thieves prosper," muttered Locke under his breath. He tightened his neck-cloths and prepared to go and summon his carriages, feeling sick to his stomach.

The glass-fronted transport box erupted out of the Mon Magisterial waterfall once again and slid home with a lurch just inside the palace. Water hissed through iron pipes, the high gates behind the box slammed shut and the attendants pushed the front doors open for Locke, Jean and Merrain.

A dozen Eyes of the Archon were waiting for them in the entrance hall. They fell in wordlessly on either side of Locke and Jean as Merrain led them forward.

Though not to the same office as before, it appeared. Locke glanced around from time to time as they passed through dimly lit halls and up twisting staircases. The Mon Magisteria was truly more fortress than palace; the walls outside the grand hall were devoid of decoration, and the air smelled mainly of humidity, sweat, leather and weapons-oil. Water rumbled through unseen channels behind the walls. Occasionally they would troop past servants, who would stand with their backs to the wall and their heads bowed toward their feet until the Eyes were past.

Merrain led them to an iron-reinforced door in a nondescript corridor several floors up from the entrance. Faint silver moonlight could be seen rippling through an arched window at the far end of the hall. Locke squinted and realized that a stream of water from the palace's circling aqueducts was falling down the glass.

Merrain pounded on the door three times. When it opened with a click, allowing a crack of soft yellow light into the hall, she dismissed the Eyes with a wave of her hand. As they marched away down the corridor, she pushed the door open slightly and pointed toward it with her other hand.

"At last. I might have hoped to see you sooner. \bu must have been away from your usual haunts when Merrain found you." Stragos looked up from where he sat, on one of only two chairs in the small, bare room, and shuffled the papers he'd been examining. His bald attendant sat on the other with several files in hand, saying nothing.

"They were having a bit of trouble on the inner docks of the Great Gallery," said Merrain as she closed the door behind Locke and Jean. "A pair of fairly motivated assassins."

"Really?" Stragos looked genuinely annoyed. "What business might that be in relation to?"

"I only wish we knew," said Locke. "Our chance for an interrogation took a crossbow bolt in the chest when Merrain showed up."

"The woman was about to stick one of these two with a poisoned knife, Protector. I thought you" d prefer to have them both intact for the time being." "Hmmm. A pair of assassins. Were you at the Sinspire tonight?" "Yes," said Jean.

"Well, it wouldn't be Requin, then. He" d simply have taken you while you were there. So it's some other business. Something you should have told me about before, Kosta?"

"Oh, begging your pardon, Archon. I thought that between your little friends the Bondsmagi and all the spies you must have slinking about at our backsides, you" d know more than you do."

"This is serious, Kosta. I aim to make use of you; it doesn't suit my needs to have someone else's vendetta on my hands. You don't know who might have sent them?" "Truthfully, we have no bloody clue." "You left the bodies of these assassins on the docks?" "The constables have them by now, surely," said Merrain.

"They'll throw the bodies in the Midden Deep, but first they'll inter them at the death-house for a day or two," said Stragos. "I want someone down there to have a look at them. Note their descriptions, plus any tattoos or other markings that might be meaningful." "Of course," said Merrain.

"Tell the officer of the watch to see to that now. You'll know where to find me when you're finished."

"Your will… Archon." Merrain looked as though she might say something else, then turned, opened the door and hurried out.

"You called me Kosta," said Locke when the door had slammed closed once again. "She doesn't know our real names, does she? Curious. Don't you trust your people, Stragos? Seems like it" d be easy enough to get your hooks into them the same way you got them into us."

"I'll wager," said Jean, "that you never take up your master's offer of a friendly drink when you're off-duty, eh, baldy?" Stragos's attendant scowled but still said nothing.

"By all means," said Stragos lightly, "taunt my personal alchemist, the very man responsible for me "getting my hooks into you", not to mention the preparation of your antidote."

The bald man smiled thinly. Locke and Jean cleared their throats and shuffled their feet in unison, a habit thed'r synchronized as boys.

"You seem a reasonable fellow," said Locke. "And I for one have always found a hairless brow to be a noble thing, sensible in every climate—"

"Shut up, Lamora. Do we have the people we need, then?" Stragos passed his papers over to his attendant.

"Yes, Archon. Forty-four of them, all told. I'll see that they're moved by tomorrow evening." "Good. Leave us the vials and you may go."

The man nodded and gathered his papers. He handed two small glass vials over to the Archon, then left without another word, closing the door respectfully behind him.

"Well, you two." Stragos sighed. "You seem to attract attention, don't you? You're certain you" ve no idea who else might be trying to kill you? Some old score to settle from Camorr?" "There are so many old scores to settle," said Locke.