Crew and passengers alike virtually exploded onto the open deck when permission came down.

There was nothing to be seen now but a longboat headed toward the quay below Castella Anjela dolla Picolina. The ship's master resumed issuing orders. The crew prepared to get under way again.

An hour later no one knew more than what was obvious immediately. Scolora was of the opinion that, "It's somebody from the Special Office. A big-time sorcerer. Something's going on, Alf. This is history in the making. And we're right here in the middle of it." That excited him.

Else was not excited. He feared that he was why Vivia Infanti had stopped.

No sign was seen of any Brotherhood passenger. If such a creature existed he did his own cooking. The ship's cook was not fixing anything for any secret traveler. No one had been evicted from his quarters.

THE WEST COAST OF FIRALDIA, APPROACHING SONSA FROM THE south, was the most heavily settled rural land Else had ever seen. Every headland boasted some kind of fortress or watch-tower. The land sloped down steeply to the Mother Sea.

Sea traffic was heavy. Any boat that came within hailing distance tried to sell something.

"They're all out because the weather is so nice," Scolora said. "You have to take advantage of the good days."

"Sounds like words to live by." Else had grown comfortable with Scolora. Enio talked constantly but asked few questions. Enio did not mind the silent veteran type. A lot of old soldiers were that way.

Several other passengers were headed home from the Holy Lands. The lot formed a clique. The remaining passengers were pilgrims who had gone to visit the Wells of Ihrian. Else, Scolora, and two others from farther west had agreed to continue on from Sonsa together. Else wondered how he could get shut of Scolora long enough to disappear.

He had not managed enough privacy to look at his sealed orders. Gordimer's packet contained a dozen letters, each to be opened only after he reached a prescribed point in his mission. There were three letters he was supposed to read before he reached Sonsa. They remained unopened. He worried. There might be some critical detail that needed handling… though he doubted that Gordimer fussed worse than a clutch of old women.

"Looking forward to getting home?" Scolora asked.

"Not really. It won't be anything like what I remember. Everybody I knew will be old or dead."

Scolora made a sour face. "You sure as fuck take the fun out, Alf. Now you got me thinking I'm heading for a foreign country."

"There was an old Deve in Triamolin who used to say that."

"Huh? What?”

"That the past is a foreign country. I keep thinking I'm dreaming and pretty soon I'll wake up on my own cot back in Triamolin."

"Yeah? Dream about that. That's the outer lightship." Enio had visited Sonsa before.

Sonsa proper was a riverine city eight miles inland. Vivia Infanti would travel from lightship to lightship until regular river buoys became visible. A pilot waiting on this first lightship would take control for the rest of the journey.

That pilot came aboard. Hours passed. The ship proceeded slowly. Else grumbled, "We're going to spend a whole day just covering the last few miles."

"Bet you they'll let you get out and walk."

"Probably would," he admitted. "I'll be a new man once I get some dirt under my feet." He knew his companions were tired of his complaints.

"We're looking forward to it, pal."

It did take almost all day to climb the Sawn River to Sonsa's great waterfront. Else marveled at the strange, busy buildings, all so tall, so ornate, so gaily painted. Al-Qarn was a dun city of mud brick, low, square buildings, the only color the awnings merchants used to identify their trade. The Kaif did not like color.

Vivia Infanti passed berth after open berth. Else asked one of the sailors why.

"Those don't belong to us. They're Red or Blue. Infanti is a Durandanti ship. The Durandanti are Greens."

Color was a facet of Chaldarean culture that baffled Else. In the Eastern Empire, in the Firaldian kingdoms and republics, in the principalities along the Promptean coast, anywhere that the Old Brothen Empire had had an enduring impact, the populace divided into two or more Colors. These days those usually identified political factions. Colors had begun, in antiquity, as wagering societies and fan groups of team events at the circus and hippodrome.

Sonsa claimed it was the most important mercantile force on the Mother Sea. Aparion and Dateon disagreed. Platadura, over in Praman Direcia, offered a nay-say of its own. Sonsa showed a unified, determined face to the world but the squabbles of the factions at home were worse than those of spoiled children. Without rational basis in the eyes of outsiders.

There were no doctrinal or ideological conflicts. Just a perpetual, intractable contest for control of the state. As in local politics everywhere in Firaldia, it all came down to families.

The Durandanti had the largest merchant fleet They were of the fixed opinion that that made them the foremost Sonsan family.

The Scoviletti and the Fermi did not concur.

The Scoviletti possessed the smallest fleet but the mercenary army they managed, and rented out, mainly in Chaldarean Direcia, gave them a big edge in crude sword power.

And the Fermi, of course, always had a cousin who married the brother of the Patriarch, a daughter who married into a great family of Dateon or Aparion, or made loans to the princes of the city states on the northern plain, or in some other way forged alliances that sheltered them from the envy of the Durandanti and the Scoviletti.

Else grumbled, "Somewhere in Sonsa I'm supposed to find a solicitor who represents most of the families of Tramaine. The letter I got in Triamolin told me to find him. He'd know the latest."

"Makes sense," Scolora said. "So you do need to find him. But will he put you up?"

Yes, probably. There were Dreangerean agents in Sonsa. He was expected to make contact. "I'll hunt him down. If we ever get ashore. Here's my plan. You and Tonto and Adrano go get us set at the factor house and see about our passage to Sheavenalle. I'll find my man, then catch up with you there."

"Good plan. Except for one angle."

"And that would be?"

"I want to find out who's been hiding in the captain's cabin since we left Staklirhod. We can hide on the dock and watch until whoever it is sneaks ashore." Scolora's tone left no doubt of his conviction.

"You sure you want to take that chance?"

"Don't you?"

"I think it's a waste of time." But he did want to know if some Brotherhood of War sorcerer had followed him across me Mother Sea. "But, all right. Let's just be careful."

"MUST BE A HOLIDAY," SCOLORA SAID. "HARDLY ANYBODY seems to be working." He dragged everybody behind a cluster of fat cotton bales a hundred yards from the ship.

Else was appalled. This much cotton had been smuggled out of Dreanger? By just this one Firaldian house to just this one Firaldian port?

Scolora had chosen a good spot. It offered an excellent view of Vivia Infanti without the watchers being exposed to me curiosities of the few men working the docks.

"Can you understand these people?" Scolora asked. The Sonsan dialect was almost impenetrable. Else shook his head. He had trouble understanding Scolora.

Tonto whispered, "Something's happening. Shit, You cocksucker, Enio. I didn't believe you. Nobody believed you. But you were right."

They all found places to peek over or around the bales.

Sure enough, there was a stir aboard Vivia Infanti. Only moments earlier the ship had seemed dead, the crew having gone ashore right after the passengers.

"That isn't a Brother," Else said. Two men were leaving the ship. The first was tall and arrogant in bearing, looking around as though daring the universe to try something. The other was older, bent, and struggling with an unreasonable amount of luggage. The tall man did not help. Neither had been seen during the voyage.