Beside Xantcha, Rat beat a counterpoint of curses and leather. There was a chance that the Red-Stripe sleeper could hear every word.

"Quiet!" Xantcha hissed a command as she clamped her hand over Rat's. "Quiet!" She squeezed until she felt the

sores and sinews pop.

"Afraid of the Red-Stripes?"

She took a deep breath and admitted, "They're not my friends. Quiet!"

Rat bent over to match her posture, blocking her view as well. He wouldn't stop talking. "And who are your friends-the Shratta? You keep strange company: Urza, Mishra, the Shratta. You're asking for trouble."

Xantcha ignored him. She hunched lower until she could see beneath Rat's arms. The Red-Stripes were heading into the same tavern where the slaver drank. "We've got to leave. Can you walk?"

"Why? I'm not afraid of the Red-Stripes. I'd join them right now, if they'd have me."

The elders in the first village had warned Xantcha that the young men had chosen sides, one way or another. It figured that her Mishra would have Phyrexian inclinations. She didn't have time to persuade him, so she'd have to out- bluff him. "Want to hobble over and try? You'd better hurry. Or do you think the eunuch's saved you a seat?"

"I'm not that stupid. I lost my chance the moment I got sapped and sold."

"Then stand up and start walking."

"Yes, Master."

Bread, water, and the absence of tight leather around his neck worked swift wonders for Rat's stamina. He didn't need Xantcha's help as they walked away from the fountain, but his natural pride clashed with the chain between his ankles and guaranteed the sort of attention Xantcha preferred not to attract. They'd never get through the gate without an incident, so once they were clear of the plaza, she chose the narrowest street at each crossing until they came to a long-abandoned courtyard.

"Good choice, Xantcha. The windows are mortared, the doors, too-except for the one we came in." Rat kicked at the rubble and picked up a bone that might have been a child's leg. "Been here before? Is this where you meet Urza?"

Xantcha let the comment slide. "Put your foot up here." She pointed to an overturned pedestal. "I've got to get rid of that chain."

"With what?" Rat approached the pedestal but kept both feet on the ground. "Garve's got the key."

Xantcha hefted a chunk of granite. "I'll break it."

"Not with that, you won't. I'll take my chances with Urza."

She shook her head. "We've got four days' traveling before then. Waste not, want not, Rat-you can't run. You're helpless."

He didn't argue and didn't put his foot on the pedestal, either.

"Do you prefer being chained and hobbled like an animal?"

"I'm your slave. You bought me. Better keep me hobbled and helpless, if you want to keep me at all."

"I need a man who can play Mishra's part with Urza. I give you my word, play the part and you'll be free in a

year." Free to tell Urza's secrets to the Red-Stripes? Never. But that was a worry for the future. For the present, "Give me your word."

"The word of a slave," Rat interrupted. "Remember that." He put his foot on the pedestal. "And be careful."

Xantcha brought the stone down with a crash that was louder than she'd expected, less effective, too. Perhaps it would be better to wait. Unfettering a youth who looked like Mishra might be all that Urza needed to free himself from the past.

And maybe they'd have to run from the Red-Stripes.

Xantcha understood how Urza must have felt when they traveled, worried about a companion who couldn't take care of herself; angry and bitter, too. She smashed the granite against the chain. Sparks flew, but the links didn't. Gritting her teeth, Xantcha pounded rapidly but to no greater success. When she paused for breath, Rat seized her wrists.

"Don't act the fool."

She could have dropped the stone on his foot and used both hands to throttle his insolence, and Xantcha might have, if she hadn't been so astonished to feel his warm, living flesh against hers. She and Urza touched each other, casually, but infrequently, and never with particular passion. Rat's hands shook as he held her, probably because slavery had weakened him, but there was something more, something elusive and unnerving. Xantcha was relieved that he released her the instant their eyes met.

"I'm trying to help you," she said acidly.

"You're not helping, you're just making noise. Noise is bad, if you're trying to hide. For that matter, why are we hiding? It's not as if Tucktah's going to tell the Red- Stripes I'm not your ransomed cousin."

"Just trying to keep you out of trouble."

Rat laughed. "You're too late for that, Xantcha. Now, why don't we stop playing child's games and go to your father's house? If Tabarna's laws still mean anything in this forsaken town, it's illegal for one Efuand to own another. You're the one who's in trouble for wasting your father's gold. You paid way too much to ransom me. Is your father a tyrant or can he be reasoned with?"

Given her disguise, Rat's presumptions weren't unreasonable. "I don't have a father. I don't live in this town. I live with Urza and we've got a long-" she considered telling him about the sphere and decided not to, "journey and since I have your word ..." She brought the stone down on the metal.

"You'll be at that all afternoon and halfway through the night."

Xantcha shrugged. They couldn't leave before then, not if she were going to use the sphere to get them over the walls. She smashed the stone again. A flake of granite drew blood from Rat's shin; the link was unharmed.

Rat rubbed the wound and lowered his leg. "All right. I don't believe you, but if you're determined to play your game to its end, there's an easier way to get out of this town. Do you have any money left?" Xantcha didn't answer, but Rat had seen her purse and presumably knew it wasn't empty. "Look, go back to the plaza and pay some farmer to load me in his wagon ... or, better, find a smith with a

decent hammer and chisel. Get these damn things off the same way they got put on."

With sleepers in the town, Xantcha didn't want to go looking for strangers, but there was one farmer in the plaza market who wasn't a stranger.

"I gave my horse to a fanner with a wagon-"

"You had a horse!?"

"I had no further need of it, so I gave it to a man who did and promised to care for it."

"Avohir's mercy, you had no need of a horse, so you gave it away. You didn't even bargain with Tucktah." He swore again. "I've been sold by a beast to a madman! No, a mad child. Doesn't you father usually keep you locked up?"

"I could sell you back," Xantcha said coldly. "I imagine you had a long and pleasant life ahead of you."

She started to retrace their route. Rat followed as quietly as he could with the chain dragging on the ground. Once they were back in the plaza, Xantcha told him to wait in the shadows while she negotiated with the farmer. He agreed, but measured every wall with his eyes and twisted each battered link, in the obvious hope that she'd weakened it, as soon as he thought she couldn't see him.

Well, he'd warned her what his word was worth.

When Xantcha pointed him out to the farmer, he wanted no part of her plan.

"I'll give you your horse back."

"A horse is no use to a slave with a chain between his ankles."

"Imagine if you set the slave free, he'd be willing to travel with you," the farmer countered, still skeptical.

"I forgot to buy the key to his chains."

The farmer hesitated. The slaver and her coffle had moved on, but the farmer had glanced toward the tavern when Xantcha had mentioned slaves. Likely he'd watched the whole scene with her, the slaver, Garve, and Rat.