Finally, silver and gold were always a solution. Unless there had been some catastrophic change in the barracks rooms, it was always possible to find a guardsman willing to turn a blind eye for the right price. Of course, he'd need to find himself some cash, but for a good thief that was hardly a problem.

So much for escape, should he need it. The next question concerned his companions and what should be done about them. Pinch mulled over his options, sinking deeper into the stillness before the fire.

Did he need them? If not, there was no need to worry about them. Certainly he was their upright man, but he felt no compulsion of mere loyalty to save them.

Pinch once again decided to choose in favor of prudence. He still did not know what task Cleedis intended for him; until he did know, there was the possibility the trio might be needed. Pinch hardly felt he could rely on old friendships in Ankhapur; he'd already been reminded how fifteen years could change a man. Grudges lasted longer than loyalty. Without more time, Sprite, Therin, and Maeve were the only rogues he knew well enough to rely on.

Having judged and deemed worthy, the regulator needed to communicate with his gang before they felt abandoned and reordered their brotherhood. They were no more loyal than his lingering presence. All he knew was the wing they were in. Tomorrow he would make sure to see them.

All these things Pinch did in his head, never once setting his thoughts to paper, never once stirring from the chair. This was more than just his usual nature. His staying in these two rooms, he was sure, was no haphazard choice. Cleedis had wizards at his side, powerful ones as evidenced by their leap across the vast distances this morning. Those selfsame wizards could be watching him this instant. He had put Maeve to it often enough in their efforts to scout out a new case before they broke during the night. He also knew from Maeve that it took a little knowing the place to make the spell work. There was no doubt Cleedis had put at least some of his spell-men to the task of knowing these rooms inside and out.

Even his own thoughts weren't safe, Pinch knew. Those wizards could pry through his mind, dredging up his plans if he wasn't careful. Again, Maeve and hard experience had taught him some tricks for resisting, but they weren't sure by any means. The best of all things was not to plan, but to act by pure instinct. Instinct was something that couldn't be measured, plumbed, or dissected by the arcane powers.

"Well," he announced to no one, "let the committers make something of this." And then Pinch settled in and let his mind be filled thoughts as impure, vile, horrific, and vivid as he could imagine.

And Pinch could imagine very, very well.

The next morning, Pinch took his breakfast in his room, reveling in the luxury Cleedis was willing to bestow. Even a master regulator didn't live in princely comfort. That had been a hard adjustment when he'd first fled Manferic's court. It had been a long time since he'd had sweet porridge laced with fatty smoked meat and dried fruits. It was a childhood comfort, a memory of dawns spent hiding in the kitchen, nicking bowlfuls from the pot when the cooks weren't looking.

Reverie ended with a knock at the door. Before Pinch could rise or say "Enter," the door swung open and Throdus sauntered into the salon as if the whole world were his privilege. The dark prince radiated a jaunty cheer. Without so much as a comment, he plopped into the chair opposite Pinch.

The rogue glanced up and then buried himself in slurping spoonfuls of porridge as if Throdus weren't there.

Throdus watched this until a wry smile curled his lips.

"Good cousin, I regret my brothers' behavior last night. It was a crude display." The prince stopped to examine some speck on the back of his hand.

"No doubt you would have done better," Pinch suggested between swallows, never once looking up.

"Of course. Marac did that just for our benefit."

"I know."

Throdus looked up from his digitary studies. "One might question his motive."

"Not me. He's just become more like his brother."

"Vargo? Those two were always close."

"Afraid they're plotting against you?"

"They're always plotting against me. And I plot against them. Remember, Janol, it's a game we've played since childhood."

"I haven't forgotten."

The prince went back to looking at his hands.

"I do find it interesting that you've chosen to come back now."

Ah, so that's where my lord is casting his net. Let's play the game and string him along, Pinch decided.

"My other choices were less pleasant."

"Ah, the wastrel's life-your exploits are known here."

Pinch was surprised and not surprised. His adopted cousins certainly had the resources to learn about his past, but it surprised him that they bothered. He would have thought their own intrigues kept them busy enough.

"Father always had a curiosity about your fate." The prince brushed back his black hair and watched his adversary's reaction. "Since he was curious, we had to be curious."

"Always afraid that someone else was working the cheat."

"Information is power." The words were sharp.

"So you know my life. What will you do, give me up to the constables?"

"I just want to know why you're here."

Now it was Pinch's turn to be amused. "Just that? Why I've come to pay my respects, my dear guardian dead and all. After that I'll make myself master of the trugging houses in the city. Maybe I'll even do a little brokering, not that you'd have anyone else's goods to sell."

"Cheap lies only irritate me. You hated Manferic more than all the rest of us."

"I had my cause. Try growing up like the household dog."

"He was hard on us all, but we didn't run away."

"You? You were all too afraid-afraid of him, afraid you'd lose your chance when he died."

Suddenly the shadows fell across the prince's sunny facade. "I, at least, have the right to be king. You, however, have no such claims. You're just an orphaned waif raised above his level by my father for the gods know what purpose, and then you come back here thinking you can be like one of the blood. The only reason for you to come back here is to beg for scraps. Is that it?" The prince ended the question with a sneer.

Pinch didn't answer, glowering at Throdus while he continued his breakfast.

"I didn't think so," the prince said, dismissing the possibility with a wave of his hand. "The real question is, who are you working for? Marac? That would make sense for his little show. Publicly disavow you, privately deal."

Pinch stopped in midladle and blew on his porridge. "I told him it was too obvious."

"Now you're too obvious. So it wasn't Marac. Someone brought you here for a job and I want to know."

This was getting tedious, and Throdus's temper was getting up.

"As you well knew before coming here, it wasn't Marac who took me abroad."

Throdus laughed. "You're suggesting Cleedis? He's a trained monkey. He just wears the hat of regent and dances when somebody else plays the music. You've seen it; he can't even keep Vargo from unseating Bors at the head of the table."

Pinch remembered the arrangement, unremarkable at the time, but now of greater importance: Bors drooling at the end of the family row while Vargo sat in the first son's seat at the regent's left hand. It had never been that way at Manferic's table. The old man had kept his gods-cursed firstborn in the place of honor even after his deficiencies were clear to all.

"Why should I tell you anything? I'm no intelligencer for the constabulary."

Abruptly the prince was no longer humorous, the indulgent mask peeling from his flesh to reveal the corded muscles of a snarl as he sprang to his feet. "Because you're nothing but a rakehelled orphan who lives by our indulgence! Because I want to know who you're working for and you'll tell me."