"Must think the livery makes him invulnerable," Hecht said. "Principate Doneto, how about you… Where did he go?" Doneto, Madisetti, and the others had vanished. "Doneto could have ordered him back." He could not. He might be Captain-General but there were a thousand exceptions to his being in charge.

Titus Consent observed, "They might deal with him too fast to get the mob fired up. Here! What are you doing?"

Hecht had started to go out. Consent's outburst stopped him.

A waving torch had revealed two familiar faces. One belonged to Pinkus Ghort's man Bo Biogna. Biogna would be right at home in a seditious mob, identifying ringleaders. It was the man next to Bo whose appearance froze Hecht's heart.

He was a little older, a little grayer, showed a hitherto unsuspected bald spot, and was less enthusiastically bearded, but there was no doubt. Hecht would know Bone anywhere, if all that was left was his skeleton. Bo and Bone. Bone and his bones. What the hell was Bone doing on this side of the Mother Sea? Let alone being here, in the front rank of a mob quickly losing all enthusiasm for an assault on the beating heart of western religion?

Hagid.

There must be a connection.

Bone, known by no other name insofar as Hecht knew, had been the leading sergeant in the special company commanded by the Sha-lug captain, Else Tage.

"Sir?"

"Bechter. There you are."

Sergeant Bechter had been forced to take a long way around. Accompanying him were the newly minted Bruglioni Principate, Gervase Saluda, and old Hugo Mongoz. Principate Mongoz appeared to be having a good day. Hecht told Saluda, "Congratulations. Finally." Paludan Bruglioni, the chieftain of the Bruglioni family, had nominated Saluda long ago, after Principate Divino Bruglioni had been discovered dead on the battlefield outside al-Khazan, scant hours before the conclusion of the Calziran Crusade.

There had been fierce opposition to Saluda. The man had not been inside a church since his christening. He had no supernatural talents. He was a strong personality. He was dedicated to the Bruglioni family fortunes. And, from Hecht's point of view, he was dangerously smart. He had held the Bruglioni together for the last ten years.

"The right always triumphs," Saluda replied, in a sarcastic tone. He was amoral, and cynical in the extreme.

"Pardon me. We have a situation here."

More than one, possibly. Osa Stile materialized back in the shadows, behind the soldiers. The catamite tried to get Hecht's attention.

Studying the crowd again, Hecht could not find Bone or Bo Biogna. The mob was dispersing, the provocateurs first to go. Those who stayed were content to taunt the Palace guards.

Hecht shuddered suddenly.

"Sergeant Bechter."

"Sir?"

"To the left, there. In the second rank. Behind the guy with the huge beard. Wearing brown."

"Got him, sir. That's the man I've been talking about. And I got the chill a minute ago."

"Cloven Februaren," Hugo Mongoz said, peering between Hecht and Bechter, hanging on to their shoulders, leaning forward and squinting. "That would be Cloven Februaren. No doubt about it. The Ninth Unknown himself."

Only Hecht understood. "The Ninth Unknown, Your Grace? But he's been dead for fifty years."

"Yes," the old man said, musingly. "He should have been. So you'd think." Mongoz looked resentful for a moment, then a shadow stirred behind his eyes. He slumped, his grip weakening. Hecht and Bechter caught his arms. He turned panicky, suddenly lost.

Gervase Saluda said, "Let me take him, Captain-General. Biggio. A hand, if you will."

The quick change was a dramatic reminder of human frailty. Hecht said, "Sergeant Bechter. Where's the man in brown?" Ninth Unknown or mundane rioter, he was gone.

Hecht nodded to Osa Stile, to let the catamite know he had been seen. He was being ignored only because of the more pressing situation.

It would be important, though. Osa did not appear in public without his protector.

The new Bruglioni Principate, about to depart with Principate Mongoz, said, "I need a few minutes in private when you get time, Captain-General. A family matter. Of some importance to Paludan."

"Of course. Sergeant Bechter can work out something that fits our schedules." In the Name of God, the All-Knowing and Merciful! What was this? He could not have imagined himself saying that a year ago. "Bechter?"

"I understand, sir."

Hecht moved to check the situation in the Closed Ground. "That idiot will talk himself into thinking he's a hero."

The mob was a third of what it had been. The deadenders had a tail-between-the-knees look and were hanging on mostly because they did not want to desert the friends with whom they had come.

Hecht remarked, "The professional agitators have taken off. Nothing but inertia keeping it going now. It's over unless somebody suffers a last-second stroke of idiocy. People. Gather round. Let's make sure there's no plague of stupidity. Feel free to deal with anybody, even on our side."

Colonel Smolens asked, "You won't be here?"

"I won't. I have another problem that needs immediate attention."

"Sir?"

He did not explain. "Once those morons clear out take the troops to the hippodrome to help Colonel Ghort."

"Yes, sir."

Hecht glanced around. The Mongoz party had gone. He was the senior man present. He could do what he wanted.

He wanted to find the catamite.

"Armand." Hecht overtook the boy halfway to Principate Delari's Palace apartment. The catamite beckoned and increased his pace. He wanted to be inside the safety of the Principate's apartment when he talked.

"What is it?" Hecht asked as soon as it was safe. Osa was too professional to take a risk unless there was a greater risk in not acting.

"He's trapped down there."

"What? Who? Start at the beginning."

"The Principate. Our Principate. Delari. He's down in the catacombs. He was supposed to come back a long time ago."

"You're still not at the beginning. Did he have anything to do with the cave-in at the hippodrome?"

Osa was puzzled. "What cave-in?"

"The catacombs under the hippodrome collapsed. The stadium fell into the hole. It's a huge mess. A lot of people got killed."

Osa turned pale. "I thought it was just another riot. We have to do something."

Hecht ground his teeth. "He's really down there?"

The boy nodded.

"Oh, damn! That is bad. We need that old man to get by. You and me both. You're absolutely sure?"

"He went this morning. He got up way early. He said he'd figured out how to deal with what was down there. Whatever that meant. He doesn't tell me nearly as much as you think. He left right after breakfast. Whistling. Said he should be back in time for a late lunch."

Hecht considered his options. And saw only one. Get Delari out.

Osa said, "I'm going, too." Before Hecht could demur, he whispered, "I am Sha-lug."

He was. Yes. Before all else. And from the Vibrant Spring School.

"All right. Wear something that doesn't make you look like a whore."

"I'll go change."

Osa did so. And looked nothing like the rouged, perfumed bed bunny who shared Muniero Delari's nights. Nor did he smell like it.

This Osa would have no trouble fading into the Brothen mob. His threadbare apparel suggested that he did so occasionally.

Osa smiled. "Part of the job, Captain. You know where we have to go. Lead on."

Hecht wondered if Stile was taking the opportunity to unearth secrets never shared by his keeper.

They encountered traces of gray dust as they approached the baths. Inside, the staff were cleaning everything and skimming the pools.

Herrin intercepted them. "It blew in from back where nobody is supposed to go," she explained. "Along with a lot of cold, stinky air. We can't bathe you today."