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Scorpio Assassin [Dray Prescot #39]
by Alan Burt Akers
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Science Fiction/Fantasy

Mushroom eBooks
www.mushroom-ebooks.com

Copyright ©1992 by Kenneth Bulmer

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

Scorpio Assassin

Alan Burt Akers

Mushroom eBooks

Copyright © 1992, Kenneth Bulmer

Alan Burt Akers has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, to be identified as the Author of this work.

First published in Germany in 1992 by Heyne Verlag in German.

First English eBook edition by Savanti Press in 1996

This Edition published in 2008 by Mushroom eBooks, an imprint of Mushroom Publishing, Bath, BA1 4EB, United Kingdom www.mushroom-ebooks.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

eISBN 1843196980

Dray Prescot

Dray Prescot has been described as a man above middle height, with brown hair and level brown eyes, brooding and dominating, with enormously broad shoulders and powerful physique. There is about him an abrasive honesty and an indomitable courage. He moves like a savage hunting cat—swift, sudden and lethal.

The superhuman Star Lords have brought him to Kregen where, in pursuance of their schemes for that marvelous and terrifying world, he has managed to be successful on his own account. Reared in the harsh conditions of Nelson's Navy he was not successful on Earth. Now he has abdicated the throne of the Empire of Vallia. The empress, the divine Delia, agreed wholeheartedly in this decision—but she has been busy about affairs for the Sisters of the Rose, and Prescot has been sent on a hair-raising mission for the Star Lords.

Down in the southern half of the continent of Loh, in an isolated desert land where the belief in reincarnation as a punishment is firmly accepted, Prescot and a new comrade battle intrigue and assassins and attempt to follow the desires of the Star Lords. This new kregoinya is Mevancy nal Chardaz, a most spirited lady who means to keep Prescot thoroughly in his place.

Not completely sure if the guardian Tuong Mishuro is the man the Star Lords wished protected, Prescot and the guards have been hoodwinked. Prescot races to Mishuro's assistance, to arrive too late.

At this point the volume called Scorpio Reborn ended. Now this volume, Scorpio Assassin, takes up the tale.

Alan Burt Akers

Chapter one

Absolute dismay gripped me. I had failed the Star Lords! Utter disaster!

Those unpredictable and intolerant superbeings did not tolerate failure.

Blueness grew around me in that bed-chamber of death. I swear blueness grew and thickened around me. I stood there, empty-handed, my sword still buried in the throat of San Hargon who slumped by the bed. Beside him, the still form of Pulvia lay face-down on the floor. On the bed rested the body of San Mishuro, freshly slain, the man I believed the Star Lords required me to protect. So I stood there waiting for the enormous spectral blue form of the Scorpion to materialize and seize me up into the whirling coldness between the stars. The Everoinye would send their Scorpion to snatch me back to Earth, to leave all I loved on Kregen—perhaps forever.

I swear that bedchamber was irradiated with the blue radiance.

Perhaps I could defy the Star Lords, not as I once had done, stubbornly, foolishly, and so been banished to Earth for twenty-one years. Perhaps I could this time fashion those defenses of the mind I had been working on to deflect the wrath of the Star Lords, divert their desires? As I stood there, panting, seeing the corpses and the blood as through a blue mist, I screamed silently inside my head: “No! No! I will remain here on Kregen!"

After all, the Star Lords required my help here. They had told me that. There were so many things to be done the problem was where to begin.

A voice, shrill with passion, ripped through my tangled thoughts.

“There he is! He has killed the san! Cut him down!"

The blueness vanished and the mist cleared.

Through the open door of the bedchamber leaped two black-clad men disguised in black masks and brandishing swords. San Hargon, sprawled by the bed with my sword through his neck, had, indeed, brought reinforcements, and here they were ready to avenge the death of their employer.

The sword sticking in Hargon was a local weapon, a Lohvian lynxter, given to me by my fellow kregoinye Mevancy. The two assassins must have seen my empty hands as they rushed on me, and no doubt this pleased them.

I must admit I felt the blood in my head. I ripped out my rapier, a foreign weapon in these parts, and charged full tilt at the assassins. I admit it. I yelled with ferocious venom, charged with the awful anticipation of a horrendous future parted from Kregen, I shouted like any frightened spear-carrier in the ranks. I was considerably wrought up. I still believed I was due to be hurled contemptuously back to Earth and I didn't intend to land up there badly wounded, no by Vox!

So I just tore into these two assassins, stikitches of some quality, and our blades met in that spine-tingling screech of steel on steel.

They quite clearly had no conception of rapier work. Their cut and thrusters faltered and fell short as I showed them a few sword tricks that probably would not be of the slightest use to them where they were going. The rapier slid on—one, two—and I stepped back. The bodies slumped to the thick carpets. I own I felt very little shame—far less than a similar performance in other circumstances would have warranted—very little at that petty performance. There would have been no point in trying to question them. What had happened here was plain to see in the blood-smeared corpses.

The rapier was wiped clean on a black facemask, then I crossed to Hargon and retrieved my lynxter. Standing like that, running the black cloth up and down the blade to remove every last smear of blood, I heard the trampling noise of armored men advancing along the corridor towards the bedchamber.

There was probably a secret way out; there was certainly no time to search for and find the hidden catch to open the secret door. Somewhat like a savage beast at bay I glared around, determined to smash a way through these confident armored men, and belting them left and right tear off into the darkness. That was the plan.

The first man through the door was Trylon Kuong.

My sword described a brief arc in salute, then I thrust the clean blade back into the scabbard.

“What goes forward, Drajak—?” he began, and then saw the shambles, and so checked. Men closed up to his rear and all stopped, staring into that bedchamber of death.

“We were tricked, Kuong.” I spoke harshly. He was a trylon, an exalted rank of nobility, and I wanted to get on simple straightforward terms as soon as possible. I did not intend to kowtow to him. He was very young still, and I had taken a liking for him. With his clear eyes, ruddy cheeks and firm lips he looked every inch your high-spirited young tearaway, a rip-roaring bladesman, a noble spark. I fancied he might be all of these things, given time; but his upbringing so far at the hands of his guardian, San Caran, had produced a young fellow more moody than he should be, even allowing for the peculiar circumstances of his many lives on Kregen.

“San Tuong is dead—and so is San Hargon—Drajak—what—?"

I gestured around the room. The raw stink of spilled blood has always been offensive in my nostrils, although, Zair forgive me, I have smelled that stink often and often. The warmth of the place clogged. “As you see, Kuong, San Hargon used this poor woman as a tool. She tricked her way past the guards and stabbed Tuong Mishuro to death. Then Hargon stabbed her. When we all rushed off to your villa to stop your precious San Caran killing you, that was half of the plan. This half worked.” I eyed him. I had no compunction in reminding him of his debt, for I saw his use to me and to the plans of the Star Lords for the future. “The half that entailed your death, thankfully, failed."

“Thanks to you, Drajak!” he said at once, impulsively, openly. “You have my thanks and gratitude. If there is anything—"

“First we must think what to do with the corpses. You are sure no retribution will fall upon us for slaying dikasters?"

He laughed scornfully, and I am sure he was reliving those fraught moments, only a short time ago, when the assassins tried to slay him. His laugh sounded brittle. He put a hand to his cheek where the bright blood showed the nick he had taken in the fight in his villa. “Absolutely sure, Drajak. By their actions, Hargon and Caran are no longer fit to be considered as dikasters. They took their oaths to the college to become Repositers and faithful to the dictates of Tsung-Tan. They broke those oaths. I doubt if they will even receive a perfunctory burial."

Chiako the Gut, the dead Tuong Mishuro's captain of his bodyguard, having so signally failed in his duty, blustered. “Throw them in the river!"

The River of Drifting Leaves on which stood the city of Makilorn contained among many varieties of fish the twin-finned and voracious stranks. Anybody attempting to bathe in the river would rapidly become a strank's lunch.

“Aye!” rumbled those crusty guards clustered in the doorway.

I was not surprised.

The dikasters, both Repositers like Hargon and Caran, and Diviners like Tuong Mishuro, were regarded as sacrosanct. Poor Mishuro had not believed that any dikaster would break his solemn vows. Now the plot's hatching was complete, he was dead of his trust.

Again Kuong fingered his blood-dappled cheek. “It is very warm here,” he said. I leaped and caught him as he fell. His eyelids fluttered.

“Water!” I bellowed.

The collapse of the young trylon seemed to break the spell of that bedchamber of death. Chiako, no doubt consumed with anxiety for his personal future, took charge. He acknowledged me as Walfger Drajak, a friend of Mishuro's. He did not recognize me as Chaadur, a name and disguise I had adopted, and he bustled around organizing. Trylon Kuong's own guards carried him back to his villa. I was sympathetic. The events of the evening were enough to cause a grizzled veteran to topple over, given that the basic tenets of these people's religion had been violated.

Only then was the realization borne in on me that I was still in Mishuro's villa, in the city of Makilorn on the River of Drifting Leaves, in the land of Tsungfaril in the continent of Loh on the world of Kregen.

By this time I'd quite expected to find myself chucked down naked in some far and forgotten corner of Earth.

The Star Lords most certainly had started the blue radiance in the room, I felt sure of that. But I had not been transported between the stars back to the planet of my birth. Yet San Tuong Mishuro had been the most likely candidate among the score or so for the position of the person we had to protect. I call Mevancy a fellow kregoinye; she was of course a kregoinya, a lady employed by the Everoinye to carry out their tasks. She might crow a trifle that I'd been wrong about Mishuro. She'd feel damn sorry the old boy was dead; but she'd be all the more keen to find out who our real target was. The Star Lords wanted us to protect someone around here; now it had turned out not to be Mishuro—so I thought—then who was it?

I took a breath outside in the arcade. I must see that Llodi the Voice, a comrade stabbed by Pulvia before she went on to stab Mishuro, received proper attention. Then I would travel back across the desert west to the Springs of Benga Annorpha and find Mevancy and bring her up to date with the news.

Oh, yes, she'd be mighty cutting about my views that Mishuro had been the target. Mind you, he might have been and the Star Lords might be biding their time before they punished me. The Everoinye were unaccountable. They had once been human beings and now were advanced far beyond the normal state of flesh and blood. I'd no idea what they looked like, how they lived, if they still needed to eat and drink. I did know they made mistakes. If they were as old as I thought, and they admitted to being old, perhaps they were becoming senile? That, as you may well imagine, was a most uncomfortable thought. Most, by Krun!

They wanted Mevancy and me to do something down here in Tsungfaril in Loh. Now I could see how gullible I had been in the past. I'd simply taken my lead from what the Star Lords presented. I'd attempted to defy them and they'd hurled me back to Earth for twenty-one horrible miserable years. Could my desperate attempt to thwart their efforts to send me back have succeeded? I decided not to bank on that. Rather, my work for the Star Lords was not over and I was still of use to them. That, I reasoned, was a far more logical explanation of events.

So it was imperative that I speak with Mevancy as soon as possible.

One result of the death of San Hargon and the understanding of his villainy was the calling off of the law from my neck. I was no longer a wanted fugitive. I own, I felt grateful for that. Having to disguise myself, having to keep under cover, while interesting pastimes, tend to add unnecessary difficulties in doing the job for the Everoinye.

Llodi's splendid fissured nose did not glow with its usual brightness as I found him lying on his back on a couch. A Needleman was working over the dagger hole in Llodi's side, concentrating on his work, his yellow smock already stained with Llodi's blood.

I said: “Will he live, doctor?"

“Hey!” yelped Llodi. “Don't shuffle me off so fast, dom."

The Needleman spoke without turning. “The wound is not serious."

“Thank Tsung-Tan for that."

“And no thanks to that murdering she-devil!” burst out Llodi.

“You heard?"

“I heard."

“I do not think she was essentially an evil woman, Llodi, just misguided and easily led into evil ways."

“She fooled me with her pretty ways, that's for sure."

“Well, you must get well soon. I do not think this affair is finished. Not finished by a long chalk, by Zair."

He nodded and then yawned as the Needleman neatly inserted a needle and set fire to the herbs at its tip. Llodi felt no pain. Once his side healed up he'd be good as new. Llodi's eyelids closed.

The doctor stood up and brushed his knees.

“He'll sleep twelve clepsydras. Then he'll be on the mend."

“Your name, doctor?"

“Wei Fwang. I care for Trylon Kuong."

“You will not be insulted if I ask you to accept this trifle of gold?"

“I might have been, when I was young. No longer."

I gave him the gold. He was alert, thin-faced, with surprisingly large bags under his eyes for so thin a countenance. He was apim like me.

He went off smartly to see about Kuong's fainting fit and I walked slowly towards the main gate of Mishuro's villa.

There was no chance of starting for the Springs of Benga Annorpha tonight. I'd have to go along to Wayfarers’ Drinnik and see about finding a caravan going west to the springs. I pondered. Perhaps I could chance the journey alone astride a good mount. Perhaps. I'd ridden in from the springs alone and had not been killed, so there appeared no good reason why I shouldn't return. Apart from one. There had been rumors of raiders from the north filtering down along the river, and at least two caravans had been attacked. The lone traveler was asking for trouble.

Well, I'd leave that decision for the morning.

Now it seemed to me with the people of Mishuro's villa busily clearing up that I stood in dire need of that wet I'd been about to take when the alarm had sent me haring for Kuong's villa. Well, I'd calmed down a trifle now and could look more reasonably at what had transpired. They'd tricked us beautifully. The attack by Caran on Kuong had brought us all rushing there with me in the lead, and the way was left open for Pulvia to stab poor Llodi—no doubt in the act of kissing. Then Hargon and his bully boys had burst in and the end result was the bedchamber of death. All that followed the laws of logical reasoning. What did not follow was the inevitability of the incident now being closed.

Caran and Hargon had been in it together, in cahoots, as they say.

I felt most strongly that there were other and more powerful forces and personalities involved. Shadowy figures, hovering in the background, pulling the strings that worked their puppets. Puppets like Sans Caran and Hargon!

The nightlife of this riverside city of Makilorn, while not like the raucous nightlife of Vondium or the riotousness of the Sacred Quarter in Ruathytu, was highly colored and racketed away under the stars. What it most certainly was not like was the night life of Sanurkazz. By Zair! Is there any other place on Earth or Kregen quite so rowdy as Sanurkazz when the swifters pull in?

I went along to a stucco-fronted place where people sat at small round tables drinking the local beverages. You could get imported wines, of course; but they cost money. Also imported ales were popular in this land of near-desert aridity, whose soul was the river. I took a flagon of Shenlitz and sat in a shrouded corner and watched.

My back itched.

That meant something I couldn't quite bring to mind was troubling me.

Very well. The Star Lords had pitched Mevancy and me here in Tsungfaril. I'd bet that we had to protect Mishuro and now Mishuro was dead and I was still here so that proved me wrong. There were the others who'd come in with our caravan who had been rescued by Mevancy and who therefore logically could qualify for further protection.

That was elementary. I felt with the utmost conviction that the Star Lords were interested in this remote country with its steadfast belief in a heavenly paradise to come. Why the Star Lords should be interested I didn't know. What they knew and what they did, they knew and did. What it all boiled down to was this: Mevancy and I had to find the person or persons the Everoinye wished to care for and protect them with our lives.

Simple.

Ha!

The things to do were to finish up this flagon, find a bite to eat, and then crawl back to Mishuro's villa, find my pallet, and go to sleep.

Everything would come clear by morning.

The last drop of Shenlitz went down glug-glug and I stood up from the table, the flagon still in my fist.

A man clad in the universal fawn clothes, with a yellow turban above a swarthy face, brilliant eyes and a hooked nose, halted by the table.

I noticed the brooch gathering up a corner of his cloak, a glinting bauble representing a swordfish in a hoop. In the next instant his brown hand shot from the sleeve of his robe and I caught the evil glitter of steel. He threw with unerring accuracy. The dagger flashed straight for my throat.

Chapter two

The flagon in my fist whipped across in a purely reflexive action. The dagger chingled a single gong-chime and span away in a flash of silver. In the next heartbeat the flagon flew the intervening distance and crashed full against the forehead of this unpleasant dagger-throwing fellow. He gave a tiny grunt and simply fell, collapsing from the knees. His face smashed into the table edge.

In the hubbub around only a few people noticed the byplay.

A gaunt Gon at the next table said: “That was quick, dom."

“Aye."

“Either finish him now or clear off schtump."

The advice, given the circumstances, was good. I nodded. “You are right, dom. Remberee."

He nodded in reply and lifted his flagon as I walked quickly to the door. The fellow wearing the swordfish in a hoop badge might have friends. I had no desire at this juncture to brave perils unnecessarily. When I knew a great deal more about the machinations behind the scenes would be the time to sort out this bunch of rogues.

The startlingly uncommon clouds that had darkened the city earlier in the evening persisted. The narrow streets lay in shadow. It did not rain for that would have been so startlingly uncommon as to defy belief. One of the more interesting stories of this part of the world related how a certain Naghan the Cheerful, being so much in love with Cheryl, the daughter of a prosperous jewel smith, asked for her hand and was brutally rejected by the jewel smith, Hwang Wei, who said: “My daughter will never marry a penniless sandalmaker's son! Begone!” Naghan and Cheryl were in despair. Out of desperation they decided to elope. They unhitched Hwang Wei's best lictrix and riding bareback with two water bottles set off to cross the desert and begin a new life. Their hoof prints lay in the sand for all to see. Hwang Wei would have no difficulty following them with his relatives in hot pursuit. Then the miracle occurred. It rained. The storyteller would pause at this dramatic point and allow his audience time to exclaim in wonder at this unheard of marvel. When all this took place is a matter for scholars.

It did not rain on this night in Makilorn.

The stars were already breaking through the overcast and once the twin suns, Luz and Walig, rose, the few remaining wisps of cloud would vanish as though they had never been.

But, during this short period, the night was as dark as a night of Notor Zan, even though She of the Veils was floating high in the sky above. The Moon She of the Veils is often called She of the Blushes in Loh. As I felt my way along from torchlight to torchlight in the street I felt quite pleased that my favorite Moon's light was cut off for the moment. I needed to get away without assassins dogging my footsteps.

Just at the moment it was useless to try to figure out who had sent the dagger thrower. Hargon and Caran were both dead and once the people they had paid had finished that contract, nothing more would be done for Hargon or Caran. Those two were effectively out of the reckoning.

My earlier decision to find something to eat and then turn in now seemed to me unsatisfactory. I felt restless. Well, by Krun, that is no new thing in my life!

A flaring becketed torch over a doorway illuminated a beam from which hung a flagon. People were passing in and out. I recognized The Tavern of Lush Bonhomie. That decided me, so in I went.

The outer walls were sheer and unpierced, the entrance leading onto a courtyard surrounded by booths, open windows, doors, all shedding golden lamplight into a wonderful brilliance. I blinked. The place hummed. I suppose other pleasure seekers in other times and places would say the place jumped. Many of the young people here enjoying themselves wore half masks, many of the women wore veils; all were well dressed, sumptuously dressed in many instances. There was wealth here, on display and openly flaunted. The scents of wine and perfume coiled and mingled. I suppose the most strange defect in that glittering display to me might seem odd to some observers: I was immediately aware of the odd effect created by the absence of rapiers swinging at the sides of the young bloods. Thinking of some of the hellions I had known on Kregen, I shook my head. By Krun! To ruffle it during an evening's entertainment without your rapier! Unheard of! But, of course, rapiers were strange foreign weapons down in this part of Loh.

They didn't even have some of the stickers the Krozairs wore for a night out when they left their great longswords at home.

There were lynxters and daggers and knives aplenty. I moved quietly in, intending to find a wet and a snack whilst I made the final decision to set off for Annorpha and Mevancy at once.

My firm intention was to stay out of trouble.

Ha!

A laughing lad lurched into my path, and almost fell, and clung on to me, spluttering, saying: “My apologies, dom! I own I am grievously at fault. It is all that Leone's doing, the wanton."

He wore a fashionable red half mask and his face peeped out, flushed, bright, merry. His hair stood in spiky disarray. “There!” he spluttered out. “There is my character witness!"

His free hand pointed at the table; his other hand clung on to me with a grip of death. Another youngster and two girls sat at the table laughing at their companion. The two lads were well-dressed and daggers swung at their belts, everything smothered in gems. The two girls wore light silk and silver-tissue chemises, long skirts—one maroon, one saffron—and much jewelry. Their faces were half hidden by veils and their hair was piled high with much artifice.

“Llahal,” I said, and I could hear the ridiculous formality in my voice. “A pleasant evening to you.” And, deftly, I foisted this youngster clinging to me onto the nearest chair. He collapsed, still spluttering his good-humored laughter.

So, filled with good intentions, I turned away after favoring the ladies with a nod of parting each.

Here in the Tavern of Lush Bonhomie people intended to enjoy themselves. That these folk of Tsungfaril devoutly believed that when they died they would go to Gilium, a heaven and paradise of unimaginable delights, did not alter their desire to enjoy themselves in the here and now. This was in marked contrast to many of the people I'd already met who merely drudged through this life on Kregen with every ambition and thought centered on the life to come in Gilium. I'd received the impression that the people of Tsungfaril merely tolerated this life, and had not suicide prevented them from going up to Gilium, there would be a mass holocaust as everybody slit their throats and went off to enjoy themselves for eternity.

Naturally, the accursed, the paol-ur-bliem, who had been condemned to live a hundred lives on this world of Kregen before they would be allowed to enter the paradise of Gilium, looked at living these lives somewhat differently from other folk. If they had to spend a hundred rotten lifetimes down here, then they'd jolly well enjoy ‘em! There was a great deal more to learn about the paol-ur-bliem yet.

A shrill scream at my back brought me around, hand on sword hilt.

The lad who'd clung onto me—his companions had called him Wink—was falling back clutching his side. Dark blood welled over his fingers. The knife that had caused that damage was wielded in the fist of a man in dark brown evening clothes. His face held a tight intent look of utter concentration. Instantly I looked at the small brooch he wore high on his left shoulder. It was not a swordfish in a hoop. It looked to be a chavonth and wersting, I couldn't be sure. What he was was amply demonstrated by what he was doing.

The girl called Leone screamed again as the strong and supple brown fingers of the thief hooked her necklace away in a single skilled jerk. She tried to struggle up from the table and the thief pushed her down—hard—and with his right hand grasping the necklace back-handed the other youngster across the face. The knife in the thief's left fist made a single threatening gesture, and the lad flinched back, eyes enormous over the mask.

This all took place within the compass of half a dozen heartbeats.

The thief, satisfied with his booty and ignoring the rest of the jewelry on display, swung about and started to run off.

It was perfectly clear that Wink had tried to stop the thief snatching the necklace and had been stabbed for his pains.

At my side people were shouting, still sitting at table, and other people were setting up a racket. No one offered to stop the thief. Blood glistened thick and black-red on the knife blade.

I picked up a thick pewter plate from the table and skimmed it backhanded. Like a discus it flew spinning through the air. It struck the running thief clean on the nape of the neck. He stumbled forward, arms flinging wide, legs tangling, and then he fell down.

Spilled wine scented the air with expensive perfumes. I walked forward past shouting people at table towards the prostrate thief. He was not unconscious, let alone dead, and as I reached him he was making motions like a swimmer. In a minute or two he'd be up. They make professional thieves out of tough material on Kregen.

The knife was still clutched in his hand. So was the necklace in the other hand. Again, professional thieves of Kregen do not lightly give up either their weapons or their booty.

I put my foot on his right wrist. I pressed. He gave a soggy gasp and his hand opened. The necklace tumbled free.

“Thank you, dom,” I said, and bent down and picked up the bauble.

“By Diproo the Nimble-Fingered, dom. What did you hit me with? A whole flaming table?"

“The flagons fell off,” I said.

“I'd never have noticed."

“They're coming for you, dom. If—” I released my foot.

Why I spoke and said this I have puzzled over. He rolled over and sat up, staring at me. His face looked like a walnut.

“They call me the Dipensis.” He stood up, warily, like a cat. “I'm off, dom. This time I'll catch the table and throw it back."

I shook the necklace. Other people had been scarcely aware of this byplay, so little time elapsed—the thief fell down, I picked up the necklace, and he ran off. I did not pursue but returned to the table where three worried young people were regarding the fourth's bloody wound.

I said nothing but hoicked Wink up over my shoulder and started for the exit door.

The other young fellow, very upper-crusty, said: “Hey! Wait a minute! What are you up to?"

“This laddie needs a doctor.” My voice was harsh.

The girl with lighter-colored hair than normal down here said in a shushy voice: “Yes. Come with me. We'll take him home."

“You have a Needleman or a Puncture Lady there?"

“Oh, yes, of course."

“Lead on."

The other young man—I gathered his name was Prang—offered to assist. I said: “I can manage, thank you. Here, give this to Leone.” I passed across the necklace that had been the cause of all this turmoil.

Leone, she with the lighter than normal hair, grasped the necklace and stared sickly on Wink.

“Will he die?” She fluttered alongside as I took long strides to get clear of this place. “Poor Wink! Tell me he won't die, please!"

I found myself saying: “So he's not a Paol-ur-bliem, then."

“Oh, no. No. I am, but poor Wink isn't."

The sky already showed a healthy smattering of stars and the pinkly golden light of She of the Blushes wafted down most gratefully as we sped quickly along. They led me to the narrow postern gate set in a high stucco wall. Leone had a key and she let us in. They acted in a furtive manner, so I guessed they were not supposed to be out enjoying themselves on the town in the evening. One reason for that, clearly, was what had happened to Wink. Young nobs, I surmised, all breeding and money and spirit, and as far from the workers in the irrigations as it was possible to get.

“We'll have to tell them,” said Prang. His voice was a strangled gasp. “Have to. Leone—you see that!"

“I suppose so.” Her voice sharpened. “And if they want to blame anyone then I'll take the blame—"

“Oh, Leone!” broke in the other girl, Ching-Lee. “It wasn't you!"

“I won't have them blaming poor Wink, not like this. No. I'll take the blame. Now, Ching-Lee, hurry and fetch the Puncture Lady."

We went through shadowy grounds where bushes and flowers grew in an abundance that showed how rich this place was. Through a door, along corridors, up stairs, into a hall sumptuously furnished. I began to surmise this was a palace. In a small room papered with blue and white volail flowers I put Wink down in a couch smothered in gold fleur-de-lys, and so stood back, and looked at these young tearaways. Ching-Lee came back then with the Puncture Lady, so I was not called on to comment on the tears in Leone's and Prang's eyes.

“Tut-tut,” said the Puncture Lady in her brisk professional way. “Now what mischief have you young scallywags been up to?” She bent at once to Wink's injured side.

“Oh, Mistress Lingli! You wouldn't tell her majestrix, would you?"

Leone's piteous voice would have melted a granite mountain.

Mistress Lingli, carefully cutting away Wink's bloodstained shirt, did not look up. I heard the soft affection in her voice. “Why, Leone, would I be so cruel?"

“We-ell—we were out—"

“I don't want to know.” Skilled hands inserted acupuncture needles. One thing—Wink would feel no more pain. “What you tell the queen is your business. Mine is making Master Wink well again."

“Oh, thank you, Lingli! You are a gem!"

“H'mff!” sniffed the Puncture Lady, and got on with Wink.

After that she turned on me.

“Hold still,” she said in her no nonsense voice. Carefully she unwrapped the grubby bandage around my left arm. The mouthful of flesh ripped from my arm by Arzuriel, a most unhealthy and uncanny monster with four fanged mouths at the end of his arms I'd encountered just before the debacle of poor Mishuro's death, would, I knew, grow back swiftly enough. This Puncture Lady could not know that. She tut-tutted again in a most aggressive fashion.

“Playing with your pets, have you?"

Her attitude and the conceit pleased me.

“I'm not a cannibal on a self-catering holiday."

“Aha. It's your business. Hold still!"

She wanted to stick needles in me to ease the pain but I assured her I felt no pain now—which was not strictly true. She fixed me up in her neat way and patted the last knot of the bandage.

“You'd better see your own doctor tomorrow."

“Quidang,” I said in meek agreement.

“Lingli—you are sure Wink will be all right?"

“Yes, Leone. Look, he is sleeping like a baby. If you do not wish to be discovered you must—"

“Yes, yes!” cried Leone. “Prang, you must carry Wink to his bedchamber. We'll—"

“Call the slaves,” said Prang, off-handedly.

“Oh, you fambly!” said Ching-Lee, looking exasperation personified.

Patiently, Leone said: “The slaves will talk, Prang. We must carry Wink—and we must hurry."

Prang started up, eyebrows raised and mouth open. “Of course!"

About to offer my services as a Wink carrier, I desisted. They could handle this between them. I'd better be off. Prang lifted Wink and Ching-Lee bustled alongside as they left this pretty room. Doctor Lingli, after a look from under lowered eyebrows at Leone and me, sniffed and followed.

“I won't ask,” I said, and I admit I spoke somewhat drily, “how you'll explain away the hole in Wink's side."

“I will think of a story. I am quite capable of that!"

“Well, I'm off. Remberee.” And I made for the door.

She caught me up as my hand fell on the latch. She looked up into my face and put her hand on my arm as she started to say: “I owe you a great deal, walfger, and no pappattu between us."[1]

[1 walfger: gentleman, herr, mister. Pappattu: introduction. A.B.A.]

She saw the expression I instantly quelled, and glanced down, and saw her hand gripping onto my bandaged arm. Brilliant blood suffused her face.

“Oh! Oh—I am sorry! Tsung-Tan! How thoughtless—"

“It is of no consequence. My name is Drajak."

“Then Lahal and Remberee, Drajak."

When I was once more out in the streets of Makilorn under the stars, I reflected that this Leone had more to her than the mere empty-headed chit of a thing she appeared to be. Anyway, I felt I could like her.

Chapter three

I, Dray Prescot, Lord of Strombor and Krozair of Zy, stepped out of the palace gate like any silly woflo ripe for the snare.

There was time to notice that a torch by the gate pillar was no longer alight. There was time to notice that the shadows fell thickly across the path. There was even time to hear a soft footfall at the side.

Finally, there was time for me to turn swiftly to face this unseen threat.

After that there was time only to feel a smashing great thwack on the back of my head and to pitch into the enfolding darkness.

When I regained consciousness those famous old Bells of Beng-Kishi were ding-donging away inside my skull. As I may have previously remarked, getting hit on the head happens with distressing frequency on Kregen.

Blearily I managed to get my eyelids to unglue themselves.

The light from a cheap mineral oil lamp was not too bright so I could bear the brilliance of scratching illumination on my eyeballs. I blinked. Directly before me sat the thief I'd felled with the pewter plate.

I caught a vague impression of shadows shrouding the brick walls of this small square chamber, of a table and of other men and women lounging on the edges of my vision. I tried to turn my head to see more clearly and found myself securely bound in a chair with my head between a metal vice.

If I saw anyone wearing a badge of a swordfish in a hoop I'd know I was in for serious trouble. This fellow's badge I could now clearly see was indeed a representation of a chavonth and a wersting, claw to paw, in a fanciful pairing. The dark serious eyes in his walnut face studied me somberly. The knife that had stabbed Wink glittered as he turned and twisted it idly between his nimble brown fingers. I eyed him stonily.

“Well now, dom,” he said. “Now you're awake you can tell us what your little game is. Dernun?"

That dernun demanding to know if I understood him did not spit with the usual venom of that intolerant word. He sounded almost pensive.

“Well now, dom,” I said, and my voice sounded thick in my ears. “The necklace was the property of the lady. That is all."

“Tut-tut,” he said and—in that situation—I, Dray Prescot, almost laughed out loud. He was aping Mistress Lingli, and the juxtaposition amused me enormously. Something might yet be made of this little thief.

“You do not wear a schturval.” The way he spoke was an accusation.

His schturval was the chavonth and wersting. That this was the badge of some kind of thieves’ guild I did not doubt.

“No."

“You took the necklace, yet we did not find it on you. So you have already disposed of it."

“That's right."

He leaned forward and the knife flicked up. “Do not misunderstand me, dom, just because you let me go."

“I let you go because I did not wish to see a fellow creature thrown to the stranks in the river. They have nasty jaws."

“Agreed. So where is the necklace?"

“With its owner."

“You gave it to the queen?” He sounded shocked.

“No. To the lady from whom you took it."

“Oh, her. Silly chit.” He hesitated. Then he said: “Not that I would relish her punishment at the hands of the queen."

I said: “So it was the queen's necklace and the lady borrowed it for an evening on the town."

He shook his head. “No, dom, if I read your thoughts aright. She was not in league with us to acquire it. More's the pity."

I hadn't been thinking that Leone had taken the necklace so that it might be stolen by accomplices, thus bringing punishment on her head but exculpating her from charges of thievery. She, I felt absolutely confident, would have treated any approach of that sort with the utmost scorn.

A throaty voice from the shadows spoke with a snarl.

“The scheme worked and this shint spoiled it. What are you going to do about that, Kei-Wo?"

“When I have decided, Fing-Na, I will tell you. Until then, keep your black-fanged winespout shut. Dernun?"

This time the word spat with vicious power.

The little thief, Kei-Wo the Dipensis, leaned forward. “No idea whose necklace it was, returning it, no schturval.” He leaned back and he spoke at large, addressing that shadowy company of rogues. “We have here, fanshos, an innocent. He is not of our profession, no, and Diproo the Nimble-Fingered would not own him! Haw!"

Coarse laughter burst from the others and there was a clearly felt relaxation of tension.

They'd belatedly reached the conclusion I was an innocent passerby and not a thief from a rival guild.

All the same, I'd done them out of their booty. No doubt they'd want to take payment out of my hide. A number of people on Kregen have desired that and tried to perform the deed in the past. Most of them have regretted the foolish decision.

The bonds restraining me in the chair felt as though a good heave would burst them. The steel vice around my head was a different matter.

A woman's voice with an unpleasant cutting edge sounded from the shadows. “Let me tickle him up a bit.” She used a phrase to describe me that combined insult, obscenity and contempt. “He'll soon tell me what we want to know."

Before anyone else could speak up I said in a low but penetrating voice: “So the filth on the floor in here actually can speak. Remarkable."

Kei-Wo's walnut face creased into a broad smile. He sat further back in his chair and crossed his legs. Then the woman's angry shrilling burst out. Kei-Wo spoke to me directly over that incoherent torrent.

“Now you've upset Sooey. I must warn you, she does know how to use her little knife exceedingly well.” The devil was thoroughly enjoying this and perfectly prepared to let what might happen happen and glee at whoever won this confrontation.

Or—was he? Was I wrong to detect a strain of amused lightness in him? He owed me nothing apart from his life. He probably owed this gang and this Fing-Na and this Sooey a great deal. They were his people. It seemed to me I had to get clear of this contretemps under my own power.

The woman's silhouette bulked against the lamp and her shadow fell over me. She moved aside to pass Kei-Wo in his chair and the lamplight fell on her lank black hair, the side of a scarred face, the cheek sunken and marked, and a single bright eye. She wore shapeless rags. Her fist lifted, sinewy, knuckled-ridged, yellow. The knife was small and cunningly curved. The lamplight fell on the blade and glittered into my eyes.

I said: “What was your question?"

I could hear her panting. I'd expected the others in the room to be shouting and yelling and urging her on. Everyone sat silently.

“No question now, shint! First I'll have one eye—"

The knife moved forward slowly, turning as she sized up the orbit of my left eye. I used my muscles, broke the bonds, reached up and twisted the knife away. She screeched like a banshee and staggered back, her lank hair flapping about that narrow vicious face.

“So far I have been merciful to you, Sooey, for I did not break your wrist. Do not meddle with me again.” I threw the knife into the shadows of a corner. Then I cocked an enquiring eye at Kei-Wo the Dipensis.

He uncrossed his legs, swiveled and gave Sooey a kick up the rump.

“Clear off, Sooey. This is no business of yours."

She hissed and drew her rags about her; but she withdrew.

The little thief looked back at me. “Your name, dom?"

“Drajak."

“Perhaps. It should be Drajak the Sudden, I think."

“If you will it so."

“If I do so will, then it will be so!"

I felt around the metal vice. “Does this damn thing come off without taking my head with it?"

He wheezed a laugh at that. “The latch in the back, right hand."

I flicked the latch and the metal sides opened and I was able to move my head again. I said: “I shall stand up now."

“Very well. Naghan the Chik will put his knife through your eye if you make—"

“Naghan the Chik may rest easy.” I twisted my head about on my neck. I must admit I'd had a few nasty moments wondering if the blow on the back of my head would bring back the paralysis from which I'd suffered previously. After the paralysis I'd been as weak as a woflo, and Mevancy still believed me to be without muscles. “I shall not make a silly move."

“No. No, Drajak the Sudden, I do not think you will."

I rubbed my neck. “I was on my way to eat and drink when we met. As you will readily perceive, I have had neither since."

He lifted a hand and called: “Valli!"

Just what might transpire now I was not sure. The situation had been retrieved. I was not for the immediate chop. Much of these people's immediate fate rested on how well Kei-Wo controlled them. If he could not keep them under control and they started in on me then a lot of them would die.

I wondered if he would comment that I'd chosen to make my attack on a woman. Fing-Na had merely voiced a hoarse query about my general fate. This rag-and-bone woman, Sooey, had offered to tickle me up a bit and into the bargain had used a most coarse expression which I am not at liberty to repeat. She just happened to be female, that's all.

The shadows clustered and jumped as the lamplight flickered. This claustrophobic atmosphere caught in the throat. I was not out of the wood yet. A slip of a girl with a shy, averted face brought a bowl with bread in flat round cakes, dates, figs and a linen bag of some soft and oozing cheese. She wore a simple shif-like garment and her feet were bare. At the sound of her name, Valli, I felt a pang of homesickness.

Kei-Wo picked up my rapier. My lynxter and all my possessions were spread on the floor beside him. He withdrew the slender blade from the scabbard and moved it experimentally about through the air.

“I have heard of these swords. Rapier, they call ‘em. I'm told they are quick. Still, I don't believe they have the strength or weight to do much damage in a fight.” He gave me a quick lowering look. “Well?"

“Depends on the fight."

“Would you face a good swordsman's lynxter with your rapier?"

“What are the odds?"

A coarse laugh came from Fing-Na. Kei-Wo leaned back and smiled. A calculating look passed across his thin walnut face.

Someone from the shadows called: “Set Fing-Na on the boaster!"

A bulky form moved forward more clearly into the light. He was splendidly built if a trifle thick about the waist. His clothes were the usual fawn robes. His face possessed a magnificent pair of moustaches, pointed and waxed, standing out well beyond his cheeks. He looked competent.

I said: “No, I will not fight. I have no quarrel with Fing-Na despite his words earlier. And I would not wish to slay him."

Fing-Na bristled at this. Kei-Wo laughed. That laugh was calculated theatre. I began to believe he could keep these ruffians in order.

“Yes, we do not need blood spilt here. Valli! The wine, girl, the wine!” He gestured expansively. “We will drink together and we will talk of ways of taking the queen's necklace."

Valli returned with a tray laden with goblets and as I took one I said in as casual a way as I could manage, given the circumstances: “What's so all-fired important about this pestiferous necklace, then?"

The wine was a thick green Pimpim from Chem, cloying as syrup. Kei-Wo saw my grimace as I sipped.

“The wine does not please you?"

“It's not that. Just I would have preferred something lighter and more refreshing. Also I think you have fortified this."

“Of course. Best quality dopa in there, dom. Still, if you don't like it ... Valli!"

By the time I was sipping a light crimson—I believe it was a Niliin from downriver and not a real wine at all—I thought I understood what all this palaver was about. Kei-Wo was a professional thief leading his band of rascals. Someone had employed him to obtain the queen's necklace. Of the four young people out on the town, who would have so arranged matters that the pleasure-loving and giddy girl, Leone, would be able to borrow the necklace? So, in addition, who were these four young people? That must have been the queen's palace where I'd taken Wink. I did not think they were serving folk; they were of the gentry all right. Nobs. Yet someone had arranged for Leone to wear the queen's necklace, and for Kei-Wo to steal it.

These notions tumbling through my head were half right. Kei-Wo quickly showed me where I was wrong.

He spoke matter-of-factly; I did not miss the steel in his words.

“You, Drajak, stopped me from carrying out what I have promised to do and have been half paid for. That silly girl will not again be allowed to wear the queen's necklace. Anyway, I imagine she has had a shock and will be far too frightened to borrow it again."

I said nothing. I'd been talking far too much just lately. And I wasn't at all sure that Leone would be frightened. She struck me that she might be a giddy girl; but she had a streak of courage I recognized.

Kei-Wo went on: “Our information told us she borrowed the necklace. As soon as she wore it, it would be ours. Yet you happened along."

Again I said nothing.

“So what must be done is quite clear. If you do not do as I wish, Naghan the Chik will put his knife clean through your throat wherever you happen to be. I am saying your life is forfeit if you fail and you cannot hide from us."

I was sensible enough to recognize this threat as one perfectly capable of being carried out. I couldn't guard every second against the assassin's flung knife, although I might deflect it more than once.

I said: “I suppose you will eventually tell me what you want?"

His face blackened with anger; then he flung back his head and hooted with laughter. “A right one we have here, fanshos! A right one!"

“I'll probably put my little Sklitty through one of his eyes first,” snarled Naghan the Chik. “I'll enjoy that."

“Only if he fails us, Nag, only if he fails."

“By Chikitto the Unerring! If he does!"

“Aye.” Kei-Wo returned his attention to me. “So you understand. Good. I need the queen's necklace. It will not leave the palace again around the neck of a silly shishi. You took it back, and that onker who stood in my way. They must love you in there. You can enter as a friend. You will do that and obtain the necklace for me. Dernun?"

Chapter four

In a fetid alley in an unpleasant part of the city Naghan the Chik used his knife to cut the ropes from my wrists. There had been no alternative back in their hideout. I had been blindfolded and bound and led off along twisting alleys and up and down narrow steps so that all direction was lost. I'd not find my way back there easily.

Naghan showed me his knife. He shoved it under my nose.

“That's for your eyes, one after the other. Then your throat, shint. Best you do not fail Kei-Wo the Dipensis."

“The Chik's knife is very deadly,” quoth another of the thieves, a runt of a fellow with a yellow-scarred jaw and bad teeth, called Ping.

The knife was not a terchick, the throwing knife of my clansfolk of the Great Plains of Segesthes, being heavier and, if my eye did not deceive me, of inferior balance. Still, I did not doubt Naghan the Chik's boasts. He had a belt of these knives around his thick waist.

I had to get free of this unpleasant company. There were schemes afoot beside their desires to steal the queen's necklace.

With that in mind as I chafed my wrists I stared about in the light of the moons. Whilst the bazaar area and the maze of alleyways here in Makilorn were hardly representative of the aracloins—the uproarious, fizzing and generally hell-on-wheels form of life in many of the cities I knew—they did have their own low-life vitality. Here villainy was a way of life. Here dark desires could be satiated. Here rogues could hide from the law in the confusing maze. Here life was cheap.

I felt I wanted to lash out a trifle. I said: “Can Naghan the Chik hit the narrow target every time? Every time? And never miss?"

“You try me, shint!” snarled Naghan.

“Any time, sunshine, any time."

He'd have started something then; but Sindi-Wang, a woman of enormous development casually displayed between the folds of her dress, breathed: “You harm him before he's done his work, Nag, and you'll lose yours."

No one was indelicate enough to enquire just what Naghan would lose.

“Kick him out!” bellowed the Chik. “Set him away from me!"

“Go on, Drajak,” ordered Sindi-Wang, waving her arm and shaking like a jelly. “Just remember. Every mur of your life is observed by us."

Now this I was quite soberly prepared to believe. These rogues knew the city. They knew their part so well they'd never be caught and they'd know other gang's stamping grounds well enough to be able to keep me constantly under observation. I had to get free of them. Doing just that was going to prove a sticky problem.

“I'm going,” I said, in a truculent voice, a voice I made stupid with a bravado of no substance. They snickered as they had every right to do. They'd formed their opinion of me, an innocent abroad, ready enough to stop a thief taking a necklace but a fellow who would cave in the moment his own life was in danger. I shook my shoulders, stripped the last of the rope from my wrists, and glared at Naghan the Chik.

“Don't get lonely,” he said, and giggled at his own conceit. “You'll never be alone in Makilorn until you bring the necklace to Kei-Wo."

I stared him in the face.

“I'll always know where you are, anyway, Naghan. By the smell."

He tried to hit me; but I ran off.

If you feel this is highly unlike Dray Prescot conduct, you are right. I wanted to give the impression of a high-spirited person who'd fold up under the first real pressure. This would fit Kei-Wo's belief about me to a nicety.

It would also serve me if I was going to deceive them.

She of the Veils, rosy and refulgent above among the stars, had been joined by the Twins. These are the second Moons of Kregen, eternally revolving about each other. They are revered by many people in that intriguing and puzzling world for their suggestion of Twinship. There are many twins born on Kregen. Whole cults are devoted to ascertaining just what the Twins mean to individuals on every day of the season. Down here in Loh the Twins, who have many names all over Kregen, are often called the Dahemin which is an exceedingly ancient name for them. Most often in Loh the Twins are called Holi and Hola.

As I slowed to a brisk walk and moved into a cross street where the becketed torches were near enough to one another to provide almost continuous illumination, I reflected on names. Thieves all over our part of Kregen, called Paz, swear by Diproo the Nimble-Fingered. By his name the credulous swore he had eleven fingers and thus could steal with consummate ease from purse or pouch. Given that many races on Kregen have more than four fingers and a thumb on each hand, the asymmetry of roo—eleven—adds an intriguing dimension to this belief. What concerned me was to go on doing what I had to do here and go on living to do it. Thieves, nimble-fingered or not, expert knife-throwers or not, could not be allowed to interfere.

Pretty soon I'd picked up the tail they'd set on me. A number of possible reactions would have been proper. I could have become indignant at this affront to my dignity. I could have been contemptuous. I could have let red roaring rage take over and striding back have knocked the fellow's head in. The reaction I felt proper to the occasion was to estimate if they were being clever. Were they letting me see this tail deliberately, so that other trackers could follow me unseen?

So I came to what I considered a proper decision.

The idea of going along to the palace straight away was instantly discarded. I'd toddle along there bright and early in the morning. I'd go in wearing the face of Drajak and by using the techniques taught me by my comrade, the Wizard of Loh Deb-Lu Quienyin, I'd walk out with the face of Chaadur. Also, I did not relish returning to the Mishuro Villa.

So that left one course of action.

Around the next street corner I sidestepped and then waited quietly. My shadow dutifully followed me and as he came around the corner abreast of me I seized him by the throat and an arm. I twisted him a little; not much for I did not wish to damage the goods.

“Hey, hey!” he gasped. “You're not supposed—"

“I don't mind you following me, dom. Although I know some folk who'd have had your tripes all over the street by now.” His answer was a gurgle as I tightened my grip. “I am going to find a bed for the rest of the night."

With a supple rotation I twisted him around upside down. I shook him. Sundry objects fell off his person, his legs waving wildly over his head. “I just need lodging money, that's all, dom. These will do nicely."

I picked up three silver khans, bit them, and tucked them away.

He rotated again and landed thump on his feet. His face was dark with congested blood in the light of the Moons.

“What'll—?” he began.

“Just tell Kei-Wo to put this trifling sum on my account."

He goggled at this but I turned around and gave him a thumping great kick up the rump and sent him staggering off. I bade him a pleasant good night and then sauntered off the other way in search of decent lodgings.

In the event I soon found a reasonable lodging house and dickered for a bed for the night. I didn't care to patronize the more expensive lodging houses catering for visitors to the city. The place was clean, a meal was provided, and I was not disturbed by prowlers seeking portable property to claim as their own. By the time I'd finished eating a huge breakfast I really did feel a new man, or, at least, a less damaged one after the events of the evening before.

The Twin Suns of Scorpio, Luz and Walig, were streaming their mingled opaline radiance across the city as I emerged onto the street still chewing the last of the palines. My shadower was readily visible, a fellow lounging across the roadway and picking his teeth with a splinter. I did not wave to him. I simply walked slowly off in the direction of the palace.

The idea that this man was the up front tracker and the shadows were filled with other thieves watching my every move was probably correct. They had complete confidence in their abilities to have let me go walking off. Without the knowledge I had of disguise it would have been enormously difficult to escape detection.

Just walk boldly up to the front gate of the palace? Well, yes. That method probably would serve best.

So I did.

Ornate and over-dressed guards stood woodenly outside the open gates. Many people were jostling in and out and I gathered from their openly voiced hopes and fears that the courts were sitting. The queen's palace served as her place of judgment. I caught the impression that folk were unsure if they'd be happy or not if the queen in person sat in judgment on them. She was fair but strict. There was no possibility of bribing her as, lamentably, there was with the lesser magistrates. The noise of the people and the acrid smell of dust, the glisten of sweat along forehead and cheek, these sights and smells were as old as people built cities and created civilization.

The outer corridors and chambers had been designed to impress. Here people were guided by flunkeys to the courts where their appearances had been commanded. I went on directly and the first flunkey who stopped me, gorgeous in yellow robes and much trailing silver-laced cord, answered my question.

“Lord Wink? Certainly, walfger. You will find him in the Chambers of Luxurious Rest—the old Chemzite Chambers. So along this hall to the stairs and through the courtyard beyond.” He gave me instructions and I found my way through the warrens of the palace without difficulty. I recognized the last set of halls and corridors. Here I had hurried carrying Wink, with Leone and the other two hovering anxiously. The direction from which I was coming was the way Ching-Lee had scurried off to find the Puncture Lady.

Where last night a door studded with brass nails had simply been pushed open by Leone, today a tough-looking guard stood alertly. He hefted a strangdja, and that vicious glittering weapon could take my head off.

“Llanitch!” He spoke and meant what he said. Llanitch is a word meaning Halt; but it is more than that, for it carries the clear implication that if you do not stop stock-still in your tracks you will probably wake up in the Ice Floes of Sicce pondering your mistake.

I stopped stock-still.

“Drajak to see Lord Wink!"

I spoke as a military man, snapping it out.

He slammed the butt of his strangdja twice on the door and it opened and Ching-Lee's face peered through.

“Drajak to see the Lord Wink!” bellowed the guard, not taking his gaze from me.

Ching-Lee saw me, and fluttered her eyelashes. “Oh, it's you! Well, you'd better come in. And don't make a noise."

The guard swished his strangdja out of the way and I went in.

We did not stop in the pretty room papered in blue and white volail flowers but went on through the way Prang had carried Wink. We found him in his own bed in his chambers within this wing of the palace, The Chemzite Chambers, now renamed in the florid Makilorn way the Chambers of Luxurious Rest. He was propped up with a mass of pillows and was playing Jikaida. His opponent was a lean, narrow-faced man who, whilst clearly a man who did not pamper himself, was, I judged, not your full fanatical ascetic. He was smiling at Wink as he moved a piece on the board, saying: “I will put your lack of concentration down to your injury, Wink, my boy."

“Your sarcasm does you credit, san."

So this fellow was a san, and you don't get called a master or dominie or sage on Kregen without very good cause. His smile made his narrow face more attractive, and by the laugh lines around eyes and mouth I fancied he liked to enjoy the quiet joke or three. He wore a soft lounging robe of yellow silk and his slippers—and here I found myself heaving up a sigh—were bright red velvet and with huge curled up toes.

Wink made a move and then slumped back against the pillows.

“You are in pain?” The narrow face lost its smile.

“No. No, San Chandro. Just itchy. Perhaps—"

“Of course."

San Chandro stood up and saw Ching-Lee and me entering. “Wink needs the Puncture Lady. I'll—"

“I will go, san,” said Ching-Lee. “This is Drajak.” And she hurried off back into the palace.

“Drajak!” called Wink. “They told me, and I remember. I owe you my thanks."

“Oho!” quoth San Chandro. “I understood you to say you accidentally fell over on your knife, Wink. What is this about Drajak here?” Then he turned to me, his smile returning, to say: “Llahal and Lahal, Drajak. I am remiss in my manners, I fear."

“Llahal and Lahal, san. What Lord Wink says is so. Believe me."

He gave me a mighty shrewd look. Then: “And is it just Drajak alone?"

“I have been called Drajak the Sudden."

“Drajak the Sudden. You will care to finish Wink's game for him?"

Jikaida, the principal board game of Kregen, is played everywhere, continuously, obsessively. This San Chandro didn't even stop to consider if I could play. It was taken for granted that any educated person played Jikaida. There are those who cannot fathom the fascinating intricacies of Jikaida, and who must therefore make do with games like Jikalla and the Game of Moons.

I nodded. “I am at your disposal, san."

Mistress Lingli swept in already brandishing her box of needles, and so with a few words San Chandro and I were able to take ourselves off into an adjoining room where a table and chairs were all we needed. Chandro corrected me on that as he rang a silver bell. A most beautifully-formed Fristle fifi came in, smiling, ready for anything.

“Parclear and Sazz, miscils and palines, Fansi."

Fansi said: “At once,” and with a flick of her tail, around which a red bow was artfully tied, went out.

Chandro had not spilled a piece from the board and as I studied the game situation I saw that Wink had been lax. Chandro was almost in an unassailable position. There was just a chance. As you know, I have studied Jikaida under masters. My son-in-law Gafard, now dead, had been a Jikaidast. I had played Death Jikaida and Kazz-Jikaida. Extricating Wink's pieces from the carefully prepared trap and then going on to a winning position would prove an interesting challenge. And I was in no mood to go racing about after the queen's necklace for a bunch of thieves.

There was Mevancy out at the Springs. I'd have to tell her that Tuong Mishuro was dead, I knew that, and I didn't care for the job.

“Are you ready, Drajak the Sudden?"

“As I'll ever be, san."

“Then it is your move."

I did what was necessary to rescue my almost-lost paktun and restore the situation on that side of the board. Chandro hummed a little tune under his breath, fingered his lips, hesitated, and then moved. I knew he had been forced to move a piece different from the one he'd planned to throw in. He glanced up at me. “You have a plan?"

“An old one, san. But it might serve."

“I see."

I didn't feel it necessary to say that whilst the plan was an old one it had been extensively modified by Naghan Furtway, who had once been the Kov of Falinur. Chandro was playing the blue, and Wink, and now me, played the yellow.

The situation was retrieved for the yellows as Fansi returned with a laden tray. I was glad of a little throat-moisture and drank off a glass of parclear with relish. I popped a paline and made the move that would start an attacking drive that, if all went well, should see yellow victorious.

San Chandro did not make the correct response.

I said: “I would ask you to bare the throat, san."

He raised his eyebrows. “So soon? You are very sure. I do not see it."

I explained.

He pushed back in his chair. His eyebrows drew down and together. His face looked thunderous. Then the black scowl cleared, he threw back his head, and laughed. Tears squeezed under his eyelids.

“By Tsung-Tan the Mighty! A veritable coup!"

He looked at me, still laughing, and spluttered out: “Aye! Aye, I bare the throat. And well done, Drajak the Sudden. I shall remember that plan. I have in mind a certain San Yango who needs to be humbled in the sight of Tsung-Tan."

I made a few further observations about Furtway's plan, elaborations to counter the opposite diagonal thrust. He drank his Sazz and popped a paline and looked quizzically at me.

“Were you not with San Tuong Mishuro?"

“I was."

“I heard the ghastly news this morning. And Caran and Hargon, too.” He licked his lips. “Tuong mentioned his unease. But neither he nor I believed anyone would harm a dikaster.” He shook his head and there was not the trace of a smile on that narrow visage.

I had to speak carefully, for meddling in other folks’ religious beliefs is always a chancy business.

“San Tuong told me that many of the old beliefs had fallen away. That there are people who will kill a Diviner or a Repositer is obvious from these awful happenings.” He was studying me attentively. I took a breath. It was quite clear he had not heard all the news; there hadn't been time for that. I felt a liking for this narrow faced old buffer. And—methought Dray Prescot the old leem-hunter—he could be useful to my own plans. So I went on: “Hargon and Caran plotted to kill Trylon Kuong and San Mishuro. They failed in one instance and, heartbreakingly, succeeded in the other."

“Yes? Go on."

“I was there when Caran attempted Kuong. I stopped him. I was too late with Mishuro. But not too late for Hargon."

He sucked in a ragged breath. He put a shaking hand to his lips.

“You! You killed two Repositers!"

“Trylon Kuong put the situation succinctly. Those two murdering cramphs forfeited their position as dikasters."

“Yes, yes. I would agree. But, you slew two Repositers!"

“I stand in no peril from the law. That I am assured."

“Kuong stands well with the queen at the moment. She is strong-willed, some would say self-willed. I applaud that, for I trained and guided her and watched her grow to womanhood. She is a remarkable woman."

As he spoke, his fervency revealed to me how much he loved the queen.

He picked up a paline but did not pop it into his mouth. “Will you tell me the truth about the death of Vad Leotes in Ivory Lorn?"

“I have already told all there is to know; but I will gladly repeat myself.” I saw his eyes suddenly widen on me and realized I'd put on something of a scowl at the idea that I'd got to go all over this old ground yet again. I said: “My comrade, Mevancy, and Leotes were pushed over the edge of a high building by Hargon and Strom Hangol's bully boys. Leotes fell. All those rasts except Hangol have paid the price."

“They are all dead. Yes. And Strom Hangol lies abed of a wound and is near death so I am informed."

He favored me with another of his shrewd narrow looks. “There is a mystery about that. Are you the man who gave Hangol his wound?"

“Aye."

He stood up and started pacing up and down. I can tolerate folk who do this in order to get the blood flowing through their brains so they can think, provided they don't trip over my legs or walk on my belongings. He marched up and down, looking thoughtful, hands clasped into the small of his back. His curly red velvet slippers made hush-shush-hushing sounds on the thick carpets of Walfarg weave.

At length, still pacing, he said: “You are a man of parts, Wr. Drajak."[2]

[2 Wr.: Abbreviation for walfger, herr, mister. A.B.A.]

I said nothing and listened.

“Tuong Mishuro was not mistaken in you. You are well named Drajak the Sudden. I am confident I can trust you. Will you help me? Will you help my cause and the cause of the queen?"

He stopped directly before me and spread his hands.

“I will insult you by offering gold. You will not insult me and you will accept. I need your help. I would like to employ your special talents. How say you?"

Chapter five

I sat there pretending to think, seeing the pieces on the Jikaida board's blue and yellow squares, and Chandro's tipped-over Queen. There was no need to let him see how pleased I was at this turn of events.

I stood up and he lifted his face to stare into mine.

“I accept your offer, San Chandro. Thank you."

He smiled and looked pleased and relieved. “I am glad. Good. Excellent. Now we can plan how best to circumvent the queen's enemies."

The cynical thought occurred to me that now he knew I'd seen off a number of villains who'd run across my path, was he using that word circumvent as a euphemism for a darker thought?

“There are five of us Queen's Repositers,” he told me. “San Nath the Uttarler is our chief. He tries to be just and fair and finds that hard. San Nalgre Hien-Mi is my friend and we think alike in the queen's service. I have mentioned San Yango in connection with your splendid Jikaida plan. He stands against us. With him is San Ranal Shang-Li-Po known as the Kaour, the Death Dealer. If Ranal hadn't been a Repositer for most of his life he would have been knocked on the head seasons ago."

As I digested this information, Fansi came in flicking her tail to say the queen was abroad and wished to see San Chandro at once. Fansi gave me a saucy look, tossed her head, and let her tail curl up around her waist. The red bow stood out brightly against her silver-gray fur. She walked out with that kittenish swaying movement young Fristle fifis employ to infuriate susceptible males of other races of diffs.

Chandro started for the door at once, then caught himself and paused, turning to me with a lop-sided smile. “Your pardon, Wr. Drajak. As you see, I must go. The queen calls. Tell no one of our new arrangement. You understand?"

“I understand, san."

When he'd gone I picked a handful of palines and went back quietly through the bedroom where Wink was snoring away like a volcano. I went out and Leone came hurrying up, looking annoyed.

“There you are!"

This morning she wore a pale blue gown with silver leaves patterning the hems. Her light hair was neatly combed back. Her face was not—quite—petulant in expression. I had seen evidences of courage in this girl. She might be a spoilt palace brat; her spirit was all right.

“Here I am, Leone."

Her eyebrows went up.

Before she could answer I went on: “Is there a place more private than this corridor where we might talk?"

Without a word she marched off, shoulders held very squarely, and I tagged along. We landed up in a small antechamber furnished in simple style, mostly fragile wooden and rush pieces. The double doors to the chambers beyond were closed. An eagle was carved and painted on each leaf.

“Well?"

“First, Leone, the necklace."

“Yes?"

Neither of us had seated ourselves. We faced each otheralmost as antagonists in the arena. Her breathing quickened.

“Is there a copy made?"

“A copy? You mean a fake?"

“Yes."

“I don't know. Why? Is it important?"

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, Leone, it is important."

“Well, I can find out, I suppose."

“Good.” I gave her a small encouraging smile and deliberately walked across to a comfortable if fragile chair, and sat down. She frowned at me, puzzled. I stared back.

After a couple of heartbeats I said: “Well, Leone?"

“Well what?"

“Why, go and find the copy of the necklace and bring it here."

Her face flushed with blood. She half lifted her right hand and the pale slender fingers clenched.

“You mean—?"

“Of course. Right away. Now."

“Why should I? What's so important?"

“They mean to have the necklace. They'll kill to get it. I don't yet know why it is so vital. I intend to find out. I am supposed to steal the damn thing from you and give it to the thieves, or they'll kill me."

Her hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes widened.

“But they'll know it's a fake!"

“Eventually. I just need a little time to move, that's all."

“I'll go at once!"

As she started for the door with a swish of her blue gown I said: “There is another matter to discuss when you get back. I will wait here."

“All right! All right!"

The courage I had seen in her must be matched by integrity and intelligence. Although I could not be sure, I fancied Chandro would want me to do some dirty work for him. If that work coincided with my own plans, then quidang. And, of course, my plans were those of the Star Lords'.

When Leone returned her color was up, her eyes were bright and her ripe pert mouth was tightly clenched. She wore the necklace.

A small furtive movement under the table attracted my attention as I stood up.

A reddish-brown scorpion waddled out from the table's shadow.

His tail curved arrogantly over his back and his legs, bent and braced, glinted. His eyes regarded me steadily. I checked, holding my breath.

Leone released that tightly-held clamp on her mouth. She spoke in a controlled breathy voice.

“I have been thinking, Drajak. Thinking that you are trying to trick me. But why, I cannot understand, for if you wanted to steal the necklace you would not ask for a copy. How can I possibly trust you?"

I looked at the scorpion. Leone ignored him altogether. This, I felt sure, was not because she was wrapped up in her own thoughts and worries, but simply because to her he was invisible. He waggled that stinger at me. He was from the Star Lords, no doubt about it. They were keeping an eye on me. My original feelings of despair that I had failed them had been materially dissipated. I had not been flung contemptuously back to Earth. But—here was the scorpion of the Everoinye, watching me. Perhaps my punishment would still be meted out.

“Well? Why do you not answer?"

I roused myself.

“You do not know for sure if you can trust me. I accept that. All I can do is assure you that what I have told you is true. Is that the fake?"

“One of them."

“Oh?"

She walked across to a fragile couch and threw herself down so that the rush seat squeaked.

“Oh, Drajak! I don't know! I want to trust you. I feel—I feel something—odd. Something about you I do not wish to know—I think."

“You have nothing to fear from me, Leone."

“Perhaps not in the way you mean. But—but I feel—I think perhaps I do!"

The damned scorpion stood there drinking all this in. I wondered if the Star Lords—who once had been as human as Leone or me—I wondered if they still remembered how a young girl's emotions fluttered about like a bird in a cage.

That I felt sorry for Leone goes without saying. Still, I had a job to do that, once done, would free me to return to Delia, my Delia of the Blue Mountains, my Delia of Delphond. And why on Kregen I ever allowed myself to be parted from her for a single second longer than necessary I could not understand. Only duty, damned duty, kept me from haring off to Vallia and telling the Sisters of the Rose what I thought. Then Delia and I would fly off to be by ourselves. By Zair! I own I almost turned around and marched clear out of that palace in Makilorn and started for home.

But, if I did, the Star Lords would send their gigantic blue phantom Scorpion to fetch me back here where I was needed to further their schemes.

I blinked my eyes and the scorpion was gone.

I let out a breath.

“All right, Leone. Tell me about the necklace."

“The queen was most amused."

“Oh?"

Her lips began to tighten up at my tone and I readied myself for a scornful blast. Then she shook her head and said: “She knew that I borrowed some of her jewelry from time to time. She did not know I borrowed this particular necklace and was at first angry and upset. Then she—it was a strange effect—she smiled and became very friendly, almost as though she was enjoying a joke."

“At whose expense?"

“She showed me a cabinet. Drajak—there were nine necklaces, all the same!"

She unhooked the necklace and handed it to me.

“We thought the necklace was important. Well, this proves it is most important indeed.” I took it from her fingers. “Thank you, Leone."

“Yes."

“But they would not all be the same, would they."

“But they were, Drajak. All nine exactly the—oh! I see!"

I turned the necklace over in my hand. The gems were linked by double strands, alternately gold, silver and dudinter which we on Earth call electrum. The gems looked splendid and although I could not give them a full test I had the ticklish feeling that they were real. The centre pendant contained within a golden trelliswork a large ronil, a purple-red jewel of great price. I felt convinced this was real and not paste; but the jewelsmiths of Kregen are fantastically capable of producing imitation gems that will fool all but the most expert scrutiny. If there were seven others like this, and the genuine article, someone had gone to a very great deal of trouble to disguise that same genuine article. Maybe it was not in the cabinet the queen had shown to Leone but was locked away separately. Perhaps there was no original at all but simply the nine matched necklaces.

Whatever the truth, the fact that there were nine identical trinkets in existence must mean a mystery was attached.

The door opened silently and a half-grown Sybli girl wearing a gray slave breechclout crossed to the side table where the sand glass showed the last few grains tumbling down. She stood perfectly still, her soft features expressing nothing whatsoever as she waited. As the last grain slipped through she turned the glass with a single expert motion and set it back on the table. With the smooth young gait of Sybli girls she crossed to the door and closed it silently behind her. Leone just had not noticed the hourglass change at all. Slaves lived and moved among the lords and ladies like fish in the water, there but unseen, unnoticed.

Well, you know my views on slavery.

Also, it is worth mentioning that in this desert area sand glasses were commonly in use. The thought crossed my mind that the water from a clepsydra might come in handy one day. And, another point, the queen's palace provided a glass changing service even to a small room like this. Just how many slaves went around changing the glasses? Well, the palaces of Ruathytu and Sanurkazz and those of Vondium before the destruction made this desert palace look like the lodge by the side gates. Ah, well...

A feeling for the passage of time is buried in most people and Kregans are no exception. Without any connection with the slave girl's turning of the sand glass, Leone looked across and saw the bur was gone. She moved to the door and half-turned her head to look at me, a most graceful movement.

“I told you the queen was amused. After she'd got over being angry. She has commanded you to the first lunch. She wishes to inspect the man so involved with the necklace he is willing to risk his neck. We'd better go now."

Without answering I walked across and we went along the corridors and through the halls together. The place was splendid, all right, and I stopped comparing it with other palaces I had known. At last we reached a pleasant room furnished with tables and chairs where the first lunch was taken.

Apart from the guards with their Lohvian longbows and yellow-fletched arrows, the only other person present with the queen turned out to be the court wizard. Well, now!

He wore dazzling robes, a tall hat, curly yellow slippers, and his face revealed nothing of his thoughts save one. That face knew secrets, that face concealed secrets, that face gloated with the power of secrets known.

As for the queen—she was breathtaking. I gave her a polite bow, making a leg. If she wanted me to go into the full incline, I might consider it carefully before I rejected such slavish foolery. Her face was pale. Her eyes were large and clear and softly brown. Her mouth seemed to tremble with controlled passion; I decided I did not wish to find out what emotion motivated that passion. Her robes were simple, sheer laypom, and her hair neatly curled and piled and threaded with gems. There was no doubt about it: this woman had presence.

“Majestrix,” spoke up Leone. “This is the man, Drajak the Sudden."

Lifting my head from the bow I said: “Llahal, majestrix."

She nodded, not smiling, her mouth wet and red and full. She motioned with her hand to chairs at the table. The wizard was already at the food. I seated Leone and then sat down. The queen broke a bread roll between her fingers, staring at me. I picked up my bread roll and got on with it. If she wanted to talk she'd do it in her own sweet time. In the interim, like any good Kregan, I wanted to eat this one of the six or eight square meals a day that are de rigueur on that world.

When she did speak her voice held an attractive quality I liked. She began with general enquiries about me, which I answered with the standard set of Dray Prescot lies. These lying stories were far simpler than the truth, by Krun! Then she said: “Can you lead my guards to where you were taken by the thieves?"

“No, majestrix. I was unconscious going and blindfolded leaving."

“A pity. Still, we can have the thieves taken up as you hand them the Skantiklar."

The wizard stopped chewing, looked me in the face, and said: “You did not hear that, tikshim."

Ordinarily I don't worry over insults people hurl at me. I take notice only when it serves my purpose. Now the word tikshim, which means something like ‘my good man', is considered normal by those of the upper class who use it and infuriatingly insulting by the lower classes to whom it is addressed. So that didn't worry me. The attitude of this wizard was clear, frighteningly clear. Consumed with his own position and power he was in mortal fear of losing both. I took notice of the symbols spattering that dazzling gown. I'd find out about this fellow, never fear.

“Well?” The word was positively snarled.

“I heard,” I said, casually, and continued eating the salad.

Leone kept her head down over her plate.

The dark blood rushed and collided in the wizard's face.

“You shint! Did you not hear me tell you to forget you'd heard?"

“That's what I just said, I heard."

His lips compressed and went white, scarring that dark aquiline face.

“I'll—"

And the queen laughed.

Leone glanced up, startled. The queen sat back in her chair and laughed. She put a slender white hand to her lips. Her eyes were bright.

“I think, San Chang-So, you must admit Wr. Drajak has the right of it."

He managed to get his lips unglued. His voice held an ugly note as he said: “Of course, that is what he meant. He does not seem able to express himself clearly."

As for me, as I went on eating the first lunch, mostly salads, I was cursing away at myself. What a fool! This man was an ugly customer all right, with prestige and power, and I'd made him an enemy on sight. If I knew men of his stamp—as I did, I did!—he'd seek to do me an injury to avenge his slighted honor.

By Makki Grodno's disgusting diseased liver and lights! Why couldn't I keep my black-fanged winespout shut?

Chapter six

The first lunch proceeded in something of a silence after that.

Eventually the queen tapped her lips with a square of yellow linen and said: “Palines, I think. And then, San Chang-So, you will do what must be done. Have you discovered anything further about this new wizard?"

He said: “He comes from Whonban.” Chang-So's voice held barely suppressed venom and envy. “From Nik-Whonban. Even so, this makes him a real Wizard of Walfarg."

I perked up at this. By his robes and general demeanor he hadn't impressed me as a genuine Wizard of Loh would. Here in Loh there were as many different sorts of sorcerers as there were in any other parts of Kregen, probably more, apart, perhaps, from Balintol. The real genuine Wizards of Loh came from Walfarg. After all this time I fancied I'd have trouble trying to remember to say Wizard of Walfarg instead of Wizard of Loh. Still, by Vox, this choice specimen Chang-So would not possess the amount of kharrna and the consequent sorcerous power as your true Wizard of Walfarg.

“Well, keep an observation upon him."

“I do. And he knows it. By Hlo-Hli! I feel his power!"

The queen glanced sharply at him. Sweat sheened on his forehead.

“You are well, San Chang-So?"

“Perfectly, thank you.” He recovered his poise. “If this new sorcerous shint is here in Makilorn because of the necklace, then—"

“Why, then,” exclaimed the queen brightly. “He will be on a fool's errand!” And her light amused laugh filled the room with silver sound.

As for me, I wondered just how well this Chang-So had sealed this room against a real genuine Wizard of Loh's power to see and hear at a distance.

Mind you, there were many different gradations of accomplishment among the real Wizards of Loh. I had known some in much reduced circumstances and others who could perform what were to ordinary folk genuine and frightening miracles. Power was relative to other power; well, that is a truism.

The queen stood up and we all immediately rose. Chang-So glowered at me. “Is he to come?"

“I think so. After all, he is taking the necklace."

Leone started to say: “I will retire now—"

The queen said most pleasantly: “Stay and keep me company, Leone, dear."

“Yes, majestrix."

We all trooped out and along a corridor with only two guards at our backs. Naturally, these people didn't know what that maniac Dray Prescot could do in circumstances such as these. Still, this game looked to be worth the candle, so I dutifully trotted along with them. We entered a small antechamber and then through draped dark blue curtains into a narrow although lofty temple.

Pillars of black marble upheld the arching roof, dark with mystery. The walls, carved with mythological scenes from the life of the great Tan, were illuminated by lamps so that the figures seemed to be alive. The altar was modest. I saw no signs of a black iron cage, for which I was glad.

The floor of black and yellow hexagons stretched bare to the altar rail. As we walked down with our footsteps ringing the hollow echoes, three young girls wearing flowing draperies and not much else ran out with three light cane chairs which they positioned before the altar. They fluttered off and the queen motioned to us to be seated. Chang-So walked on towards the altar. Here appeared to be a weird mixture of religion and sorcery. This temple was dedicated to Tsung-Tan well enough and yet wizardry was clearly taking place.

A lad scuttled out of the curtained shadows on the left side carrying an enormous cope on a frame. I had to keep a straight face as between them they got the thing around Chang-So's shoulders. It glittered with gems. It gave him a spurious air of dignity and command.

He stood by the altar and a certain amount of mumbo-jumbo followed. This, I imagined, must be the religious aspect of the ceremony. He passed on to the thaumaturgical aspect and as he did so all the damned lamps in the place flickered. Sheer co-incidence or a parlor trick, I told myself.

The queen said: “Take the necklace up, Leone."

Leone flashed me a scared look. I handed her the necklace and she walked haltingly to the rail.

Chang-So took the necklace and hung it on a tripod so that the dependent jewel, the great ronil, swung just above the surface of the altar block.

He stood back. He must have pressed some secret lever for the top of the block began to slide sideways. The instant the slab revealed the opening beneath, a brilliant coruscating beam of radiance flashed upwards. I blinked and water filled my eyes.

When I could see clearly again I made out the hazy shape of the ronil bathed in the incandescent shaft of light from the pit beneath the altar. Chang-So stood to the side, silently. There was a greater magic here than any words he might chant. A swift glance at Leone showed her cowering in her chair, trembling. The queen sat straight, shoulders back, chin up, a veritable dandy fighting lady.

At length Chang-So released the lever and the slab hissed shut. The radiation died and the shadows came back, the lanterns totally unable to light the gloom. Our eyes would take some time to adjust.

Chang-So unhooked the necklace and almost before the queen spoke Leone was up and walking forward to bring it back. She handed it to the queen.

“Yes,” said the queen, reflectively. “It is warm and it holds power. How long will it deceive them, Chang-So?"

“The thieves, probably for ever."

“And the sorcerer?"

“It is impossible to say."

The queen turned the necklace in her slender fingers. Then she accepted the reply. I fancied Chang-So just didn't know and didn't have the power to find out. “Leone, give the necklace to Drajak the Sudden."

The thing positively radiated energy. It tingled in my fingers. I'd be prepared to swear the jewel was crammed full of magic, by Krun!

“You will have a chance, Drajak.” The queen bent her brows to look on me. She half smiled. “You will be able to get away, at least."

“You are kind, majestrix."

“That is one duty laid on me as majestrix."

I let that go. It could be mere flannel, rote description of the queen's position, propaganda. Still, I felt she believed it. I caught the idea that perhaps she was not a Queen of Pain of Loh. Perhaps she tried to rule wisely and well. If so, it would make a refreshing change.

“Then you will have the thieves taken up, majestrix?"

The words were hardly out of my mouth before the wizard snarled: “That is for the queen to decide, not you, tikshim."

Leone gave me a quick look and then away. I said nothing.

“That is all.” The queen lifted a hand. “You may go."

I said: “Majestrix. Tell me—when Leone brought the necklace to me in the anteroom, did it not cross your mind I might walk out with it then?"

Chang-So started to make a snarling grunting but the queen waved a hand at him. To me she said sweetly: “Yes. You were under observation at all times. You would never have reached the inner gates.” Her voice bubbled with laughter.

And I, Dray Prescot, laughed with her.

On that pleasant note I was able to retire and make my way out of the palace. There were still many aspects of this affair to be explored; but I was beginning to resent the amount of my time all this nonsense of thieves and necklaces was stealing away. I did admit it had been quite pleasant to meet the queen. I wasn't fool enough to imagine that at the moment she had any especial interest in me to account for her actions. Oh, no. She and that damned wizard of hers had other fish to fry, and the new wizard who had just arrived in Makilorn and who wanted the necklace was one of the fish they'd like to see sizzling on the griddle.

Leone trotted along at my side to the main gates past the courts where the throngs still moved backwards and forwards. She touched my arm.

“You will be careful, Drajak?"

“I always am.” A thought occurred to me. “Tell me. What is the queen's name?"

“Leone."

“You are named for her?"

“Yes. We are related. It is all complicated, quite apart from being paol-ur-bliem.” She sucked a breath. “Don't you think she is splendid?"

“Oh, yes, very splendid."

My neutral tone did not invite further comment. We said the remberees and I went swinging out into the mingled radiance of the Suns of Scorpio.

In no time at all my tail had picked me up and I had spotted her.

Now, I told myself, just before I go and sort out Mevancy at the Springs, I'll go into business on my own account. I'd find out a bit about these thieves and this new mysterious Wizard of Loh that will owe nothing to Leone or Kei-Wo the Dipensis or this splendid Queen Leone of Tsungfaril. By Vulken the Insinuator, yes!

Chapter seven

With my shadow dutifully following me I walked out of the main gates of the palace. The kyro beyond was filled with clamor and movement as people passed about their business. Many sideshows here added to the color and din. I noticed a group performing on carpets, lifting one another up on poles by their hair. That has always struck me as a painful way to make a living. Still, I suppose the children are born to it and have the roots of their hair strengthened from the time they begin to grow the first fuzz.

Just past them a fire eater was having a flaming second lunch. Jugglers were throwing things about, including themselves. I always detest those shows which include animals, so I turned away from a poor half-dazed creature with a chain about his neck dancing to a pipe.

Any thoughts of hitting his owner over the head and breaking the chain were, of course, fairy stories out of children's books. Interfering with people's pleasures and entertainment—so-called—has to be done on a long-term and authoritarian scale, as we had banished slavery in Vallia.

My sharp turn away did not fool the girl following me.

What it did do was bring me slap bang face to face with Naghan the Chik.

He was completely startled, and started back, knocking over a passing slave. He didn't notice that and the slave ran off—silently.

“You shint!” he got out, gobbling.

Fing-Na closed in from the side. His enormous waxed and pointed moustaches quivered. These thieves did not like to be caught on the hop.

I said in a bright tone: “Why, Lahal. Are you ready to take me to Kei-Wo now?"

“You got it?” growled Naghan the Chik. The knives in the belt around his thick waist were concealed by a flap of his fawn robe.

“That's for me to tell Kei-Wo."

“If you've got it, give it here. We'll take it."

This did not suit my plans at all.

Of course, I was fully aware of the risk involved intaking the necklace into the thieves’ kitchen myself. They'd as lief knock me on the head after I'd handed it across as give me a thankyou.

“Give it here!"

“No."

“Wha—?” No one would know what Naghan the Chik had been about to say for I struck him neatly on the chin and he fell down, just as the slave he'd knocked down tumbled over. The difference was Naghan didn't get up at once. In the same action my foot hit Fing-Na in his capacious gut and as he belched and doubled-up I rabbit-punched him down. He lay slumbering beside Naghan the Chik.

Turning like a leem-hunter I fastened my fingers on the neck of the girl who'd shadowed me from the palace. If there were any more followers they'd have to be dealt with when they turned up—if they did.

“Now, girl, I mean you no harm.” I spoke gently and walked her rapidly away from the scene of the fracas. No one had taken overmuch notice and I had a story ready, in case of question, that they'd tried to abduct her.

No one stopped me. Her feet barely touched the ground. I don't think she was so much frightened as shocked. After all, Naghan and Fing-Na were among the most formidable rogues in the band. And she'd seen what happened to them. Away around a corner I slowed down and set her on her feet.

“Now, young lady, what's your name?"

She stammered it out, shaking. “Falima—"

“Falima. A nice name. Now I have something to give Kei-Wo so we'll just go along and see him now.” My voice tried to be gentle and, I own, it was not the old Dray Prescot growl of savagery I'd lived with all my life.

“Yes, master, yes. Please don't hurt me."

I felt injured. “Have I hurt you?"

“Well, no—"

“So that's settled. I might find a silver khan for you, too."

She perked up at this and seemed to gather herself for she started off along the avenue. I followed with a friendly hand resting on her shoulder.

Now this had not been the plan I'd envisaged. I seriously doubted if I was doing a wise thing. As we went along I began to think that I was your thick-headed barbarian oaf to the life. I was running headlong into a peril that was nothing to do with me, for no profit, and at danger of a life that was spoken for elsewhere. And all out of perverse pride! “Sink me!” I burst out to myself, silently. “I'll not get myself killed out of pride!"

I fished in my pouch and found a silver coin, one of the few left.

“Here,” I said, stopping and halting Falima. “Here is the khan I promised. And here is the necklace Kei-Wo wants. You just take it along to him, Falima. Keep it safe. Feel the magic in it. Tell Kei-Wo that Drajak the Sudden honors bargains. And if he meddles with me again he is a dead man.” I looked into her little screwed-up face with the staring enormous eyes. “Do you understand?"

“Yes.” She clutched the khan and the necklace and then in a swift practiced movement they both disappeared under her simple brown dress. “I will tell Kei-Wo. And about Naghan the Chik and Fing-Na!"

Her feet were bare. Dust caked up along their sides. On naked flashing legs she ran off and I wondered if this second trumped up plan was any better than the first.

I followed her until she rounded the next corner. Still hurrying along I took off the mass of cloth on my head that wrapped into a turban shape and thumped it into a different shape. This was not your rounded dome-shaped turban but your flat pancake type that might droop here and lump there. I pulled my fawn robes around so they crossed differently. And I did as my comrade, the Wizard of Loh Deb-Lu-Quienyin, had taught me and altered the planes and angles of my face so that a quite different face from that of Drajak looked out. I held an arm up to hide that particular process as I went on; there were few people along here and no one noticed.

Falima was just disappearing into an alleyway ahead and I doubled along to keep up.

We were penetrating into the more insalubrious parts of Makilorn now and the people here looked furtive, with averted faces and downcast heads, their hands gripped around the hilts of knives or swords. Falima appeared to have no fear of them, and I surmised that trouble would start only if you started it. Once we entered the real warrens, the dens of thieves and assassins, live and let live as a rule would probably prevail. These people preyed on those who lived in the wealthier areas. All the same, trouble would flare up from time to time, and then the corpses would be dragged out, their late owners’ ibs gone to investigate the Death Jungles of Sichaz.

The face I'd chosen to wear was not the simple-minded idiot-like face I often chose. In view of possible unpleasant happenings I'd chosen a face that was not mine but was if possible even more hard, vicious and malevolent. I looked a villainous desperado as I followed Falima through the greasy alleyways.

She would be a capital tracker here, I knew; I have some skill in that direction and she was not aware that she was being followed.

She led me across a litter-filled place where two alleys crossed leaving a wider expanse, although nothing that could be called a kyro, to a stucco-walled structure with a flat roof and enclosures at the sides. The door was low and narrow and an amphora swung on a beam above. I simply waited on the shadowy side of this little square and watched.

Half a dozen miners swaggered into the square, laughing and pushing. They wore tattered finery and were clearly in from the workings. A great deal of mining activity took place north and south of the trails leading to the city. Emeralds in particular were found in abundance; but many other fine gemstones could be dug up out there, as well as the more common minerals that fed the forges of countries downriver. Makilorn gained much of its wealth from trade and mining. These jolly diggers tumbled into the tavern and I guessed they'd be there as the Suns declined and through much of the night.

Those same Suns crawled across the sky and the heat of the afternoon mounted. At last, here they came, shambling along like a pair of disgruntled graints seeking to sink their claws and teeth into anything that moved. They pushed people out of their way, and the pushees after a single glance did not argue. They looked most unhappy. They crossed the square and ducked down to enter the tavern. I wondered if the miners would fall foul of Naghan the Chik or Fing-Na. I own I felt quite sorry for the diggers.

Very very quickly, but not surprisingly quickly, the first miner came flying through the doorway headfirst. He squelched on the cobbles outside. Almost immediately another followed and then another and after that the rest of the diggers ran out on their own feet, yelling blue bloody murder. Oh, yes. Naghan the Chik and Fing-Na worked their ill-humor off and loud were the crashings and bashings thereof.

Still I waited.

Patience is not so much a virtue in a hunter as a prime necessity.

Eventually, as the Suns were declining in a welter of reds and greens, the gang slouched out of the tavern. Kei-Wo headed them as they went off along narrow alleyways and up and down the rickety ladders leading from level to level. There were still people about, enough to give me cover as I trailed the gang. Had the queen decided to arrest the thieves she'd left it too late the moment they entered these runnels, havens of villainy.

The gang finally came to rest in a four-storey block that looked to be a fortress in its own right. Few windows pierced the outer walls and these were more like arrow slits than decent civilian windows. The shadows dropped down in the alleyway where I watched the last of the gang sidling through a narrow door opened in a re-entrant angle of the wall. If the queen sent her guards along here they'd have a tough time breaking in.

Houses crowded in on all sides, looming over the alleys and forming a confusing jumble. I'd be able to find my way back here all right even so. I felt strongly there was no point in hanging around here any longer. Kei-Wo would deliver the necklace to this new mage on the morrow. The Wizard of Loh would not come down here. The meet would take place in more salubrious surroundings.

So I decided that as this affair was really of no concern of mine I'd take myself off to bed. If it became necessary to find out about the new wizard, I'd ask around. And, there was always Queen Leone to ask...

The stinks of the alleyways had to be ignored; but the truth was the effluvium mingled into a disgusting brew that would take the skin off your throat and nostrils. I was glad to get back to the fresher air outside and I deliberately took a little stroll by the river. Fins cut the surface, rippling pink and gold, and very soon I tired of this and went off to the lodging house I'd patronized the previous night. Just before my last thought of the night, which is the same as my first thought of the morning, I realized I felt more than a vague dissatisfaction with my day's doings.

In a very real sense this had been a day wasted.

No matter how long a life you have, you cannot afford to waste a single day, not a solitary single one.

Tomorrow I'd find out what San Chandro wanted done in the spying-on-the-queen's-enemies line. When that was done I'd see about Mevancy. With these good intentions neatly made and filed and my last as ever thought, I went to sleep.

Chapter eight

The guard slammed the door shut at my back and as I walked into San Chandro's rooms the Repositer looked up and said: “Hai, Drajak! You are just the man. Come and join me in the second breakfast. There are schemes afoot."

As we ate he told me that he wanted to know how deeply Yango and Ranal Shang-Li-Po had been involved with the two dead Repositers, Caran and Hargon. “You see, Drajak, if it was just those two villains on their own, why, the damage is dreadful but not anywhere near as awful as it will be if Shang-Li-Po and Yango are mixed up in it."

“The queen has five Repositers,” I said. “There must be a great deal for her to learn as she grows up."

He gave me a quick glance. He nodded. “So you have fallen under her spell? I am not surprised; I would have been surprised had you not done so.” He heaved up a sigh. “The man she decides to marry will be—well, were I—” He chopped his words off. I felt sorry for him, of course. Also, I wasn't about to tell him that much as I admired Queen Leone she was nothing beside Delia. Well, that is a stupid remark. No one is anything in the way he meant it beside Delia.

Carefully, I said: “The queen is a charming and remarkable woman. And, yes, the man she marries is going to be fortunate beyond his wildest dreams. But I was thinking of the burden she carries."

I knew the chief Repositers and Diviners formed a college to deal with all matters pertaining to the Accursed, the paol-ur-bliem. Now Chandro explained that they also had a large hand in government, planning and advising the queen and making sure the administration functioned smoothly. He went on: “Whilst the queen is growing up each time, of course, the college runs the country."

“Those two dead Repositers ran the estates whilst the young nobles were growing up. Their greed was such that they wanted to kill the nobles so that they would be reborn as babies, and the Repositers would retain the power."

I gave him a hard look. “Does the queen stand in danger?"

He sucked in his cheeks.

He looked abruptly haggard as he said: “I dare not believe so; but, yes. Yes! Horrible as it is, I believe she does!"

“And you think it's this Yango and Shang-Li-Po?"

“I—I do, Tsung-Tan forgive me the thought."

About to follow the logical if unpleasant thought through I was stopped as he burst out: “They must not be harmed! Quite apart from their position as dikasters, more scandals would ruin the queen's reputation."

“Better for the queen to have a little scandal than to be murdered."

He was shaking with the violence all mixed up inside him. Almost absently, thinking of something else, he said: “Not really. She would be born again and would have served one more life here on Kregen."

They really believed that the paol-ur-bliem, the Accursed, condemned to live a hundred lives, really did come back again and again to live out their punishment until, at last, they could enter the paradise of Gilium.

“So you think it better for the queen to get herself murdered as many times and as fast as she can?"

His head went up at my tone. His eyes cleared. “No, no, of course not. The college laws expressly forbid that."

“I'll spy on these rasts for you."

“Good. Excellent. Here—” He moved breakfast things out of the way and spread a plan of the palace. “Here are the secret passages."

He pointed out the apartments inhabited by Yango and Shang-Li-Po. Secret passages riddled the walls all over the palace, a usual part of palace, temple and fortress building on Kregen. The queen's outer apartments were marked on the plan. No indication was given of any secret passages there. And the centre of the queen's area was a blank.

I made no comment on this, and Chandro did not need to give the obvious explanation.

I had determined to be brisk with this Queen's Repositer. I said: “I don't intend to hang about all day skulking in passages. I'll have to know the places the villains will be and the times they will be there."

He accepted my tone, saying: “Of course. I can tell you that."

Like many similar institutions, the palace ran on a regular routine. During the hours of duty the Repositers would be in known places. Outside of that their time was their own and they might be anywhere within a circumscribed round of pleasure. Creatures of habit, some of these high and mighty ones.

When I had digested all the information and got it firmly wedged in my old vosk skull of a head I felt I had a chance of eavesdropping successfully. Undoubtedly I felt a keen admiration for the queen. She was a splendid woman. She might believe that when she died she'd return to Kregen as a newborn baby; I wasn't at all sure I believed it, no, by Krun! Further, I felt that if these villains harmed her, then scandal or no damned scandal, it would go hard with them.

Well, that is what I thought then, and as they say in the Eye of the World, men sow and Zair reaps.

We talked a little further, generally about the situation, and I was able by a few casual remarks to assure myself he knew nothing of the queen's necklace affair. If Leone wanted to tell him, that would be between them. At last he suggested I ought to be lodged in the palace; there were rooms enough in his own apartments. I accepted and asked that my belongings be brought round from Mishuro's villa. “There is a particularly fine longbow I just bought from Master Twang. But I don't think that will come in down these passages!"

He smiled, a little wanly, and gave orders for my stuff to be brought round. I took a handful of palines and stood up. “I'll make a start."

That first little recce down the dusty flang-infested corridors hidden in the walls yielded precious little. I orientated myself and checked on three or four quick routes back to Chandro's apartments. I might need a quick getaway if affairs went wrong. I looked in on a number of interesting tableaux; but as they had nothing whatsoever to do with the plot, I refrain from mentioning them.

For, plot there was. And a damned ripe rascally plot, too!

The thought did cross my mind that the Star Lords wanted Mevancy and me to protect the queen. That notion was rapidly discarded. The queen had not been in the burning dancing rostrum. Once I had done my stint of spying this afternoon when Yango and Shang-Li-Po would be together to sign papers, I'd really clear off and go see Mevancy.

As the afternoon wore on I found myself pacing restlessly up and down Chandro's carpet of Walfarg weave. This shiftless kind of existence did not suit me. Oh, yes, there were many irons in the fire and lots of skullduggery was going on in the background and blood curdling action could erupt at any moment; all the same, I could not stifle the feeling that time was slipping away and nothing done.

Leone came in to see me and demanded to know what had happened. As she said, hotly: “The queen wants to know, Drajak!"

I told her that the necklace had been delivered safely to the thieves. “I expect they'll hand it to this new wizard today and collect their hire money. How long it will fool him, I don't know, nor does that posturing idiot Chang-So."

“Drajak!” She was shocked. “You can't ... He is a famous wizard!"

“He's scared stiff of this new one. What's his name, anyway?"

“Na-Si-Fantong."

I didn't like that Si in the middle there. It reminded me uncomfortably of another Wizard of Loh with a Si in the middle. Well, he was dead now, thank Opaz.

“Na-Si-Fantong. Well, it's my guess, although I don't know, that he'll discover the gem is not the one he wants quite quickly. Just who will get the blame is an interesting speculation."

“Not you, Drajak, surely!"

Trying to lighten the conversation I made a bad gaffe. I thought Leone was taking this far too seriously, so I said off-handedly: “Oh, they're bound to blame the queen."

She rounded on me like a leem. “So you've become her slave, too, like everyone else! You've seen her once. We've known each other for a very little time, yet I know you are—"

“No, Leone, no. I am not. And you are not to say so. As for the queen, I think she is a wonderful woman and that is all.” I drew my eyebrows down at her. Her hand went to her lips. “Just stop all this foolery, Leone."

This girl was easily led, that I knew. She could be told what to do, asked, ordered, begged, phrase it how you will. Yet she had courage. She flared back at me: “It is not foolery, Drajak! I know what I feel! You are the man—"

“I am the man devoted to a lady who does not live in Tsungfaril."

Her face went white.

Then she ran from the room.

Chandro came in with his head twisted on his neck. He regained his poise and walked across to me, saying: “A whirlwind, a veritable whirlwind of the desert! She almost bowled me over. What have you done to her?"

“She harbors delusions more suitable to a schoolgirl."

“Ah, yes. She is very—pliant."

“Will you have a word with her? Tell her to find her own man?"

“If it will do any good. Now her cousin, Kirsty, is quite different. If anyone is going to do any telling, it's Kirsty."

“She sounds a likely lady,” I said, not really concerned, thinking of all the annoying consequences that might follow on this Leone nonsense.

“Oh, yes. Very likely."

A glance at the sand glass told me the time was near when Yango and Shang-Li-Po would be together ostensibly signing documents. If they were planning treachery then I wanted to hear.

So, ensconced among the dust and cobwebs I peered through a little grille and listened and the two Repositers signed papers and barely exchanged half a dozen words. When they rose and stretched and left the room I felt absolute disgust. What a waste of time! On my return Chandro expressed himself as pleased I had carried out an observation without being seen. If he was satisfied, I most certainly was not. I broached the subject of my going off to the Springs of Benga Annorpha to visit a comrade.

“Oh, I don't think so, Drajak. If we are to penetrate the secret plotting of these villains ... No. You'd best stay here."

Now, of course, I could simply have ignored all that and gone off to see Mevancy as I had kept on promising myself. But I liked the old buffer and if he felt there was a genuine danger for the queen from these villains, why then—you see!—damned duty held me fast here.

So the next couple of days passed. I got to know the corridors in this part of the palace very well. I ate enormous meals. And I did not leave the palace environs. I did put in a spot of archery with my new bow. This took place in an indoor butts used by the queen's bodyguards.

After the shooting rounds we went off to their mess where they celebrated the birthday of a young Hikdar. The drinking was moderate. Then, like good Kregans, they started the singing.

Very naturally we sang ‘The Bowmen of Loh’ and this was followed by ‘When a Wizard meets a Wizard, Sailing through the Air.’ After that we sang our way through many of the ditties of Kregen and one or two new to me; Lohvian songs and a plaintive little number from Tsungfaril: ‘Asleep by the Desert Lily.'

I didn't count that short period wasted.

When I returned, Chandro was about to sit down to a slap up meal and I joined him. He mentioned that I did not keep any body slaves. To go into that prickly subject at that time seemed to me inopportune. Instead I said I had a comrade who had been wounded in the attack on Mishuro. This Llodi the Voice, I said, I felt responsible for. Nothing would satisfy Chandro but that Llodi must immediately be brought here and Mistress Lingli must care for him. I was happy to accept this munificence.

He waved a hand. “Gold is mere metal. A good heart weighs heavier in the balances. I could wish the queen—well, never mind that."

All these half references from him and Leone didn't add up to a whole. Whilst I was prepared to spy on villains, I was not prepared to allow complicated situations concerning young ladies to arise. There was no doubt Leone was easily led and influenced, so therefore let some nice respectable young man, with the approval of the Repositers, court and win her.

Llodi was well on the mend, thank Opaz, and his magnificent fissured nose positively glowed. He would take time to get over the treachery of Pulvia and the death of Mishuro. Meantime, he lay in bed and ate like your true Kregan.

On the next occasion Chandro told me a meeting of the villains was in progress, I went quietly along the dusty secret ways and once again spied on them.

Again, they barely exchanged half a dozen words. When they left the room my dissatisfaction was such that I went on exploring further than I'd been before out of the sheer desire to do something to stifle the frustration. The corridors all looked the same, narrow slots built within the walls. By the time I cooled down and decided I'd best return before I was lost, I discovered that I was lost.

There was no cause for alarm. I could always peer through one of the many concealed grilles to find an empty room and then open the secret door. Once through that chamber and into the corridor beyond I'd ask my way back. No problem.

Except that, well, yes, there was a problem.

The chambers beyond the secret observation grilles were furnished magnificently. Luxury breathed everywhere. I saw why I was lost, and why I didn't recognize these passageways. It dawned on me that these secret runnels had not been marked on the map Chandro had shown me. That meant I was prowling around between the walls of the queen's apartments.

If I barged out into a corridor here I'd be strung up before I could get the first Llahal out.

Refusing to be worried over the situation and trusting to my bump of location, I began to work steadily in one direction. I passed a hallway shimmering with mother of pearl, no doubt brought all the way up from Zamrarn, and the next observation grille showed me the chamber beyond the mother of pearl hall. Alabaster columns upheld a glittering ceiling. Many fans worked by rope through high pulley-holes waved languorously to and fro and the perfumes wafted dizzyingly through my spyhole. A marble floor scattered with rugs surrounded a pool of water tinted a clear pale blue. Steam rose in wisps and I felt how sensuously attractive it would be to plunge in and relax in that warm and perfumed water.

The bathing pool was completely deserted and even in my hidden corridor I could sense the feeling of waiting that assembly rooms have just before a meeting. This was like a stage set. At any moment there would be the sound of voices off, and the shuffle of feet, and then the beginners would step out and the play could begin.

Carefully, I moved along the flang-infested corridor. The odd thing was, I found I could see very well in the dimness. This darkness was artificial, in the sense that it was caused by material objects blocking out the light of the Suns or the Moons and not natural in that the Suns or the Moons were absent from the sky. Lamplight, in a weird way, appeared to make no difference. There was no time to puzzle over this strange phenomenon at the time. I kept looking for footprints in the dust and found none save my own. I couldn't backtrack my own footprints for a number of the corridors had been swept clean. This puzzled me at first, until, coming across stone steps leading upwards, I went up to find a long clean corridor without a single observation grille. Instead ropes led from holes in the wall to wooden cylinders with iron handles. No one was up here and I realized this was the punkah operating room for a chamber below.

Pressing on I descended and quickly found myself back in the dusty narrow channels between the walls.

At a corner a pile of yellow bones lay in confusion. I looked with some sympathy for the poor unfortunate lost and trapped here, and saw the rusty dagger through one eye orbit. By the tusks sticking up at each side of his lower jaw he had been a Chulik. What, I wondered as I went on, was his story?

The passage turned again and perforce I had to follow, aware that I was being forced in a circle and was going back in the opposite direction on the other side of the bathing pool chamber. Light cut across the corridor ahead from a grille set in a concealed door. I stopped and looked through.

Amid much laughter and splashing girls were disporting themselves. Some dived in and swam about, splashing, their bodies shimmering in the wisping mists rising from the warmed and scented water. Others lay languorously on couches or rugs bordering the pool. The scene presented a spectacle of beauty that touched me, a grizzly old leem-hunter, with an awareness of what life could and should be. And, yet, of course, many poor people worked long and hard hours in the irrigations and sweat shops so that these pampered ones might enjoy sybaritic luxury.

A cluster of handmaidens parted at the edge of the pool and the queen rose from the water, glistening, rosy, superb.

Well, this was no place for me. My spying brief did not include the part of a Peeping Tom. So I began to turn away to continue my search for the exit and from the corner of my eye I saw the quick feline movements and the glitter of swords as killers burst into that warm and scented chamber.

There were half a dozen of them, clad all in black, with black scarves about their heads. The feral glitter of their eyes matched the glitter of their swords. At once all was pandemonium and uproar. Girls screamed, and choked on their screams; girls ran and died as they ran.

The queen drew herself up, shining, resplendent, breathing deeply. She stared upon her death. Paol-ur-bliem or not, that experience must have scored into her mind. She faced the assassins bravely, boldly, her fists resting on her hips as the scented water ran down and I could swear a small contemptuous smile touched her soft lips.

My sword was in my fist and I hurled myself at the grilled door.

A curtain of blue radiance dropped before me.

Through that shimmering blue veil I saw another scene. I didn't believe what was happening, what I was seeing; but I saw another scene, a different scene yet one horribly the same.

Black clad assassins went racing forward to cut down the shrinking form of a young woman, and a lad with empty hands stepped out bravely before her. Shadows from the twin suns streamed ruby and jade across the desert sand. I could see both pictures with equal clarity: the queen standing firmly on the edge of her bathing pool as her handmaidens shrieked and scuttled, and the young woman cowering back as the young man stepped before her. The scenes were superimposed and both were touched by the blue radiance before me.

I hurled myself forward to smash the door down and go roaring across the marble into that secluded bathing chamber. I would fight for this woman, this Queen Leone of Tsungfaril. I would do what I could to protect her.

The door was not there.

Shattering coldness gripped me. I gasped with the shock of recognition.

Two women in peril, black clad assassins about to cut them both down ... A curtain of blue radiance, sent by the Star Lords, a fragment of their phantom Blue Scorpion ... I rushed on, sword pointed.

But—to whose rescue was I rushing?

Chapter nine

Sand gritted under my feet. The late afternoon heat from the twin suns smote down.

The cloying scents of the bathing pool vanished. The icy grip of the radiant blue portal sent by the Star Lords fell away and as I rushed forward with poised sword there was just time for one single scarlet thought of regret for Queen Leone.

Now she had used up one more of the hundred lifetimes she had been condemned to spend in this sinful world before she might pass into the heavenly paradise of Gilium.

Thoughts of the queen and of being condemned to life as a punishment were swept away by the young people's peril. The lad stood bravely enough as I knew he would. I saw that I would not reach him across the sand before the first assassin chopped him down with ruthless efficiency.

The hilt of my old knife snugged into my hand and I drew from the sheath over my right hip and threw in a single flowing motion. The blade twinkled once as it flew. Running, I'd missed the target I'd aimed for. The knife smashed into the fellow's face below the glaring eyes, ripped through the black facemask, laid his cheek bare. My clansmen would tut-tut at that, well enough, knowing I'd aimed for the throat. The assassin did not tumble over straight away. He dropped his sword and put his hand to his face.

The second assassin collided with the first and I heard his savage yell of anger. These stikitches, although well able to slay defenseless women, were not top class professional assassins. There were three of them and as the first reeled about trying to stop the blood pouring from his face the other two turned to face me.

They were shouting now, some rigmarole about their patron saints and bolstering their courage with rote liturgies from their no-doubt secret assassin disciplines. There was no time for nonsense of that sort.

The fellow with my knife through his face at last collapsed, trying to scream and producing only a bloody froth and sickening mewling sounds. They tried to meet me together, two blades to one, give them credit for that. So I circled, drawing them away from the two young folk, and made a sudden and savage dart at them.

That devilish screech as steel blades meet and cross, slide and chingle! Ah, well, swordsmen know what they know, by the Blade of Kurin!

From these two I expected good quality swordsmanship, for despite their lack of professional stikitche know-how they should, at least, know some of the arts of the sword. I was not disappointed.

So we set to.

After a few passes it was established between the three of us that their skill would not match mine. Therefore, all things being equal, they were dead men.

Things in this valley of tears, of course, are not equal.

Knowledge of the sword, great skill in its use, vast experience, all may in certain circumstance avail nothing before a less skilled opponent. Well, didn't I remember Mefto the Kazzur! Resolutely I thrust thoughts of that unhanged villain away and let my self flow into the blade so that I could have fought these two blindfolded.

After a few more passages they realized the truth of the understanding we had established between us. They stopped fighting and sought to escape.

The heat of the suns blistered up from the sand and the light, all pervasive, blinded in a jade and ruby dazzle.

Whether or not I would have let them go I cannot now say.

The young man, who I now realized was Lunky, picked up the fallen stikitche's sword from the sand and with a loud and angry shout, rushed at these two trying to escape. He was coming in from the side and rear and they'd be perfectly able to chop him down as they ran past.

“Get away, Lunky!” I roared.

I don't suppose he heard me, for his blood was up. The young woman, who stood exactly where Lunky had left her, was Mistress Telsi. Her face glowed passionately, suffused with blood, and her fists were clenched over her breast. No wonder Lunky was fighting mad!

There was nothing else to do but try to disable these two assassins before it would be needful to stop them permanently from harming Lunky.

Again I shouted: “Keep away, Lunky!” and went racing after the two black clad forms.

In the event, as one turned to face me again, Lunky thrust home.

The other one I managed to twinkle his sword up out of his fist and then, moving rapidly, swung him about, tripped him and so kicked him down.

“No, Lunky!” I yelped and used my own blade to flick Lunky's captured sword from the assassin's tenderest parts.

“I'll have ‘em!” he shouted. “Murdering shints! They were going to kill Mistress Telsi! Let me at him!"

“Hold on, hold on! Now listen. We want to find out who sent them, don't we? Well, don't we?"

As I spoke I rested my foot across the throat of the prostrate stikitche and if he wriggled I pressed down to emphasize my words.

Lunky's young face twisted. I'd never seen him like this before, wrought up with blood lust. It was not a pretty sight. But then, of course, we were not dealing with pretty subjects.

“Well, I suppose so, Drajak.” He lowered the sword. “All the same—” His dark heavy face looked sullen and his lips, always very red and full, glistened as he licked them. Then he burst out: “These must be the shints who murdered San Tuong!"

“Probably. When did you hear?"

“Riders came in today.” He made a gesture across the sand. He still wore his brown robe tied up with string but on his feet he wore sandals against the hot bite of the sand. Suddenly he threw the bloodied sword down in disgust. He shook his head, said: “All right, Drajak. Do what you have to. Make him tell us,” and walked across to Mistress Telsi.

She put her arms about him in an unaffected gesture. I guessed she had had an almighty fright, a shock that she might take some time to get over. Her long curling lashes swept down over her cheek as she shut her eyes, holding Lunky. When I'd left them here it had seemed that Mistress Telsi, who after all was a lady of uncertain occupation, had determined to marry the merchant Olipen. He had followed her to the Springs of Benga Annorpha as had Lunky. No one fancied Lunky's chances, an acolyte versus a rich merchant, and yet here Telsi was clearly concerned for Lunky.

The stikitche under my foot wriggled and I looked down at him. I used the tip of my sword to flick his black mask free. His face was brown and taut, marked with deep lines in which blue pigment traced patterns that must mean something to him. As I glowered down on him he flinched back. I suppose that old Dray Prescot look that people call the Devil's Look must have flashed into my ugly old beakhead. I said in a neutral voice: “You heard. Just tell me."

He swallowed and I eased my foot up to assist him. He said: “You know I may not do that."

I sighed. They didn't breed a quality class of stikitches in these parts, that was for sure. Why, some of the assassins I'd known—and seen off, by Krun!—would have tears in their eyes with contempt for this lot!

He ought to have said that, naturally, he had no idea who had set the contract. I'd probably have believed that. As it was, by saying he wasn't allowed to tell me, he was admitting he knew.

He might have been a low class stikitche with a little sword skill; he was enough of a professional to handle himself after a fight. I heard a gasp and a little cry and swiveled to see Mistress Telsi trying to support Lunky. He was gradually slipping down out of her arms. He'd have the shakes and get over them, I rather fancied sooner than later. There was a great deal to this young fellow.

“Drajak!” called Telsi. “Help me!"

“Let him lie down, Telsi. He'll get over it."

“Why—you!"

“Are you going to keep an eye on this fellow, then?"

By this time Lunky was almost horizontal and Telsi was leaning down over him, her arms outstretched. She twisted her head to look up at me. “You have no heart, Drajak, no heart at all!"

No sensible answer being available to me, perforce I said nothing. Thinking this byplay was his chance to escape, the assassin gave my foot an almighty heave, twisted aside and leaped up. He started to run across the sand.

Now fear and panic lead people into strange actions. To escape pursuit until night he would need to run out into the desert away from the white buildings around the Springs, and then sneak back to retrieve his mount and make sure of his water and rations.

He ran straight towards the buildings.

His head was down and his black robes streamed out abaft his flying figure.

He ran headlong into a party of men walking out towards us. They recognized him for what he was. They saw Lunky lying on the sand and Telsi bending over him. So as this poor stikitche ran into them their swords flashed and they chopped him.

Lunky's hoarse voice reached me. “Did he tell you?"

I did not think it necessary to mention his attack of the shakes and Telsi's instinctive reaction. I was glad he was coming back to us.

I said: “No. It was not really necessary. Those two villains Caran and Hargon plotted to kill San Tuong Mishuro and now it seems you were included in the plot."

He started to rise and Telsi helped him, not looking at me.

“I find it hard to accept that dikasters would order anyone murdered.” Lunky brushed sand from his brown robe. “But I do accept it. San Tuong Mishuro was a good and fair master. Now he is dead I joy for him that he has at last reached Gilium but I feel saddened at the way of it."

As he spoke I decided human nature is so intractable a creature as to defy logical analysis. Already I'd established that if you suicided you would not be admitted to the paradise of Gilium. That would include paying a stikitche to kill you. What a weird and wonderful world it was, this planet of Kregen! Like any normal human being you'd struggle to stay alive and yet all the time, here in Tsungfaril, you were longing to go up to Gilium and live in paradise for ever!

Much of the country wore this apathetic air of caring only for the afterlife. This obsession was not really like the attitudes of religious folk here on Earth who believe they will go to heaven when they die. Oh, yes, there were similarities but they paled before the intensity of the obsession with Gilium.

I said: “San Tuong was a good man. But I think you will be just as good a man, and probably a better Diviner."

“Oh, yes. That is generally accepted,” he said quite matter-of-factly.

“And you will take over?"

“The college will swear me in. Yes, I shall be San Lunky Mishuro."

So that was it.

The Diviner's Apprentice, the Acolyte, had been the target Mevancy and I had been sent by the Star Lords to protect.

In that case, then, where the hell was Mevancy?

That odd feeling I'd had when I'd been transited here through the Star Lord's blue curtain of radiance had not been caused because of that very transference. Although different, it was enough like being shifted by the phantom Blue Scorpion as to be familiar. And I'd recognized the feeling when it happened. No—the oddness was that the time was now late afternoon. Between my leaving the queen's bathing chamber and my arrival here time had elapsed. My leaving and arrival had been instantaneous, I believed most devoutly. So the Everoinye had deliberately done this.

Just as I reached this disturbing conclusion a hail brought my attention to the party from the town.

“Hai! We thought the San was dead."

Lunky waved an arm and as the party came up he said: “I live, praise Tsung-Tan in his infinite wisdom."

“The stikitches were observed,” said the bluff, red-faced fellow who stood as their leader. “And as sure as my name is Hung-do the Ron, we smelled out their mischief."

“We came as fast as we could,” piped up the little fellow with a spear taller than himself, his buck-teeth protruding.

“I give you my thanks, walfgers.” Lunky spoke slowly, his voice deeper than I remembered. Already he was settling into the position of a Diviner, one whose task in life was to seek out and proclaim the spirits of the paol-ur-bliem in new born babies. He'd be good at it. No doubt of it. “I shall speak of you to the college."

Whatever that meant, or, rather, whatever might come of it, the people showed their pleasure at the promise. Being a cynical old hare I surmised there would be money and rewards accruing.

Mistress Telsi, holding onto Lunky with a possessive grip, said: “I would like to go back where I might lie down—"

“Of course!"

At once everybody sprang into action and they'd have carried her back if necessary—or if she let go that death grip on Lunky.

The situation here, crystal clear in itself, had no need of Lunky's few words in explanation.

The news of Mishuro's death had reached the Springs this morning. Arrangements for Lunky's departure were made at once, the start back to begin on the morrow. This changed the romantic situation. Now, instead of a lowly acolyte serving and studying a man who would live for years, Lunky was himself the Diviner. Now he stood in a much better position than the merchant Olipen. And, clearly, Telsi really preferred Lunky. Olipen had received his marching orders, and the two lovebirds had taken a little stroll out from the Springs to discuss their future. The assassins had ridden in this morning, too, and chose this opportune moment to strike.

That was all easily understandable.

What puzzled me was the absence of Mevancy. She was here, at the Springs. Why hadn't the Star Lords just hoicked her out of whatever she was up to and dumped her down here to protect Lunky?

Half-carried, Telsi was being taken off and Lunky trotted alongside. He turned to me, his heavy flushed face not really smiling but shining with benevolence, to say: “We owe you a great deal, Draj—"

Startled into speech, I burst out, drowning what he was saying. “My debt is to you, san.” Then, quickly and low enough so that only Lunky could hear: “You remember once you saw me with what you called a funny face? So that I was disguised? I would esteem it a favor if you would not call me Drajak—"

“What should be your name, then?” He was amused at the conceit.

“Oh—Nath the Twist will do."

“Very well, Nath the Twist, so be it."

“And Telsi also."

“As you wish."

I offered no explanation. People on Kregen are often under the necessity of sailing under false colors. Names are important, and more than one lame brain has lost his head because a name was not remembered. If Lunky would not grasp the necessity for this stratagem, Mevancy most certainly would. By Vox, yes! She would see at once that I would have to explain how it was that I was in the palace one moment and across to the west at the Springs of Benga Annorpha the next. How, the question would be asked, how was that possible? Black magic? Sorcery?

Some explanation would have to be concocted for Lunky and Telsi if they asked. Otherwise I'd stay mum.

Once we reached the cluster of white buildings, Telsi could lie down and recover. The bodies of the assassins were brought in and they would be disposed of. The attitude to assassins hereabouts was ambivalent. It was accepted that these fellows earned a living doing what they did, and the nature of their occupation would not necessarily bar them from Gilium. All the same, a very natural and understandable revulsion towards stikitches was apparent. In general—not always—they received short shrift from me.

The excitement died down and Lunky and I found some refreshments. The Suns would soon be gone and the multitude of Kregan stars would burst across the desert sands. I wondered if I ought to play a trick on Mevancy when she at last put in an appearance. Still, she would have to know what I'd been up to, as I most certainly wanted to know what she'd been getting into lately. So I decided to let my own old Dray Prescot face show when she arrived. And—I knew what her first word to me would be! Oh, yes!

When the door opened on a gust of sand and she stomped in, I lifted my jug to her in friendly greeting. She stopped, put her fists on her hips and glared at me from under down drawn brows. She said:

“Cabbage!"

Just as I'd known she would!

Chapter ten

As far as Mevancy nal Chardaz knew, I was still a weakling not fully recovered from injury, or recovered but without strength.

This state of affairs had just happened; admittedly I'd done nothing to disabuse her of the notion. It wasn't really important. This was why she continued to call me cabbage.

Now she stood glaring balefully as Lunky said: “You are welcome, Mevancy. Come and sit down and take a glass. You have heard the news?"

She had to force herself to regain her composure and be polite to Lunky, who was, after all, now an important personage.

“Yes, and I must call you san now—"

“When the college so decree."

“There will be no problem over that. I am sorry that San Mishuro—I mean, he has gone up to Gilium; but—"

“I know. Here.” Lunky handed her a glass of the clear straw-yellow wine as she sat down. She wore a new outfit rather after the fashion of the near-universal men's fawn gown and cloak, except that it was unmistakably styled for the female figure. Her arms were covered by sleeves gathered in a series of loops and the oval shapes of skin already showed that her deadly arsenal of needles—her bindles—were well grown back. Anybody who tried to attack Mevancy would get a shower of needles in the eyes and face.

She gave me a look. “Well, cabbage?"

Carefully, I said: “The plot was cleverly managed. It was—ah—fortunate that I was on hand to help Lunky defeat the stikitches."

She took my meaning at once.

She sipped her wine delicately and glowered on me from under her eyebrows. Her dark hair had been caught up in a web of brilliants—all artificial, as I well knew from the state of our treasury. She wanted to ask me all about it; and could not because San Lunky sat there between us.

Not a beautiful girl, our Mevancy; but alive and quick and passionate. Her mouth was too wide and generous and her chin strong and her ways abrupt, and because she was the leader of our team and was a trifle insecure and anxious not to go wrong, somewhat arrogant, imperious and a lady for whom I cherished a lively affection that caused me not to chop her down to size. Given the inscrutable ways of the Star Lords there was a good chance that one day Mevancy might be honored to meet Delia, ex-Empress of Vallia. In that case, I fancied Delia would act with such graciousness that Mevancy would blossom into real womanhood.

“Cabbage? Are you ill? Your face has all gone like putty."

“You really do look—strange,” put in Lunky.

I roused myself. “I was thinking of a lady."

“Oh,” Mevancy sniffed. “That one."

I gave her a look and she flushed up. Poor Mevancy! Because she was a Sinnalix she could shoot deadly darts from her arms into the eyes of enemies. This was done by blood pressure. As I said, poor Mevancy—she flushed all too easily.

Lunky's skill as a Diviner, one who could find the spirit of a person in a new born baby, was easily equal to smoothing over little difficulties of this nature. He lifted his glass. “If we are to start for Makilorn in the morning, it is bed for me.” He drained the glass and Mevancy and I stood up as with wishes for a good night's sleep he went out.

When we were alone she took a deep breath, plunked herself down and in a menacing voice said: “Well?"

“We were both wrong. The target was Lunky all along."

“The Everoinye brought you here to save him?"

“Yes."

She put a finger to her lips, pressing, thinking.

“I had to deal with a thief who tried those two unpleasant nobles, Nanji and Floria. He'd have slit their throats as they lay in each other's arms.” She gestured. “When that happened I was certain they were the targets."

“So if you'd been brought here by the Star Lords to defend Lunky those two would have died?"

“Oh, yes, certainly."

I felt anger and suppressed it. Nanji and Floria were unpleasant people, that was true. They were nobles, a lord and lady, and they acted in the worst traditions of nobility. All the same, they were people and Mevancy had done right in saving their lives. All the same, when I thought of what had gone on here, of the transaction, the balance, the weighing in the scales, it was all I could do to stop myself jumping up and rushing blindly out into the night, swearing at the top of my voice and swishing my sword about in violence and savage baffled fury.

“You look...” she said, and then: “You'd better tell me."

“Aye,” I fairly snarled. “Aye, I'll tell you. Stikitches attacked Lunky all right. I was dragged here just as I was about to prevent another pack of assassins from doing their murderous work—"

“Oh? Who was their target?"

I breathed in and out. “The queen."

Mevancy put her glass on the table. She lost some of that high color. “She is all right?"

“I do not know. No, Mevancy, no. I am sure she is not all right."

“The queen is dead? But—if you were there—?"

“Oh, aye, I was there. And a blue curtain dropped before me, a part of that damned Scorpion, and brought me here. If the queen is murdered then the responsibility rests squarely with the Everoinye."

“I suppose—"

“Suppose nothing! The damned Star Lords don't care about ordinary individual people. I wouldn't put it past them!"

“Cabbage, have a care!” She was agitated, squirming on her chair. She looked about the room almost as though she expected to see a Star Lord walk in, or, more probably, fly in. “Drajak, you mustn't say such dreadful things about the Everoinye!"

I fumed away, and, truth to tell, I thought myself a pretty poor kind of fellow. I was letting off steam like this, and poor Mevancy was taking the brunt of my ill humor, because a fine woman had been so wantonly killed. That she and everyone else believed she'd come back as a new born baby made not the slightest difference. Did I believe it?

I looked across at Mevancy. I could feel for her, no doubt of it, feel compassion and affection and a little remorse. I wanted her to succeed as a kregoinya, an agent of the Star Lords. She shared the same fanaticism as Pompino, my kregoinye comrade. She believed—and I did not want her to fail. I knew what my Delia would say if I was unkind to Mevancy.

By the Black Chunkrah! My Delia would go through hell and high water to avoid being unkind! And she had a way with her of making sure I acted likewise. By Vox, hadn't I climbed down a damned great hole at her command to bring out a Wizard of Loh who was now our comrade?

Oh, no, make no mistake. Delia of Delphond, Delia of the Blue Mountains, did not tolerate unkindness although she would be the first to forgive and start afresh. I thought: If I don't see Delia again soon I shall do more than swear at the Star Lords!

Speaking more calmly I told Mevancy of the situation in Makilorn. “San Chandro seems a decent old buffer. I thought spying for him would prove an excellent opportunity—"

“I see. It is a pity I was not there to do the thinking for us, as usual. Now you have unwanted explanations to offer.” Her voice rang tartly.

I ignored that. I wondered if I'd asked her what she would have done in the circumstances what her reply would be. I went on carefully: “The queen's Chief Repositer is Nath the Uttarler and it seems he is not a strong personality. Two of the queen's Repositers, Yango and Shang-Li-Po, stand directly in opposition to Chandro. It is possible they ordered the queen's death."

“You were much taken by this Queen Leone, Drajak. That is clear."

“There is also a matter of the queen's necklace. Her bumptious wizard, Chang-So, is a fellow to watch out for.” I told Mevancy what had transpired and finished: “Whatever is the secret of the queen's necklace, it seems to me nothing to do with our duties to the Star Lords."

“I shall make that decision, cabbage. Now we must turn in to make an early start tomorrow."

She was back in command again, poised, ready to be cutting or gracious to me. I didn't smile. This whole imbroglio looked to be far more complicated than anything Mevancy could dream of.

I said: “Better not say anything about the queen. We'll—"

“Quite, cabbage!"

By which she meant I ought not to have got myself embroiled with Chandro and spying and the queen to the detriment of our work for the Star Lords.

She went on in a different tone of voice: “This reminds me of the time when Rafael and I had a child to care for and there was a hue and cry for a thief down the aracloins up in Shangsha—terribly hot and humid—and we had to lie our way out of it.” She pursed up her lips. “Well, we had to, cabbage, you see that? So I fancy we'll forget about the queen's necklace if I say so. All these baubles are overpriced, anyway."

There seemed little to say after that so we went off to our respective bedrooms and I, for one, slept soundly. A stout old campaigner has to get his hours of sleep in when and as he can.

As she was in the habit of calling me cabbage, because of my helpless paralysis after the fire, I called her pigeon, because of the way she'd been overcharged by the ferryman. I realized I'd not called her pigeon once during our charged conversation.

The morning and the first breakfast brought news of an unwelcome kind.

Chiako the Gut sweated as he told us. I eyed him with some disfavor. He had been Mishuro's guard captain and whilst you couldn't blame him for Mishuro's death, unfortunately for him mud sticks. As a cadade he had the safety of his master in his care. His master had been murdered—ergo, Jiktar Chiako the Gut, cadade, was at fault. As he told us the news he was, I am sure, sweating over what Lunky's decision would be. Lunky, I felt, was too gentle a soul to sack the cadade on the spot.

Just before we'd gone in for breakfast Mevancy had told me in her decision-made-no-argument manner that we must get back to Makilorn as soon as possible. That way, she reasoned, we might be able to avoid awkward questions about my being in two places at the same time. As I'd been lost in the palace labyrinth I could say I'd been knocked on the head by someone and only now found my way back. I'd said: “Lunky—” and she'd said: “Leave Lunky to me."

So now, unhappy about her so-called plan, I listened as Chiako the Gut said: “The Glitch Riders have been reported moving south. It is not yet known if this is a raid or a nomadic movement."

As the Glitch Riders inhabited a stretch of land to the north of Tsungfaril and were nomads and reivers, this news was not good. Chiako went on: “It would be wise to delay our return to Makilorn for a few days until we know how dangerous a threat the Glitch Riders are this time."

That made sweet sense. Not to Mevancy, though—oh, no!

If she wanted to smuggle me back into the city and bluff it out then this interruption was fatal to her scheme.

She did take things with intense seriousness!

“This is a nuisance,” said Lunky. He shook his head. “I really do wish to return as soon as possible. There are many things to be done now that San Mishuro is gone, things I would rather do sooner than later."

“Yes, san,” said Chiako, sweating, “but—"

“And Mistress Telsi will be coming with us.” Lunky didn't smirk—well, not exactly—but he looked like the little boy who's found the biggest sweet in the jar.

Chiako half raised his hands from his leather-clad sides and let them drop. Clearly, he was saying, this is the last straw.

Mevancy said: “You are mighty tender about your lord now, cadade. Where were you and your men last night when the assassins struck?"

I held myself still. This was a sore point. Chiako's heavy face blackened with anger. His gut quivered. Yet he controlled his manner so that his words sounded neutral. “The san slipped out without telling me. No one knew he had walked into the desert."

I felt that to be the truth of it. And, yet—"It is your duty to watch the san at all times, cadade!” flashed Mevancy.

He wriggled in his armor, already hot in the growing heat of the day.

“You have had an easy life in your position as captain of the guard to San Mishuro. You oversee the slaves as they open and close the main doors. That about sums up your duties. Well now, cadade, life has changed. Now,” and here Mevancy rolled the words around, savoring them. “Now you will have to earn your hire. Your life is forfeit if harm comes to the san."

“But—” began Chiako, blustering a little and yet with common use on his side. Some societies would punish guards who failed. “My contract—"

“May be terminated if you wish."

Lunky said in a nervous voice: “Well..."

A change had gone on in the relationship of Mevancy and Lunky since I'd been away, that was crystal clear. She was acting with an authority that surprised me. She ought to have told me if Lunky had given her authority.

“We shall be leaving for Makilorn directly after the second breakfast.” Mevancy made it crisp. “Be ready. Now you may go."

He gave her a sloppy salute, his face murderous, and took himself off.

“Gahamond-forsaken idiot!” she said. “By Spurl! That man needs a lesson!"

“You are sure, Mevancy? I mean, Mistress Telsi—"

“Quite sure, Lunky—san. You have power now. Don't forget that. We'll take good quality zorcas, travel light, and we'll be there in no time."

“If you say so, Mevancy."

So that was the way of it.

I knew why I wanted to race back to Makilorn as fast as the fleetest zorca in all Kregen could carry me. I could still see the picture of the queen etched into my memory. She stood on the edge of the pool, the scented water running down her body, glowing, shining. Her fists on hips, her head high, she stared with contempt upon the assassins. Could she have survived, somehow still be alive? I did not think so.

San Chandro had said the queen's Repositers must not be harmed for the stability of the state. I do not believe in blind revenge. But, if Yango and Shang-Li-Po had ordered the queen murdered ... As our little party mounted up on blood zorcas I knew then I didn't know what I would do.

So we rode back to Makilorn through the streaming mingled lights of the Suns of Scorpio.

Chapter eleven

We traveled light and we rode fast. Being what my Terran friends call an old hare I'd taken the precaution of taking along a bow. This was a splendid Lohvian longbow obtained by Chiako the Gut at Lunky's orders. I hadn't paid for it. The superb bow I'd bought from Master Twang remained among my possessions with San Chandro.

Our small party rode fast but after a time it was necessary for us to dismount and walk along leading the zorcas. Zorcas are wonderful saddle animals, tall of spindly leg, close-coupled, full of fire and spirit; they are not magical and they need to be treated properly like any other riding animal. The desert about us drifted with an occasional lift of sand as a random breeze wafted. I had the uneasy feeling we might be in for a storm. If that were so then it was imperative our zorcas were kept fresh and strong.

So, walking along over the sand leading our mounts, we pressed on for the river and Makilorn. And, of course, it was as we were thus walking that the Glitch Riders struck. Naturally!

They came whooping over a dune off to our starboard bow. Clearly one of them had been lying invisibly there and watching us approach.

“Mount up! Mount up!” Chiako screamed it out. He was in trouble with his zorca, the animal rearing and lashing out with his hooves as Chiako held onto the leading rein. “Hold still!” he yelled, and: “Mount up!"

Well, the cadade was trying to live up to his job and do what was required. No doubt he could still hear Mevancy's stinging words sizzling his ears. Lunky was trying to help Mistress Telsi mount up, and Mevancy was interfering and trying to help Lunky. Some of Chiako's guard detail were already in their saddles, others were unhandily trying to climb aboard.

Before I mounted up, I decided, I'd essay a shaft.

Because the longbow was of Lohvian manufacture and style it was first class. It was not in the same class as the bow I'd bought from Master Twang—that was premium class and no mistake. I nocked the first shaft and quite unselfconsciously thought of Seg. I said silently to myself: “To you Erthanfydd the Meticulous the cast,” and let fly.

The shaft flew true. It struck the leading Glitcher and with a wailing screech he flopped sideways out of his saddle. The next shaft was already winging on its way and the third was in my fingers. Compared to any normal archer, I suppose the shooting was quite good. Seg would have feathered four shafts before you could blink.

An unholy racket was going on at my side and between the soft shuffle of zorcahooves on sand and the stupid yelling I made out Mevancy calling: “Stop that at once, cabbage! Mount up instantly! Unless you wish to be left alone!” I loosed the third shaft.

Well, by this time she was right. There were about twenty Glitchers, and three were down. Had we all shot we could have drastically thinned their numbers. As it was—I stowed the bow, grabbed my zorca and swung up into the saddle.

Now we were going to gallop off, running for it. Again I suppose Mevancy was right, for we had Lunky and Mistress Telsi to concern us.

I anticipated no problems in running away. We rode zorcas and the Glitchers rode narrow-flanked, spiky-headed, six-legged saddle animals called wegeners, with desert-yellow hides and mean eyes. We could outrun these wegeners with ease—well, that is a foolish remark. As I believed then a zorca could outrun any animal on Kregen.

The Glitch Riders swung parallel, whooping and brandishing their weapons. They used the yellow wegeners on their raids because of their camouflage color. Their own lands were marginally desert and grassland and there they'd use any of the wonderful array of riding animals available to Kregans. One or two loosed off after us; no one was hit.

For all my joy in the longbow and my knowledge of its powers in the hands of a competent bowman, let alone the marvels a master like Seg can achieve, I am aware that there are cases where a shorter bow becomes useful. You see, even now I hesitated to say was better. The short composite reflex bow as used by Valkan Archers was the weapon from the saddle. What Seg might say about the large composite reflex with its cunning sinew and horn pulling and pushing I did not care to contemplate. But that was a thing for the future. Right now as we galloped over the desert with the shushing thump of hooves, the jingle of harness and the savage yells of our pursuers in our ears, was the time I fancied I'd try a few shots.

Mind you, all this smart talk about short bows for cavalry to use more easily than long bows—well, a cavalryman handles a long spear or lance well enough, and a bow can be canted to avoid hitting the animal—I dropped to the tail of the rout and nocked an arrow. Like your true Parthian I turned in the saddle and shot in the longbow. The leading Glitcher tumbled from his mount and I selected the next arrow.

“You fambly, cabbage—concentrate on riding!"

I picked the next Glitcher and loosed. As I could not think of anything polite to say to Mevancy I kept my old black-fanged winespout shut.

“Oh, you!” She was riding alongside now and a return shaft thunked into the sand between us. So, thinking of something useful to say I snarled out: “Ride further up the front and look out for Lunky."

A single quick glance at her face showed me a Kregan sunset with the red sun dominating all the sky. She was spitting angry. My third shot knocked over a Glitcher and I reached for another shaft.

“You do not talk to me like that, Drajak! You forget, I am the one chosen by the Everoinye to lead—” She didn't say any more because her zorca abruptly pitched over. The creature let out an agonizing sigh. He toppled over, sprawling forward and furrowing the sand. An arrow stuck up, ugly and obscene in that beautiful animal. Mevancy went head over heels in a flurry of garments and landed splat on her back.

I'd been using my knees to control my zorca, an old clansman's habit, and now I reluctantly lowered the bow and gentled the animal with my right hand. I spoke to him as a clansman speaks to his animals and we skidded to a halt, and pirouetted, no doubt making a most pretty picture of fountains of sand and swirling draperies, and circled, heading back to where Mevancy was just standing up and pulling out her sword. The Glitchers whooped in triumph and came sweeping down, weapons glittering.

There was just time. It was going to be nip and tuck; but if she didn't argue and if she climbed up directly, we should just get away in time.

Well, of course, as I reached her, being Mevancy, she wanted to argue.

Leaning over I clasped her around the waist and violently heaved her up. She was not light; but she was not as heavy as I'd expected. She nearly nicked me with her sword and she was swearing and yelling and generally carrying on dreadfully.

I slapped her face-down before me and started the zorca into motion.

An arrow whipped past my nose and another hit a stirrup.

The zorca responded strongly and we went bounding away.

He was a splendid animal; his name was Sandeater and he lived up to it in fine style, and we hurtled across the desert. The ferocious yells of the Glitchers bounced after us. Ahead our party still galloped on and not a single one of them had turned back to our assistance.

“Let me up! Let me up!"

She wriggled around and hit me a thumping great clout with her leg as she swung across to sit astride. She hadn't dropped her sword and she scabbarded the blade; I wasn't foolish enough to say anything about my approval of that excellent conduct. Now a zorca is very close-coupled. A single rider can sit comfortably in the saddle. When two ride fore and aft the limited space forces them to sit packed tightly together. This close and intimate contact didn't bother me, and I didn't really give it much thought. The Glitchers were still following and still shooting although their shafts were falling short, and what would happen if they hit Sandeater was uppermost in my mind.

Mevancy wriggled about.

“Try to sit still, pigeon. Sandeater—"

“Let me have the reins, then, fambly."

They'd been hitched up out of the way when I'd been shooting. As she was sitting in front of me it seemed logical she should have the reins. She kept her balance superbly; but again she wriggled and swayed. I took my feet out of the stirrups and said: “Use the stirrups."

After that we raced along in fine style. No more arrows dropped near us; but a cautious turn to look back revealed the Glitchers still stubbornly following. They were no doubt calculating that an animal bearing a double load would soon tire.

We weren't out of the wood yet, no, by Krun, not by a long way!

Sitting this close to Mevancy enabled me to smell her perfume, subtle and rather nice. Perfume used with skill is charming; overdone it is repulsive. Again I looked back to see our pursuers riding on. Funny though she was, this Mevancy nal Chardaz, her fate would not be funny if she fell into their hands. Perhaps if I tried another shot...

“Sit still, cabbage! You'll have us both off!"

Sandeater bounded along, it seemed effortlessly; but he'd tire in the end. And, then—"If you will lean forward, pigeon, I will try a shot at them. Every one less is—"

“Yes, yes, I know that. But you can't shoot like this!"

Patiently I said: “If you just bend a little and give my right elbow some room. Yes, like that. Good.” I nocked the shaft, turned and loosed at the leading pursuer. I missed.

Mevancy's eye gleamed as she looked back. She opened her mouth and just then Sandeater—who was clearly as much taken by Mevancy as was I—gave a sudden extra leap on and Mevancy gasped and clutched and nearly fell off.

By the time she'd got herself straightened up I had another shaft in my fingers. I said: “Hold still and bend over, pigeon!” and this time my shaft hit the fellow leading the pursuit. I heard his screech as he tumbled off. All the same, by Vox, the others continued to ride on.

Useless to think the obvious thought that occurred to me to enter my brain. How grand to have Seg riding alongside! He'd feather the whole bunch of ‘em back there before you could blink. And Inch, with his axe, to lop a few heads of any who continued to hang about. Well, the Star Lords had snatched me away from home and comrades and I had to soldier on as best I could without them.

Mevancy, looking back over my shoulder, said with a very sharp snap: “You have only nine shafts left."

I said: “Ten, I think."

It wasn't a case of thinking; any bowman worth his salt knows how many shafts he has left in the quiver. But I didn't want to be unkind.

“And there are thirteen of the shints left."

“I don't think they will continue to pursue if we reduce their numbers a trifle more."

“You're very damned confident, Drajak! I wonder your arm has the muscles to pull a bow."

In all the uproar I'd forgotten I was supposed to be a weakling.

“It's a knack, I suppose."

So, of course, my next arrow missed.

“If,” she said, fairly spitting it out. “If those shints up ahead stopped and we all shot together—"

“We'd still have to come to handstrokes. And there's Lunky."

“And he can only think of Telsi. What a mess!"

“There's no discredit in a man wanting to look after a woman,” I said, somewhat more tartly than I'd intended. “Nor a woman looking after a man. Even if the person being looked after somehow fancies it demeans their self-respect.” I felt the way her back went up; but she didn't interrupt. “I don't forget how you cared for me, pigeon."

“And you don't think I did that just because the Everoinye—?"

“No, I don't. Oh, sure, the Everoinye tasked you with saving my skin. I think you'd have acted as you did in any case."

Then she showed her spirit and my stupidity. In an even voice she said: “You're getting maudlin, cabbage."

My Val! And wasn't she right!

I turned around, feeling her back against my side, and loosed a shaft with considerable venom. Another Glitch Rider hit the sand.

The folk up ahead were drawing steadily further and further away. A quick glance in their direction told me that and also showed me Lunky leaning around and looking back. As I swung back to let another shaft go at the devils pursuing us, Lunky seemed to me to wave his arms around. My arrow hit and I reached up for another shaft.

The whole desert tilted, the world of Kregen went upside down and around and around and I went up with it and came down smack and just managed to roll and break the violence of the fall.

Mevancy let out a muffled shriek. She landed on top of me.

Sand in my eyes and in my nostrils, sand clogging my mouth. I spat and clawed up. I shook my head and the famous old bells of Beng-Kishi clanged a single gong note in my skull. A furious swipe across my eyes and I could see the Glitch Riders roaring on, sand kicking away from their mounts’ hooves, their weapons glittering, their sand scarves streaming in the wind of their onrush. They looked a ferocious bunch. Mevancy rolled off me and struggled in the sand like a fish in a net. The longbow was not broken—thanks be to Opaz!—and I snatched it up and nocked a shaft.

One—two—three—and then it would be handstrokes.

In the event I managed to loose off four—and had a flashing notion that Seg would take delight in his old mocking way—and then it was time for handstrokes.

The longbow pitched into the sand. The leading rider leaned far forward over his mount's ungainly neck, his spear held low. The point looked decidedly nasty.

Abruptly he reared up, shrieking. His face was a mask of blood. I caught a glimpse of Mevancy at my side, her arms extended before her. Her face, flushed with blood, held such a look of concentrated fear and loathing I began to feel a mite sorry for these importunate Glitchers. The following rider collided with the first and the wegeners sprawled sideways, sand spurting, and went down in a tangle of limbs.

There was no point in hanging about for the next one to get a clear run at us, so I let out a shrieking kind of yell, an incoherent screech, and leaped forward.

A fellow who wore a leather helmet under his riding hood tried to spit me and I slipped his spear, grabbed it with my left hand, jerked, and as he somersaulted out of the saddle, slit his throat.

Mevancy was yelling. “No, Lunky, no! Keep away!"

There was no time to see what the hell was going on there. I could guess, though, by Vox!

The next rider hauled up, and the wegener's hooves slashed sand in a flat arc. He pulled away and started to gallop around to the side and I swiveled with him. As he did so the next in line hauled out to the other side. So that was to be the way of it!

They'd ride circle about us and shaft us as we stood. I might down some of those remaining; they'd get us in the end. It was quite clear these Glitchers came from a society that did not overvalue human life, their own or other peoples'. They'd kill Lunky and me and take the girl.

I stuck the sword in the sand and dragged up the long bow.

“Lunky! You fambly! You'll be killed!” Mevancy sounded more cross than frightened now, so I guessed her reactions had settled down. She'd let rip with her bindles, the deadly darts from her forearms, and she'd got one of them; the others would stay out of her range.

Lunky said: “I could not ride off and see you slain, Mevancy."

He came up and slid off his zorca. Poor old Sandeater struggled on the sand beyond us, an arrow through a hindquarter. If we could get him to a vet he'd recover well enough. I eyed Lunky's zorca.

“Pigeon! You and Lunky must ride off! Now!"

“But—"

“By the Black Chunkrah, girl!” Then I let rip. “If your everlasting Everoinye knew what they were doing they'd send their damned great Blue Scorpion to hoick us all out of it!"

“Drajak! Have a care how you talk of them—!"

“What, now?” I snarled a choking kind of laugh. “Now when we're all about to get the chop?"

The Glitchers swung about us, kicking sand. They presented targets they no doubt considered difficult to hit. We were in the open. “Get yourself up by the zorca. Make Lunky go as well.” The old devil flamed in my voice, for she grabbed Lunky and shoved him up against his zorca. I stepped before them. Now we had only one side to worry about, from incoming arrows, and we'd have to watch out for a sneaky attacker creeping up beyond the zorca.

The Glitchers took a fatalistic approach to life and death. No doubt the remainder of the warband circling about us had not spared a single thought for their dead comrades. Whilst the girl was there for the taking each one would fight for her. As they rode about us, and the first shafts came in, I considered this was neither bravery nor stupidity but simple cupidity.

The old Krozair techniques of knocking arrows out of the air would preserve my life in this situation. I could use either sword or bowstave in those cunning twists and deflections. So I'd be all right. Mevancy and Lunky—well, now, I had to save them and so would have to leap about in front, and I'd have to be mighty careful that a deflected arrow didn't hit the zorca. So whilst I was doing that an arrow could all too easily come flying in and go thwunk into me. I set myself and began knocking arrows out of the air.

Lunky was having none of this.

He stepped up beside me, sword in fist swishing about and making me skip out of his way.

“Lunky!” yelled Mevancy.

She pulled him back and he shook himself like a dog shaking off water. An arrow went whick! into the sand at his feet as I knocked it down.

“Let me at ‘em!” he was shouting, waving the sword, foaming.

What a circus! Each time I deflected a shaft I could see the picture we made. Also, I was glad some of my comrades couldn't see that farcical scene. Turko! My Val! He'd never let this choice example of Dray Prescot idiocy rest. Not likely!

Quite clearly this could not go on much longer. Either I'd miss an arrow and one of us would get killed, or Lunky would break free from Mevancy and go charging out to be feathered. In the event the ending turned out to be so mundane I felt all that humor boil over. The Glitch Riders stopped circling us, turned tail, and galloped off. Shortly thereafter a troop of cavalry charged past in pursuit. Trylon Kuong and his retinue halted before us. He was vastly surprised to find us in the desert like this and as he dismounted and greeted us he said: “I have come to fetch you, San Lunky Mishuro. The college is assembling.” His voice sounded bleak. “The queen is dead."

Chapter twelve

Lunky took his duties as a Diviner with the utmost gravity. This was what one would expect both of him and of a Diviner. Together with the other two Diviners, they must now discover the queen in the body of a new born baby.

The funeral ceremonies, given the beliefs in reincarnation of these people, were lavish. Not one but two bundles of wood were used for the queen's cremation fire, and the coffin, which was painted tastefully with scenes from Gilium, actually had a corner quite badly burned.

I, for one, did not miss the irony of the paintings of Gilium on a coffin containing a paol-ur-bliem, a person accursed, sentenced to return a hundred times to Kregen before being allowed into the heavenly paradise of Gilium.

Trylon Kuong, well-recovered, proved himself worthy of taking up a political position in the life of the city during this time. He was going to prove a most likely and useful person to have on our side in the struggles to come. For there was no doubt that the dikasters were split, in opinions and beliefs. Even more importantly, when it came to push of pike, they were bitterly and personally opposed to the extent of murder—as we had seen.

A new Repositer would have to be appointed for Kuong, to replace Caran. Kuong would have a considerable say in the selection and he spent a considerable amount of time interviewing candidates from the college's training academy. The position was slightly complicated by the need for a Repositer to replace Hargon for the instruction of Leotes, and here continuity was not, of course, possible.

As for myself, I decided on a bold course in dealing with San Chandro. He'd seen me off into the secret passageways of the palace, and then I'd turned up in the retinue about Kuong and Lunky.

Mevancy went off with Lunky and Telsi and they would take up residence in the Mishuro villa. I went off to report to Chandro.

Because I had the entry permit I was able to see him, and he was more than anxious to see me. We met in the small room where we'd first played Jikaida, and the board lay on the table, set for a game. Chandro greeted me eagerly. There was no smile on his narrow face and he looked more gaunt than ever.

“So you see, Drajak.” He spread his arms. “Even the queen."

I nodded, for clearly I couldn't say: ‘May her soul rest in peace,’ for her soul was being reborn in an infant.

He gave me a sharp look. “And where have you been?"

So I played it, as I said, boldly.

I made an expansive gesture. “San, I do not understand much of what passes here in Makilorn. I know of the power of Tsung-Tan. All I have learned tells me the wizards are mighty in power.” I paused for effect, and went on in a hushed, heavy voice: “I can tell you only this. From being in the secret passageways I found myself in the desert.” I held up a hand as he opened his mouth. “I do not understand. I may have been knocked unconscious and carried there. But, san, you will know. I believe the might and majesty of Tsung-Tan drew me from the palace out into the sands of the desert."

I put an awed look on my face. Even if I do say so myself, I fancy I put on a fine performance. And, anyway, in a society riddled with the kind of beliefs they had here in Tsungfaril, my story ought to be swallowed hook, line and sinker.

Poor old San Chandro put a hand to his mouth, his eyes widening. Then: “This has happened to you? Yes, yes. It is a miracle vouchsafed of Tsung-Tan, highest in heaven. It has been known, it has been known.” He was working himself up into a frenzy of religious fervor now, his narrow face flushed and glittering with sweat. “Praise be to Tsung-Tan!"

He'd said that this kind of experience had been known before. Could, my natural thought prompted me, could the Star Lords have had a hand in that one, too?

Or, as was perfectly possible on Kregen, had a wizard exercised his command of thaumaturgy? And, the experience could have been what Chandro believed—a purely religious phenomenon.

He ordered up parclear and sazz and miscils and palines. For a few moments I think he even forgot the queen had been murdered.

I ate and drank with relish, thankful that my ruse had worked.

Reality could not be kept at bay for very long. Chandro heaved up a sigh and said: “What I feared happened. The queen and her handmaids were all slain."

“Were the—?"

“No. They got clean away for no trace of them was found."

“Professional stikitches."

“Yes."

I took a paline. “And their employers?"

He moved his lean shoulders irritably. “I can guess. But we cannot know for sure."

Two things I recalled. One, Chandro saying the death of the other Repositers now would destabilize the college and government, and, two, my vengeful promise to myself if the queen came to harm. Vengeance is a thankless task, anyway. Sometimes there is a dividing line between Justice and Vengeance. Opaz knew, I'd had to tread that line often enough in my career on Kregen. So I made up my mind how to handle both sides of this equation, and used patience to bide my time.

“You look,” said Chandro, rather sharply, “you look as though you contemplate murder. That is—"

“I know, san, I know."

“There is no proof."

“As you say, there is no proof."

He gave me a queasy look so I changed that conversational subject.

“I believe San Lunky will prove a first class Diviner."

“Oh, yes, that is certain sure.” He stirred the few remaining palines in the bowl. “Yoshi and Vasama are good, no doubt of it; Lunky will prove superior. Tuong always said so."

Yoshi was the fat fussy man and the fat fussy woman was Vasama. I believed Yoshi to be controlled by Vasama. Right then I couldn't see any problems in tracking down the queen. Which just goes to show. Kregen is a wonderful and terrible world and infinitely capable of complicating the simplest issues and causing mayhem over just about anything.

An enquiry about Leone elicited the news that she, with Wink, Prang and Ching-Lee, were still dazed with horror at the queen's murder. Their positions in the palace hierarchy were secure, for under the guidance of Chandro they would serve the same queen. But the horror remained.

Each of the queen's Repositers was responsible for a small cadre of youngsters like this, and Chandro said that fights between them were becoming distressingly more frequent.

I said: “And because San Nath the Uttarler is weak he fails to moderate between you and San Nalgre on our side and Yango and Shang-Li-Po on the other. So who will train and guide the queen as she grows up?"

“I hope I remain unbiased enough to say I pray to Tsung-Tan it will not be Shang-Li-Po."

That seemed a fair enough comment to me. “My spying efforts proved a disaster. They never once discussed anything except the work they'd met to do. If they plotted then they did so elsewhere."

“Oh, they plotted all right."

“So—"

“I stand in danger, as does San Nalgre. Yes, I accept that."

He remained calm but the glitter of sweat on his face came now not from wonder and joy at a miracle but from a more sinister reason.

How long, then, could I wait?

With the care habitual to me now in talking to him, I said: “Lunky has dismissed that buffoon Chiako the Gut and his crew, and rightfully so. I thought criminal proceedings would be brought against them for not honoring their contract. They—"

“They have already applied to me for employment."

“And?"

“Oh, I refused. I told them had Lunky been killed they would all have been guilty.” He managed a half-smile. “Anyway, Llodi mends each day and he is anxious to get back into harness. No, Chiako and that juruk are disgraced and Lunky feels that is punishment enough."

Chiako, as cadade of the juruk, would have to take them off somewhere else to find employment. That might not be easy. Scandal spreads.

“So you are going to take on a few more guards?"

He nodded, a reluctant nod. “I fear so."

“Lunky is probably right; but he is a trifle soft-hearted."

“The teachings of Tsung-Tan,” he began, and went off into a short sermon, to which I listened politely. That brought him back to my transit from the palace to the desert. He waxed eloquent. It was, in very truth, a marvel. “You are not of Tsungfaril; but I believe you stand high in the estimation of Tsung-Tan. The Godhood has looked upon you and smiled."

Obviously, there was nothing I could say to that.

He went on: “We face perilous times. With the queen still in the body of a child, needing to relearn everything, strong and ruthless people seize their opportunity. I just hope Lunky can sway Yoshi to choose aright. It is certain sure Vasama stands with the other camp."

We talked further, and then, I suppose with a flash of that old leem-hunter intuition, I said: “Would you expect Tsung-Tan, whose name be praised, to transport me about again, san?"

He pursed up his lips in that lean face. He looked judicial. “It is not beyond the bounds of possibility."

How many times people say that when they don't know and want to play both ends against the middle!

“So if I suddenly disappear then you'll know."

“To you the honor, for you have been selected."

I'd been selected all right. By the disgusting putrid nostrils of Makki Grodno! I'd been selected, but not by his Tsung-Tan, oh, dear, no. The Star Lords had more work for me to do down here, that I knew with a dark foreboding, as though my old sailorman's nose had sniffed out a coming gale.

Chandro left for a meeting and when the Blue Scorpion appeared, impossibly huge in that room, and seized me up in cold and vertigo, I experienced the weird and trembly sensation that I had foreseen this occurring just that moment ago. I'd anticipated this happening before it happened.

There was grist for the mills of the mind here.

Head over heels, up I went, as the phantom Blue Scorpion flowed over me, and heels over head I went down, splash! Warm water engulfed me. For an awful instant I thought the Star Lords had thrown me into the River of Drifting Leaves to let the stranks get their teeth into me. I was naked. That had been usual up until recently. Still, for the moment it didn't matter as, rising to the surface and flinging the water from my eyes, I saw I was near the edge of a sizeable pool filled with naked people all splashing and swimming and enjoying themselves.

My first instinctive and ugly thought was: the last time I'd seen a swimming pool the Star Lords had dragged me away. So, what was it this time?

The noise boomed up to bounce from a gracefully arched roof built cunningly from several spans joined and supported by slender columns. I saw that I'd been thrown into the water close under an array of diving boards and the next instant a naked young lady hurled herself on top of me. I dived out of the way, to surface and see her swing her hair out of her eyes, laughing, laughing. Then she rolled over and swam off into the throng, to become just another pair of flashing arms among a forest of arms and legs.

The splashing and commotion racketed up across in the corner past the diving boards. By this time I knew I was back at the Springs of Benga Annorpha and this was one of the smaller baths. In the corner the noise spurted up, hard and ugly, and a woman screamed.

I swam across to see the familiar faces, if not the forms, of Nanji and Floria, those two unlovely nobles Mevancy had already rescued. She had been firmly convinced they were the people we had to protect until the attack on Lunky. Now it seemed she was right. They appeared to be arguing with another couple, the man a striking redhead and the woman darker and with an intense, angry, contained face.

The pool grew shallower to the corner in a series of steps. I stoodup. There was blood in the water and a body thrashing about. The four struggling together were trying to climb out. Clearly, the woman who had screamed was now drowning and bleeding to death.

She came up in my arms limply, a floppy, naked, pathetic bundle.

A single glance showed me she had no chance of life left.

A wriggling movement in the water drew my instant and concentrated attention.

The beastie was not a true snake, for it had eight limbs and a fish's tail like an eel's. It had hinged jaws and fangs all the way up to its throat. It was about three feet long. And it was wriggling straight for me, jaws agape.

The woman had to be given up for lost; there are few snakes on Kregen, thanks be, but there are poisonous animals. This thing was a Chasserfic, unhealthy, quick and lethal. The woman was as good as dead.

With a quick prayer for her to Tsung-Tan, I hurled her pathetic body straight at the wriggling Chasserfic. She made a tremendous splashing confusion. Shallow though the water was, I could duck under and swim leanly between the stone step and the pool's surface. Blood choked everywhere. Through its coils the woman's body flopped away ahead and the squirming shape of the Chasserfic rolled away, pushed by the massive water disturbance.

Before he could flap his tail and wriggle himself into forward movement I pounced.

His scaly neck just about fitted my fist. Gripping him just abaft that vicious poison-fanged head of his I stood up. The noise shattered off the roof as people panicked. Nanji and Floria and the other two were half-way out, struggling to get up the marble lip. The raw stink of fear smoked over the pool. When the nearest splashing people saw me rise from the water grasping the sinuous lethal length of the killer the screams redoubled.

The Chasserfic was trying to lap his body around me as though he was a python. He had no chance of that, by Krun! He was a water breather. That meant someone had brought him here in a pot of some kind. Now I had no liking for him at all. But it was in his nature to bite people and thus poison them. He was probably just as frightened as the folk milling about trying to clamber out of the baths. On Kregen, of all places, is the spot to recall the frog and the scorpion. So I waded across to the edge and thrust his head under to give him a chance of a breather.

There was a jar. A ceramic pot of a suitable size, painted with mermaids and sea serpents. It stood a pace or two beyond the edge beside one of the columns. Whoever had organized this murder had preferred the subtle ways of nature to the crude knife or arrow of humans.

I started to climb out of the water still holding my poisonous little friend.

“Are you mad!” The voice slapped in, hard, high, intolerant. “Kill the beastly thing at once!"

The woman who spoke so intemperately stood arrogantly fronting me now the danger was past. Her hair was much darker than the norm and water plastered it to her skull. Her face had a curious intense look as though all her features had been drawn forward. She was, interestingly enough, really beautiful; but normal beauty was overtaken by the intensity and driving force of her expression.

“Did you hear? Kill it at once!"

Nanji and Floria, dripping and looking forlorn, gabbled on urging me to kill the horrible thing. They were so consumed with their own fears they hadn't recognized me. Well, that was not surprising; they were nobles and I was a nobody.

I lifted the lid of the pot. There was water there. With a swift and I hoped skilful enough movement, I thrust the Chasserfic in and slapped the lid down. There were plaited cords to hold it securely.

The man with red hair, a splendid specimen of a fighting man, said: “He's safe enough now.” He looked at me. “You did well."

The intense woman interrupted. “I want that awful thing killed. Rodders! Smash that damned pot!"

He gave me a lop-sided grimace. “Llahal. I am Ron Dang Fang—friends insist on calling me Rodders—and you, walfger?"

“Llahal. Drajak. I leave the decision to you, walfger. I will fetch that poor woman out.” And I dived in. I didn't want to get involved in a domestic argument, and I didn't want wantonly to kill the animal.

The woman was dead and I put her down gently. Reddened water ran from her to drip into the pool. The ceramic pot painted with mermaids and sea serpents lay in pieces, shattered, and the Chasserfic was contorting in the last few automatic reflexes of death.

The dark-haired woman now had a yellow towel draped about her. Her shoulders were very high and square. The red headed man took his towel from the attentive slaves, goggling at the last dying floppings of the Chasserfic. Nanji and Floria were hurrying off. It seemed to me the Star Lords had brought me here to protect them. That was not as important a detail as finding out who had tried to kill them.

I took a towel and said to the man: “Have you any idea who would bring such an animal in here? And why?"

He wiped the back of his neck with a corner of the towel. “They are scarce animals; thankfully they are dying out. But as to who would do such a dreadful thing—"

The woman suddenly shivered, interrupting. “I may be a Paol-ur-bliem. I would not like to die like that."

The man, this Rodders, put his hand on her shoulder and murmured a few soft words of comfort I did not listen to. For an instant she let his hand rest there, her head drooping a little sideways, then she straightened those square shoulders and threw his hand off, swinging about to give a shard of the broken pot a vigorous kick.

“If I catch who did this he'll go headfirst into the river."

There was no doubt she meant it, and no doubt—at least in my mind—that she would carry out the threat.

“I want the Puncture Lady to take a look at you,” said Rodders. He turned to face me, smiling his lop-sided smile. “I give you my thanks again, Wr. Drajak.” He swung back to the woman. “Now let's go. Come on, Kirsty."

Chapter thirteen

Yes. Indeed. This was the Kirsty whom San Chandro had spoken of, a cousin to Leone. She was sharp. Very. Her nose was small and with flared nostrils. This was unfortunate, for she seemed always to be wearing a contemptuous expression towards the rest of the world. She'd determined to have the Chasserfic put out of the way for the thing had scared her in a fashion she found unsettling and unpleasant. She was a lady who did not have upsetting experiences happen to her. The Chasserfic had died.

Marveling at the way creation brings forward these different characteristics in people related to one another, for Leone and Kirsty were like the famous chalk and cheese, I put Kirsty out of my mind and cast about for a way out of my predicament.

Here I was, in a fashionable watering place, without clothes and without money. Ha! The Star Lords might even find amusement in my plight if, as I believed, they retained that tiny scrap of sense of humor.

In other spots of Kregen there would be no problem. I could go to the local Vallian consul, as I had done before. I could contact a merchant with trading links with Vallia, or Djanduin or, these days and remarkably, Hamal, and take out a letter of credit. In the last recourse in hostile lands I could knock some poor wight on the head and help myself.

Finding some clothes proved not too difficult. With the yellow towel draped about me I wandered along to the changing rooms. Circumspection was necessary. Any thoughts of going to Nanji and Floria were put out of my head as soon as the ridiculous notion occurred to me.

A little Och slave with a shriveled left middle sat at a table. A pottery bowl before him held a collection of coins, all copper. I marched in past the table without even looking at the Och. The room was long and narrow and there were cubicles lining each side. This, then, was indeed a high class establishment, for many changing rooms were just an open room and everyone got on with it. However upper class the place might be, the arrangements made it more difficult. There did not seem to be any system of presenting a tally to secure your clothes from your cubicle. This was a case of pot luck.

A couple of men walked out, talking, engrossed. They remembered to drop a couple of copper coins in the bowl as they went. Now the place was empty apart from the Och slave attendant. I took a breath and started for one of the doors in the row.

Footsteps slapped on the marble and a voice called: “Wait for me, walfger. We must take a glass together."

I span about. Ron Dang Fang, who was always called Rodders, walked in briskly toweling his fiery red hair. He strode along and halted beside me, half-turning. His clothes were in one of these cubicles, then, in any one of those to left and right. I managed a grimace that passes for a smile. “You are very kind, walfger."

“Call me Rodders.” He put a hand on the door latch of the cubicle directly before me. “Don't be long.” He opened the door and went inside. When the door closed I let out a breath. I could smell water and salt and vinegar and those mingled scents inseparable from the baths.

These were mineral springs, not the Baths of the Nine. So we were here for health purposes. There might well be establishments here catering to the sybaritic desires of honest folk; certainly there would be a place where a fellow could slake his thirst.

I dived into the opposite cubicle and saw at a glance that the clothes might fit a dwarf; not Dray Prescot.

Tumbling out I cast a glance at Rodders’ cubicle. He might well wonder at my antics. The next cubicle along contained a hideous bright green gown with the ubiquitous fawn cloak. I remembered I was Dray Prescot. This play-acting lately must be eating into my brain. I slammed that door shut and tried the next.

Here a decent set of fawn gown and cloak fitted me well enough. There was a curved dagger in a plain sheath, a pair of sandals, and a scrip containing coins. There was no time to check them for a voice lifted outside: “Come on, Drajak! My tongue is afire!"

Rodders swung about as I emerged. “Ah! Let's go!"

I pitched a copper coin into the Och's bowl after Rodders, and we went out under the arcade. The Suns slanted in, glorious in mingled jade and ruby. The scent of flowers from the court and the tinkle of water came very restfully to me.

“The Puncture Lady said she would be all right. She had a shock."

“A nasty business—Rodders. Any idea who—?"

Expansively he put a hand on my shoulder. He was as tall as was I. “Not in the matter of names I would repeat, Drajak, no. But I surmise. Ah, yes, I surmise!"

If he thought the threat had been to him or Kirsty, my feelings were that Nanji and Floria had been the targets of the assassination, the kitchews as stikitches call them. I wondered what Madam Mevancy would say.

This Rodders was powerfully built, a fine fighting man. At his waist he carried a lynxter and dagger. His clothes were not ornate. I fancied he'd been a mercenary in his time. Probably he'd been a zhanpaktun, entitled to wear the golden pakzhan at his throat, a mercenary of renown. He carried himself lithely, and he would not be easily surprised.

So that made me realize that, like many men, his panic-stricken concern for his lady had robbed him of his habitual toughness and common sense. He told me she had a mind of her own, and had insisted on returning to carry on her affairs as normal. He made a lop-sided grimace. “So here we may sup a while. The H'siung Garden is refreshing at this time of day."

The establishment was surrounded by a small garden lushly green, a result of ample water, and Rodders led in briskly. When we were seated he drank down quickly and called for more. I drank sparingly.

He began to tell me about himself and I listened out of politeness. My plan—transparent as ever!—was to hitch my fortunes to his until I could get back to Makilorn. Every heartbeat that went by I expected to feel a heavy hand on my shoulder and a voice: “Those are my clothes!"

Rodders was, indeed, a mercenary, a pakzhan. He smiled wryly as he said he habitually kept his golden pakzhan with his baggage. He was a Bowman of Loh from Walfarg. Wandering from hire to hire he'd met Kirsty in the line of business, and she'd done his business for him. He recognized her prickly qualities, the sharpness of her, her ruthlessness; but, as he said: “That's Kirsty."

His voice fell silent and in that vacuum, for the sake of something to say, I piped up: “She is cousin to Leone, I understand."

The Bowman of Loh downed his drink and slammed the glass onto thetable. “Aye. The little milk and water miss shivers every time she sees Kirsty. Leone—she has no idea what being a woman means."

“She seemed very pleasant,” I said. “She is always very kind to me."

“You know her well?"

Alarm signals buzzed in my brain. I drank a little of the sazz to cover my hesitation. Then: “We have just met. I was able to do her a small favor.” His eyebrows rose. I plunged on. “Young Lord Wink—"

His powerful face creased into a knowing smile. “Say no more. That young tearaway and his cronies will cause a sensation one day."

“He was a trifle—elevated."

Rodders laughed. “And their mentor, San Chandro?"

“I played him at Jikaida."

He nodded. “I see you are a man of parts.” He finished his glass and rose from his chair, looking at me. “I have enjoyed this short talk, Drajak. Now I must look in on Kirsty and then see if Erthanfydd smiles on me. Then it will be an early night and the Annorpha Aigrette on the morrow.” He shook his fawn cloak straight. “Where do you lodge?"

Ah! I said: “I put up at a caravanserai—"

“Nonsense, Drajak! You must lodge with us. Kirsty would not forgive me else. And we can talk!"

I wasn't so sure about that self-centered lady's forgiveness; but this solved my problems of food and lodging—as I had planned, by Krun!

We went along to the private butts and shot a short round. He was a splendid bowman. Just because Loh is the home of the Bowmen of Loh does not mean that everyone in that continent is a superb shot. He was good. I shot circumspectly, reserving my fire, as we say on Earth. He told me he was agog to shoot in the tournament tomorrow, the winning archer to receive the Annorpha Aigrette and a handsome purse. At once I saw a way to fill my pockets, and my first task would be to buy fresh clothes and dump these in a convenient spot to be found and returned to their owner.

The rest of the day passed slowly enough. We went to his lodgings—very comfortable—and ate and drank moderately and talked and then turned in early ready for the competition the next day. The more I learned of this Rodders the more I found I liked him and the more he seemed to me to be a complete man. He admitted to faults. His temper was quicker than slower. He'd broken the nose of a man who stared insolently at Kirsty.

The moment I could kit myself out and either buy or steal a zorca would be the moment I could take off for Makilorn.

Just what was going on there now, Opaz alone knew.

The problem of the Glitch Riders I trusted had been dealt with by strong forces from the city. The party who had chased after the survivors of the Glitchers who had attacked us were the advance screen. Just how effective Tsungfaril's military forces were was something I could not be sure about. News of the queen's death would reach Annorpha soon and then no doubt there would be a mass exodus as people rushed back to the capital.

The temptation to remain with Rodders and enjoy myself in shooting and singing and bathing and then return with everyone else was mighty powerful, mighty powerful, by Vox!

After all, Madam Mevancy could look after herself. She'd proved that, and, into the bargain, could look after the folk the Star Lords required to be protected. It occurred to me—belatedly—that perhaps I ought to stay here at the Springs to keep an eye on Nanji and Floria. The Everoinye it seemed to me were conducting this operation in ways different from any I'd encountered before. Yes, there were some similarities with the time Pompino and I had operated together; the differences were what counted.

When duty and inclination coincided was the time, by Vulken the Insinuator, to be watchful, vigilant, and ready for something squashy and unpleasant to drop on you from a great height.

During my time on Kregen many strands of life had threaded their tangled webs and people had appeared and disappeared, as you will have heard in my narrative. Many resolutions had taken place that I have not mentioned because they happened, as it were, off stage, and events had overtaken them. Happy—and unhappy—outcomes had taken place to many of the problems I have mentioned in the past and if these tapes hold out I hope to tell you who listen to me all the details. As it is now, I must press on with the tangled webs being woven in Tsungfaril in Loh.

The next morning in a mood of laughter and enjoyment Annorpha Springs witnessed the Grand Tournament for the Annorpha Aigrette.

The arrangements for the shooting itself were simple enough. Sightseers clustered. Marshals waved their wands. Music played and flags fluttered. The targets were set at stipulated distances and entrants were required to shoot their set number of arrows. A miss resulted in instant dismissal from the competition. In an atmosphere of tense excitement the better archers were whittled down until the final half dozen were left to shoot it out.

In the continent of Loh, what more natural than an archery competition?

Relaxed and confident, Rodders said to me: “I feel I am in great form, Drajak. Huang is the man to watch. You shoot well; but—” he spoke in his easy way, “but I feel I have the beating of you, with all due respect, you understand."

If Seg were here and inevitably betting on the outcome, he'd put all he could on me. I knew I had the beating of Rodders and this Huang, who was not as good as Rodders imagined. This is not boasting, which I abhor, but simple professional assessment. A little wind puffed and died and the flags blew out and then hung limply. The crowds kept up their animated chatter. Vendors went around doing a brisk trade. About to make some noncommittal reply, for I just intended to shoot and win and so take the purse—the Aigrette itself could also be sold, I judged—I was stopped in my tracks at Rodders’ next words.

“By Hlo-Hli! I am determined to win the Aigrette for Kirsty. She will be queen of the ball this evening, as the Hork guides my shafts!"

The expression on his face left no doubt that he meant every word. Even penniless as I was, in my precarious position, with my hopes resting on his goodwill, could I risk beating him out of the Aigrette he so coveted for his lady? By Makki Grodno's disgusting diseased liver and lights, what a confounded unwanted complication this was!

Chapter fourteen

What a mess! This was a completely unwanted complication. There was absolutely no question of my winning, of keeping the purse I so desperately needed for myself, and of presenting the Aigrette to Rodders for his lady. That would demean his honor. Oh, no. Where honor and pride in shooting skills are concerned, you walk over live coals.

I have very little truck with pride, as you know, and as for honor: mine may be a chameleon beastie, it remains intact in those areas of importance to me.

So, I made up my mind on a course of action.

Yes, very well. I, Dray Prescot, Lord of Strombor, Krzy, etc. etc. etc. ad nauseam, chickened out.

Huang and Rodders were left to shoot it out as my last shaft hit the spot at which I'd aimed, a spot a good thumb outside the aiming mark.

“Ha!” exclaimed Rodders, his red hair fairly bristling. “You see!"

The crowds yelled and cat-called, a single hyena-note made up of individual shouts and cries and curses. The Suns shone. Young boys ran everywhere scattering perfumed water to slake the dust. I held my face admirably still and noble, letting Rodders see how chagrined I was at missing the mark.

“You will win, Rodders, and my very best congratulations."

He nodded to the flags drooping on their staffs.

“You over estimated the breeze."

“Aye."

He smiled and turned back to finish his conquest. I let out a breath of relief. Not until he mentioned the breeze could I be certain he had been fooled by my shooting. Offering him the Aigrette after I had beaten him would have been bad enough; to have let him see I allowed him to win would have been disaster.

In the event he squeaked home over Huang. The prize was presented by a fat woman, the wife of a high official. She smirked and simpered and Rodders took the spray of gems and feathers into his brown fists. He lifted the trinket high and the audience yelled. Then, with the conscious solemnity of the occasion, he gave the trophy to Kirsty. Her face was a picture. She was pleased. There was no doubt of that. That she should be accorded this favor fitted well with her feelings of her own superiority.

I managed a brief: “Congratulations, Kirsty.” Whereat a tiny frown dinted in between those heavy eyebrows before she dazzled me with her smile. “Thank you, Drajak.” I wasn't having any kow-towing and inclining where this lady was concerned, no, by Krun!

After that, it was all a helter-skelter as the final preparations were made for the Grand Ball as the Suns went down.

The oasis town of Orphasmot in which the Springs of Benga Annorpha rose so magically and refreshingly to the earth's surface might be drowsy, dusty and suns-baked, it provided capital entertainment. Here the division of status was clear and simple. There were the people here for the cure, as at any spa, out to enjoy themselves, and there were those many more, slave and servant, here to serve. As the last of the preparations were made, I wondered, not without an ironic smile at my own expense, just which side of the divide I belonged. A fellow with all the lands and titles I had amassed—and all he had were the clothes he stood up in!

The third half—if I may use that typically shorthand Kregen way of expressing a complicated thought simply—of the people here was well represented. These were the merchants and traders. They'd sell anything to make a profit and the folk taking the waters were in the holiday mood where they'd buy anything.

There'd be no expensive fancy dress for me tonight. I'd probably buy the cheapest mask I could find and leave it at that. What little cash was left had to go on filling my stomach.

As for the fancy dress that turned out as the twin suns, Luz and Walig, sank in their suffusions of light—it was fancy. Highly ingenious and decorative, the costumes dreamed up by the people responsible created a riotous confusion of color and glitter, a never-still river of fantasy and delight pouring through the town.

On this night the folk of Tsungfaril threw off their usual air of lassitude, of waiting to go up to Gilium, and threw themselves wholeheartedly into enjoyment. Much was the wine drunk and many the dances danced and songs sung. Drifting along with the crowd, wearing my silly little black mask, I just absorbed impressions. Later I was to meet Rodders and Kirsty. The scenes of laughter and jollity all about inevitably drew my thoughts to far off Vallia. How often we had rioted through the avenues and along the canal banks! And in Ruathytu and Sanurkazz, too, folk had seen their fair share of hedonistic enjoyment. So I began to think of my comrades and the times we had had.

Many societies of Kregen—and I suppose some of Earth, too—fervently believe that thinking of an event or person will attract that event or person to you. Talk of the devil, as they say.

My old comrade Wizard of Loh, Deb-Lu-Quienyin, along with Khe-Hi-Bjanching and Ling-Li-Lwingling, had many times shrouded a thaumaturgical shield over me. Of what value a warrior's puny sword against theferocious might of a wizard's sorcery? So, as I put my foot upon the lowest rung of a ladder leading from this roof level to the next higher level, I stepped back to allow the man bundled in the blue cloak to descend the ladder first. Just how he'd appeared so suddenly above me I couldn't fathom. I'd been about to go up and the next instant, there he was, on the ladder and descending.

The scent of Moonblooms wafted from a doorway at the side where the flowers grew in a rotund ceramic pot. The light of the Moons fell aslant the doorway, and a man slumped there, fast asleep, his turban slipping.

The fellow on the ladder stomped down, heavy brown boots descending the treads with clumsy authority. A smell of rank fish coiled among the scents from the Moonblooms. I stepped aside and saw the ladder above through the blue cloaked body of the man. Through his body. He was not fully realized.

As I reacted to this piece of information, the man reached the tiled roof beside me. He moved with a heavy ponderous swing of wide shoulders and thick waist. He half-turned to brush past.

I saw a wide sullen face, heavy, with pouched eyes half-hidden by the drawn-forward cloak hood. He sucked in a breath. “The necklace,” he said. His voice gusted ludicrously thin and reedy from such a gross frame. He sucked another breath. “You have one more chance. No more."

The dark blueness of the cloak was fading. As he spoke so he appeared to need to shake his body, perhaps to shake out the words. He was becoming faint, drizzle-thin, was vanishing into thin air. No doubt he calculated that the evanishment of an apparition would scare me sufficiently to rush off at once to secure the necklace for him.

He was gone.

A voice from the side said: “Very pretty, Dray. I really believe we may have Discovered an Adversary in him.” The slumped man with the slipping turban in the doorway was sitting up. “Friend of yours, Dray?"

Turning slowly to face Deb-Lu's apparition, I said: “Hardly. That was Na-Si-Fantong. I've never met him in the flesh.” Deb-Lu's creased old face smiled up at me under that vast and toppling turban. He smiled. That, I can tell you, cheered me in a most heart-warming manner.

“I suppose you have Contemplated the Si in His Name?"

When Deb-Lu spoke with Capital Letters, it behooved the listeners to listen.

“Aye."

“H'm. Well, since you disappeared from Esser Rarioch we've been searching all over for you. And now I've found you it is Distressingly Difficult to Maintain Contact."

His form wavered as though seen through a column of hot air. He was somewhere up in Vallia in person, and in that mysterious and magical state of lupu had sought and found me down here in Tsungfaril in Loh.

“Tell Delia I'm all right, Deb-Lu—"

“Naturally. She Has Spoken Somewhat and At Length upon your Disappearance. You are detained here?"

“Yes."

“Ah."

What Deb-Lu-Quienyin knew or suspected of the Star Lords I wasn't sure. What I did know was that any Wizard of Loh walked circumspectly anywhere near the ambiance of the Everoinye. He was aware of my disappearances from time to time. He and his comrade wizards erected defenses for my comrades against unhealthy sorcery. Even if Deb-Lu could only maintain a tenuous contact with me I felt vastly reassured. Na-Si-Fantong wasn't going to turn me into a little green frog—at least, not without a struggle!

“By the Seven Arcades!” said Deb-Lu. “This plane is most confoundedly dismal!” His form fluctuated, and brightened and darkened.

He'd explained to me that on the surface of Kregen two places might lie many miles apart yet on another plane they would be cheek-by-jowl. So if you wanted to go from one to the other you crossed as many intervening planes as might be necessary until you found yourself on the right one. The trick here was that the ‘you’ of the quotation would need the many years’ training and experience undergone by an initiate of the Cults and Orders which possessed the knowledge. At that point in my knowledge of Kregen the pre-eminent colleges of thaumaturgists were those of the Wizards of Walfarg, better known to the outer world as Wizards of Loh.

Deb-Lu's spectral form quivered like a reflection in water.

“This is difficult, Dray. Please Excuse Me."

Quickly I gave him the few details I had concerning the queen's necklace. This was Wizard's work. As his form at last dwindled and expired, his final words were: “Prospects and Interesting Possibilities open upbefore us, Dray! I shall return! Remberee!"

“Remberee,” I called; but Deb-Lu was gone, hurtling back across the planes to far Vallia.

The thought occurred to me that Loh was Deb-Lu's birthplace. He was a renowned Wizard of Loh—a Wizard of Walfarg. Something must be going on somewhere to account for the difficulty of communication quite apart from the distance involved.

The flat roof suddenly filled with a crowd of people, all fluttering scarves and feathers, flushed faces, laughing eyes. They sang and danced their way across rooftop after rooftop and gathered other folk until the procession broke up into fragments along the main streets. Well, this was not the usual behavior of those seeking to enter Gilium. The atmosphere of general pleasure and the visitation from Deb-Lu combined to put me in a happier mood. I would see Delia again, soon. I knew, and with a sudden somber shiver, that Deb-Lu was right. There were vast possibilities in the future—possibilities and perils, by Vox!

Chapter fifteen

“You kept yourself well out of the way of all the trouble, cabbage. Well, I've got news for you. We have a crisis on our hands."

“That's news?"

“Oh, you!"

As predicted, when thequeen's death became general knowledge in Orphasmot a mass exodus ensued. My simple-minded plan had worked and I'd tagged along with Rodders and Kirsty. Now, taking a chance on San Chandro, I'd trotted along first to the Mishuro villa to find Mevancy. I'd found her all right. She lost no time in bringing me up to date with the dramatic events that had taken place in Makilorn whilst I'd been away.

Lunky had in some way managed to persuade his fellow Diviner Yoshi to become an ally. Maybe some emotional tangle had caused Yoshi to fall out with Vasama. The importance of this became apparent when not one but two babies were discovered with claims to housing the spirit of the queen.

Vasama, ‘quivering like a jelly’ according to Mevancy, had stated that the baby of the noble lord Pling-Fe-Hwang had been chosen to receive the spirit of the reborn queen. She had proudly brought the baby forth from Hwang's villa to display to the multitude.

At the very same time across the river Lunky had divined the queen's spirit in the baby of Tsun and Hosifi Shiang. They were potters and the baby's cradle was formed from half of a smashed pot. Lunky brought the baby out of the pottery kilns and across the river to the queen's palace to be confronted by an enraged Vasama clutching her choice.

Two factors determined the outcome.

One, that Yoshi had fallen out with Vasama and was willing, out of spite, to side with Lunky, seemed to the college to be the lesser reason.

The important reason was simply that Lunky was already recognized as a Diviner of great power. There were politics simmering away in the background, as, by Krun, there usually are! The upshot was that Lunky's choice, the Shiang baby, was judged to hold the queen's spirit.

“Presumably, cabbage, that was why the Everoinye wished us to save Lunky."

“It would seem so."

“All would have gone as the Everoinye wished, only—"

“What?"

“You remember I told you about Kaopan?"

“Oh, no.” I felt a pang, for the baby, for the queen, for Lunky.

“Yes. Someone had the Shiang baby killed according to the rites of Kaopan.” She shook her head. “The queen is now truly dead. She will not return to Tsungfaril in another body. She will not go up to Gilium in glory. She will go down to the Death Jungles of Sichaz."

I said nothing. I really didn't know if I believed all this mumbo-jumbo about the accursed, the paol-ur-bliem, returning to Kregen for life after life as a punishment. On Kregen there are enough weird and wonderful things, by Opaz the Eternally Veiled, to last many a lifetime! The whole story, the religious beliefs, the reincarnation, all of it, all could be true.

“That damned lot led by Shang-Li-Po,” I said. I heard my own voice. I heard the snarl. Snarl! If I were a free agent and the constraints imposed by San Chandro brushed aside, I'd do more than snarl. I could feel the blood pounding in my head, and I had to hang onto this new Dray Prescot whose image I had been so assiduously creating. To rush off and deal with Shang-Li-Po and his cronies, in memory of the queen, would serve no one. I had to remain cool, calm and collected. For Dray Prescot even in this latter day that was asking a lot, a whole lot, by Krun.

I could still see the queen standing by the pool's edge. Vibrant, superb, quivering with all the eagerness of a girl embracing life to the full, she limned indelibly in my memory. As the scented water ran in wanton rivulets down her body and the black-masked assassins padded towards her, their naked swords ready to kiss her naked body, so she lifted that rounded chin in a haughty stare of utter contempt. If only...! But, paradoxically, what happened next was mercifully veiled from me by the blue veil, the very blue fragment of the Scorpion that dragged me away.

“Your face has gone putty again, cabbage."

“I was thinking of the queen."

She shook her head, her cheeks flushed. “And what would your—?"

Her mouth closed with a snap, the sentence unfinished, for she had seen my face and I know, to my despair, that the old devil look had flashed there. What she had been about to say troubled me, for I thought she was over her silliness. A trifle breathlessly she said: “Well, there it is, then. The queen is truly dead. Now they have to find a successor."

“That is college and council business. I suppose the Star Lords will have to put their oar in."

“Cabbage! Must I keep telling you? Have a care."

“The Everoinye wanted Lunky's choice to be queen. She would be, as it were, on our side. Given that San Chandro represents our side and Shang-Li-Po heads up the opposition."

“The Everoinye will not take a rebuff lightly."

“Of course not, pigeon! There will be plenty of work for you and me, never fear!"

She bit her lip and turned away. I was wrought up enough not to feel proper compassion for her until after we'd parted to go about our different tasks. Then, as I headed for San Chandro, I did feel I ought to have been more gentle with her where her sensibilities regarding the Star Lords were concerned.

As for Queen Leone—what a tragedy, what a waste!

In addition—and most darkly, most deeply dreadfully darkly indeed—Queen Leone had been slain because the Star Lords had snatched me away.

Could—and I dared to think the thought out of anger and compassion—could the Star Lords have wanted the queen slain to further their own unfathomable ends? And were those ends now confounded by the fine Italianate hand of Shang-Li-Po? Was there more horror to come? Well, this was Kregen, and however wonderful and beautiful that world truly is, horror formed all too potent a part of its makeup.

Leaving the Mishuro villa I went the long way round to the palace, striding out, breathing deeply, trying to bring myself under control. Many thoughts jostled inside my cranium. There was the affair of the queen's necklace yet to be settled, a damned sorcerer to be dealt with, a gang of cutthroats to be cut down to size. There was the ever-present urgency of getting this whole imbroglio over fast so I could return to Vallia and Valka. There was the mystery of Carazaar and his minion Arzuriel. Lurking like some monster of the deep below everything else the hideous problem of the reiving Shanks from over the curve of the world remained. They would not go away until everyone of Paz united to drive them off.

By the time I had waited for my name to be sent in to San Chandro and his authority of admittance returned I had quietened down. I had left my admission with my clothes as I'd been hoicked up and out of here. I'd go along with the same story to San Chandro, and, in sooth, he must have heard of the disturbance in the pool at the Springs of Benga Annorpha and the peril of the Chasserfic.

He had heard. He greeted me kindly, although clearly abstracted by affairs of state, and was galvanized into eager demands to hear more when I explained what had happened. He was convinced the Chasserfic was a part of the greater plot. At the moment I couldn't accept that; but I didn't argue. I made a casual mention of the lord Nanji and the lady Floria; he hadn't the slightest interest in them. His spies had reported their presence in the city, and their movements, and that was all.

“No, my boy, it is that Tsung-Tan-forsaken Shang-Li-Po! He and his evil schemes are at the bottom of everything."

“I thought San Lunky did well—"

“Yes, yes! Of course. But events have swept past now. We must look to the heir. Whoever is pronounced queen will need the Repositers to guide her in ways quite different from what we have done before."

Aware of the importance of the answer in his eyes, I asked: “Who is the heir?"

He pursed up his lips, that narrow face shrewd. “There is confusion in the records. The lines of descent were tangled at the best of times, and that time was a long time ago. As the college sees it, there are three people who have legitimate claims to be the closest next of kin."

I waited as he heaved up a sigh. He could see the troubles ahead that would accrue from arguments and confrontations.

“The three are, one: the lady Kirsty, two: the lady Thalna and three: the lady Leone."

“That is our Leone?"

“Yes. And her cousin, Kirsty. You met her, of course."

“Of course."

“My best judgment is that Thalna will be knocked out of the running first. Her claim is the most tenuous of the three."

“And the best?"

“That will have to await the adjudication."

He gave me a stare. “You may wonder why I am so free with you, Drajak. I fear dark times are ahead. The old order is crumbling. I need a man like you at my side."

Again, I waited. I didn't want to ask the question burning my tongue which he might well consider impertinent. He was, after all, down here in Tsungfaril, a very important personage.

He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Yes, Drajak, I see your tongue is commanded by your head. You would like to know who I support?"

“Yes."

He stood up from his chair and walked across the room, turned and walked back. He eyed me like a sparrow sizing up a crumb of bread.

“Your reticence is as important as your assistance. You know how much I care for Leone. She is of the spring, warm and young, green and growing. She is not cut from the same cloth as Queen Leone was.” He stopped by the table and picked up a Jikaida piece, turning it over in his thin fingers. It was the Yellow Pallan. Then he placed it down firmly beside the Yellow Princess. He gave me that fierce sizing-up look.

I drew a breath.

“Then you will support Kirsty."

He nodded. “Aye."

“I understand."

“If I thought you would not then I would not have told you, neither would I have sought to employ you. You do follow, Drajak?"

Now it was my turn to nod. “I follow."

Chapter sixteen

In ordinary times one would quite have expected San Chandro to have trumpeted the stunning news that a mortal man had been blessed by Tsung-Tan and had been moved through time and space at the whim of the godhead. As it was, Chandro hugged this information to himself. My best judgment was not that he was obsessed by the imaginary power this information gave to him alone but that he sought ways of using it to further his plans for Kirsty as queen.

In a very short time arrangements were finalized for the adjudication which would take place in the college palace. Mevancy went off to join the crowds whilst I stayed in the Mishuro villa.

One person who was delighted Chandro wished Kirsty to become queen burst in to see me beaming. Trylon Kuong had been kept busy lately; now he had taken time off on the day of adjudication to come and congratulate me and thank me for Kirsty's life.

“That's a rather melodramatic way of putting it.” I waved a hand at the refreshments on the side table of this small room Mevancy and I used as a sitting room. “There were other people involved—"

“Oh, yes, true! But it was that damned traitor Shang-Li-Po, the Kaour, behind the plot. And he wanted to kill Kirsty!” Kuong was outraged.

In as casual a way as I could manage—I made play with a paline in my fingers as I spoke, carefully—I said: “Kirsty and Rodders are well matched. Leone is unattached. As, trylon, are you."

Such a match, apart from creating a splendid marriage, would have solved some of my unwanted problems too, by Krun.

He ducked his head in that way people have of telling you they understand what you are saying.

“Leone is—well, Leone. My love-life is well catered for at the moment. Most.” A look one can only describe as self-satisfied came over his bronzed face. “Highly spiced. Oh, no, Drajak, nothing like that."

“Lucky you,” I said, keeping the bitterness out of my voice with difficulty.

“No, it's damned politics again. The western boundary of my trylonate of Taranik runs along the eastern boundary of Tarankar. At one time we had friendly relations with them. They are a strange lot, in any case, and now apparently a new lot of diffs have moved in. The upshot is that they refuse to trade, they have assassinated my merchants and returned the queen's ambassador's head in a sack."

I made a sympathetic noise and added: “A cause for war?"

“I detest war. But Vad Leotes and I were trying to persuade the queen to take a more positive attitude. San Chandro, also, is of our mind."

“If Shang-Li-Po counsels no war he will be popular—"

“That is true. I find it distasteful that I am in the warmongering party. As you know, the Queen's Repositers are split; Nath the Uttarler is unable to make a decision even concerning the Queen's Matrons.” He checked himself there, and shook his head. The Queen's Matrons provided the queen with information about her past lives unknown to the male Repositers. Kuong went on speaking in a slow and wondering voice: “You know, Drajak, now there is to be a new queen, where is the need for Repositers or Matrons?"

He sounded like a man who had just discovered a new planet among the stars of heaven.

I said: “The Repositers will be required to store information for all future queens, as has been the case in the past. Their feathers may be clipped; they'll still fly high in Tsungfaril."

He gave me a quick look. “You sound—hard."

“When I first became interested in all this political mélange here I assumed it was the usual thirst for power, with half-crazed people killing and bribing their way to positions of authority. This remains true, of course; but reincarnation, the paol-ur-bliem, adds a new dimension and creates a profoundly different situation. Whether or not you believe the old chestnut about absolute power corrupting or not, once most people gain positions of authority with the wealth and privileges attached they are drastically disinclined to give it all up. Now you have power blocs continuing from generation to generation centered around the very same person."

“Except for this situation now with the queen—"

“Aye, Kuong, aye. And Kirsty will need good friends."

The sound of rapid footfalls reached us from the hallway and we turned as Mevancy marched in.

“They're still at it,” she said, not breathlessly but in a rush. “They've been closeted for half a day now."

Kuong said: “Even if the outcome is already decided, they have to make the proceedings appear difficult and important. And, anyway, I expect Nath the Uttarler has held things up humming and hawing."

The college and the council would, so Chandro had assured me, not fail to choose Kirsty as queen. After all the votes had been tallied up, Chandro said there would be a difference of one vote. And that would be enough. That, he had said confidently, also took into account the probable vote of Nath the Uttarler—if he managed to rouse himself to remember to cast his own vote—for Shang-Li-Po's faction.

“Shang-Li-Po's faction,” I said. “The party of peace."

Mevancy said: “Shang-Li-Po's faction. The sell-out party."

“That is true.” Kuong frowned. “They'd sell anybody to save their own skins."

The whole city of Makilorn waited. A new queen was being chosen. Lassitude might mark most of the dealings of these folk as they prepared themselves for the delights of Gilium in the afterlife, already I had seen the way they could throw off constraints and enjoy themselves at times of celebration. Now another absorbing conundrum had been presented to them and they threw themselves into the fascinating pursuits of guessing and discussing and gambling on the outcome.

We here were in possession of confidential knowledge. The folk of Makilorn knew there were three contestants, and so they judged them on what was known and according to predilection. Kuong judged that most people favored Leone. This seemed natural. After all, she was young, beautiful, eager, with a dazzling personality. Kirsty was dark and hard and would suffer no nonsense. As for Thalna, very few inveterate gamblers would take odds on her victory.

The time ticked by and the sand dropped in the glasses.

The twin Suns of Scorpio, Luz and Walig, passed across the sky.

Kuong strode up and down. At last he burst out: “I cannot stay here like this! I'm for the college."

“There is a huge crowd—” began Mevancy.

“Oh, yes, of course. They're all hanging about, waiting, betting, listening to the most ludicrous rumors, eating and drinking, like a crowd of vosks all waiting for the swill to pour out."

“Can we get through?"

“I am, after all, a trylon."

“Um,” I said.

“Well, cabbage, it's better than sitting here!"

“Very well."

Truth to tell, I welcomed the activity, even if it could have no influence on events. We prepared ourselves and then went quickly through the deserted streets to the palace that housed the college.

The rumble of the crowds swelled like thunder as we approached. True to his word, Kuong led us around to the rear entrance and was able to gain entrance without trouble. The palace was sumptuous. Guards stood everywhere. We were shown to a waiting room where other notables sat tensely or walked up and down, and even here the bets were being laid.

The inner chambers were sealed off and the college and council met in utmost secrecy. We heard that Ortyg Hanshar, the chief priest, had gone in looking pale but firm. Nath the Uttarler had been found wandering in a picture gallery admiring the portraits and been led gently in to do his duty. No news reached us. The golden doors remained fast shut.

“What is the delay?” demanded a rascally-looking fellow emptily.

“They merely prove their own importance,” snapped a waspish woman with considerable venom.

A man with the brown face of the desert, lined and harsh, said: “The due rituals must be observed in the light of Tsung-Tan.” He was a strom from a distant oasis and clearly believed completely in Gilium and the paol-ur-bliem and the fitness of the college and council. “It is beneath my dignity to place a wager on so important a matter. Had I done so I would have unhesitatingly placed a fortune upon the choice of the lady Leone."

Kuong made a little grimace at me. “You see?"

One of the high-ranking guard commanders who waited with us half-turned at this. He was a Khibil, smart and well-turned out, and wore the pakmort at his throat. “I would choose the lady Kirsty,” he said with a military snap. “There are hard days ahead for Tsungfaril."

“Then you will lose your wager, chuk."

Just as the Khibil chuktar rapped back: “No one can know for sure until the trumpets sound,” the silver pealing notes of the trumpets rang out, high and brilliant. Utter silence fell. The golden doors shivered, and moved, and opened wide. On the heated air the cloying scents of much perfume clogged the nostrils. Priests appeared in procession, walking with stately self-conscious tread, gorgeously appareled. Under a golden canopy borne by armored acolytes Ortyg Hanshar looked every inch the most important priest serving Tsung-Tan. His granite face, marked by years of uncontested authority and set in lines of inflexible purpose, demanded and commanded absolute obedience from all those who lived in the hope of Gilium.

“The die is cast,” breathed Tuong. “Queen Kirsty will—"

Then he stopped speaking as though he had fallen over a precipice.

Following the canopied high priest and borne by two dozen yellow-dressed slaves a throne-chair rode high in the air. Every eye in the chamber fastened on the throne and its occupant.

High she rode above the throng. Surrounded by the images of her power and symbols of royalty she sat upright in the chair, hands resting firmly on the silk-covered arms, her face a glowing wonder.

From the crowd a deep chant rose, controlled and ordered, the words distinct and striking to the heart.

“Hai, Queen Leone! Hai Jikai!"

Mevancy's grip on my arm crushed through to the bone.

The procession marched on as the crowd parted for it. The doors at the far end were flung open. As the nobles and high ones in this antechamber shouted for the new queen, so, as she proceeded, the crowds waiting outside took up the acclamations. The din was prodigious. After all, when had there last been a new queen in Tsungfaril?

“Leone,” said Kuong. His face had lost color.

“San Chandro,” said Mevancy, on a breath. “It has gone wrong. Where is Chandro?"

“There,” I said, and nodded my head at the notables following the throne. Nath the Uttarler led off, supported by two slaves. He was followed very closely by a tall figure dressed from head to toe in red. So closely did this person walk that he was almost abreast of poor old doddery Nath. His face bore marks of granite that made of the granite face of the high priest a mere child's simpering countenance. Shang-Li-Po gloated in his victory. Dogging his heels walked his crony San Yango. Chandro trailed along at the rear of the group of Repositers. His head hung down and his face lay in shadow.

“I see him,” snapped Mevancy. “And San Nalgre?"

“No,” said Kuong. “He is not there."

The Queen's Matrons followed with the Diviners. Lunky's face expressed repressed sullen fury. He did not look up as he passed.

“So that's the way of it,” I said.

There was no sign of Kirsty or Rodders, or of the lady Thalna come to that. Kuong rolled his shoulders like a man drowning.

“I cannot stay here!” he spat. Without another word he barged his way through the crowd heading for the small doors at the side. Mevancy gritted out: “Follow me, cabbage,” and we headed after Kuong.

Outside the palace we moved along the streets trying to avoid the crowds. Makilorn gave itself up to celebration. Not one of us could find the heart to speak even when we had reached the Mishuro villa. Kuong kept striding up and down in fury. Mevancy, it was clear, was consumed by apprehension at the reaction of the Star Lords to this disaster.

Later on, when Kuong still simmered with helpless fury, San Chandro turned up. He looked exhausted, shrunken. We guided him to a chair and pressed a goblet into his shaking hands.

He stared up at us, his eyes unfocussed. “All the plans,” he whispered. “Utterly wasted. Shang-Li-Po struck through to the heart. He prevailed upon San Nalgre. Nalgre voted for Leone.” He tried to drink and the wine slopped. “Nalgre could not resist the pressure. Shang-Li-Po had him taken away somewhere under guard and the threat of instant death—"

“This behavior from a Repositer!” shouted Kuong.

“Shang-Li-Po has gone above the law. He has taken the reins."

“Then he must be taught—” I began hotly.

“No, Drajak!” Chandro shook. “Any visible conflict between the members of the college will result in untold harm."

“That is perfectly correct,” came Lunky's voice as he entered the room. He was pale and nervous. “Tsungfaril cannot support any overt violence."

“But—” said Mevancy.

“There is no but.” Lunky dropped into a chair. “Nalgre has been taken to one of Shang-Li-Po's secret villas. He has girls there. There is a tunnel and a shaft from the villa to the river—"

“If Nalgre was free,” Mevancy spoke more calmly. “He could cast his proper vote, could he not?"

“But he is not free. And there is no way we can free him."

“But if he was?"

“Well, yes, to speak of the impossible. This vote could be declared invalid and a fresh one held. That is true."

“Well, then,” said Mevancy with a note of triumph in her voice. “We must go there and rescue him!"

At this both Chandro and Lunky protested, horror in their faces and voices. It was impossible. Any use of soldiers was quite out of the question, could not be tolerated by the state, the priesthood.

“We are beaten.” Chandro leaned back and closed his eyes. “All we can do is hope to influence Leone."

“You were her mentor, san,” I pointed out.

He waved a weak hand, his narrow face filled with pain. “All that is changed. Shang-Li-Po has the power now."

“A small group of us could break in,” protested Mevancy.

Kuong shushed her. “That is not possible, if I know the kind of place San Lunky means. You'd need a small army to break in there."

“And the army would refuse to attack a Repositer,” said Lunky.

“Well,” I said, my voice eerily cheerful in that room of doom and gloom. “If the paktuns and the army are useless we'll just have to use a different sort of army."

Chapter seventeen

The narrow door set in the re-entrant angle of the heavy walls gonged dully as I thumped it. They must have seen me walk up in the last of the radiance of the Suns. They kept a sharp lookout from the arrow slits. Nothing happened. Just as I lifted my fist to give the door another thump it opened. It did not creak. It swung open on well-oiled hinges. They needed to get in and out of here fast at times, I didn't doubt.

A mass of hair sprouting around a bald pate confronted me in the light of a lantern held aloft in one raggedy arm. A mouth opened among the hair. I gave the doorkeeper no time to speak.

“Take me along to Kei-Wo the Dipensis right away, sunshine, or you'll taste ol’ snake."

“By the snaggle-teeth of old Snorribunder Himself, dom! Easy! Kei-Wo is expecting you—"

“So what are you hanging about doddering for?"

He belched a tuneful belch, hitched up his gown, and started off along the brick-walled corridor. The effluvium rose ripely all around.

“By Lohrhiang of the Five Palms,” he grumbled to himself, slouching along ahead with the lantern light striking weird shadows from the slimed walls. “I jes’ hope old Fing-Na an’ Naghan the Chik gitsaholt o’ yourn!"

And he hawked up a noisy gob and spat, accurately if splashily at a scurrying little thing of eight spindly legs.

He led me into the chamber in which I'd awoken to find myself tied in the chair with my head in a metal vice. The smells were much the same. A fellow now sat in the chair with his head fixed rigidly looking sorry for himself. Kei-Wo lolled back in his chair, picking his teeth. Most of his gang seemed to be there. I identified Sooey, Sindi-Wang, Naghan the Chik, Fing-Na and a few others whose faces I recognized.

I didn't want to give this Kei-Wo any chance of taking the initiative. I nodded to the man bound in the chair and said: “Unless his crimes are too heinous you'd better release him. You're going to need everyone you've got for this night's work."

He went on rocking himself back and forward with his foot on the floor. He wasn't in the least discomposed. “You are anxious to die?"

I fixed him with a stare. “If you do not do exactly as I say you will surely wish to die when Na-Si-Fantong starts on you."

He stopped rocking. Everyone stood stock-still. Utter silence fell.

Oh, yes, make no mistake. Like any onker I was gambling. The first result was totally in my favor. The whole gang were petrified.

At last Kei-Wo managed to get words out. “The sorcerer? You have talked to him—he was mighty wroth about the trick—"

“He and I deal now, Kei-Wo. You obey the mage or—” I waved a hand. “He requires the Queen's Necklace. We are going to get it for him tonight."

The smells in the chamber increased in ripeness. Young Valli was crouching by the door, fascinated by what was going on. I had the oddest conviction that if, by some evil chance, Na-Si-Fantong was spying on this savory gathering he might derive amusement from my ploy. All he wanted was the necklace. As far as I was concerned, the necklace was of no importance. In that, by Vox, as you will see, I was very far adrift from the realities of what went forward.

Kei-Wo was a hardened hulu, no doubt of it. He bounced back. “We looked for you, Drajak the Sudden, so that Naghan the Chik might hurl at you. The wizard had difficulty restraining himself from turning us all into little green frogs."

Here in Loh, as a stranger, I spoke with all the pseudo-authority of the newly-informed. I said: “Some mages can do some things, and others others."

I knew what I knew. Sorcerers spent a great deal of time learning their arts. They tended to specialize. If one mage was hell-on-wheels at turning people into little green frogs—which I doubted—then he would be less successful when he went into lupu to spy on people at a distance. This meant that any wizard who boasted of what he could do, and did it, might well be useless in the remainder of sorcery. Of course, that little word ‘remainder’ could embrace details of the thaumaturgical trade quite unknown to ordinary mortals. This was one reason why, as the one-time Emperor of Vallia, I welcomed having three mages actively working for Vallia. There were likely to be more in a few years’ time. Khe-Hi and Ling-Li were off in Whonban seeing about the proper rituals and ceremonies attendant upon the birth of their children.

So, now, as the tough leader of a city gang, Kei-Wo could say: “That is true. But if a wizard commands, you do well to obey."

I nodded. “Exactly so. Prepare yourselves. We break into a private villa tonight. There are guards. We must use whatever force is necessary. Na-Si-Fantong expects our success."

The buzz of animated conversation in the chamber had to be allowed. I was confident that not one of these folk would go against a wizard. The only peril, and it was a real one despite my feelings, was that Na-Si-Fantong, assuming he watched us, would not go along with my plan.

I wondered at what distance he could detect magic. There had been no time for me to see Leone—now Queen Leone—and have the court wizard, Chang-So, cast magic upon another fake necklace. That could have been a useful ploy; as it was, these villains would have to burst into Shang-Li-Po's villa in furtherance of my schemes, and to the utter confusion of theirs and Na-Si-Fantong's.

If Fantong took an interest in the midst of all these proceedings, I fancied his reaction might well include little green frogs.

The gang prepared in a mood not exactly sullen; but not eager, either.

Because I have been a bit of a reiver in my time, a roamer, a fellow who has had to live hard in the face of enmity, I suppose the feeling that I was still Dray Prescot made me unwilling to use these gullibles too harshly. So, I said: “You will all search assiduously for the necklace. Anything else you find of interest—"

Kei-Wo interrupted with a bitter laugh. “Oh, we understand. We must fetch out the necklace and nothing else—"

“No.” I raised my voice. “Anything of loot you find is yours and you may bring out what you can carry."

At this their reactions took on an altogether different aspect. They made a fair old hullabaloo of gratified anticipation as they prepared.

I even caught Fing-Na, in between fingering out his huge waxed moustaches, whistling a scrap of the old Lohvian song ‘Her Hair as Red as the Robin's Breast'.

There's nothing like a spot of loot in the offing to perk up your true reiver, no, by Peetir the Sequestrator!

There was no need for me to advise or instruct these villains in methods to be adopted of attacking and robbing a villa. True, they would not in the normal way even consider burglarizing a villa in the respectable quarters; in the matter of raids and assaults against other gangs they were past masters. They had all the equipment: ladders, ropes, scaling irons, axes. Their methods began with the subtle and if that failed ended with a straight bash-down and raid.

When I say they wouldn't normally consider burglarizing a respectable villa, I refer to the expedition we were on tonight. Of course, for a few cunning thieves to break in and steal what was lying about was a normal way of life. In truth, I had no need to feel tender about this pack of light-fingered gentry—or ladies, come to that.

When the twin Suns of Scorpio were finally gone and the sky lost the last of those ruby and emerald bands and the stars pricked out we set off.

She of the Veils would shine down upon our enterprise later; I felt She would avert that rosy gaze from our proceedings. So we padded silently through the early evening streets, going in ones or twos, until we reached the riverside location of Shang-Li-Po's secret villa. Here he kept his ladies.

Kei-Wo hauled up sharply, his hand on my arm. “We are observed!"

Two dark cloaked figures emerged from the shadows of the wall.

“You did not, did you, cabbage, think we'd let you go off alone?"

And Kuong said sturdily: “If it must be done it must be seemly done."

Smoothly I said to Kei-Wo: “These are friends who would not wish to see me in the river."

Hewing to his purpose at heart, Kei-Wo snapped out: “I suppose they want their share!"

“There is enough to gladden the heart of the meanest man in Makilorn."

On that we went forward. The gang's locksmiths went to work as others squirmed over the walls. Kuong said fiercely to me: “I scarce credit what goes forward here! But if we must, then—"

“You have already said, Kuong, that by his actions Shang-Li-Po has forfeited all right to the status of a dikaster."

“That I believe to be so. Ah!” He pointed. “They open the doors."

“Lunky,” said Mevancy, “was concerned about the Kaour's guards. Apparently they are formidable. Vankaris, he said they were."

Vankaris I knew about, a race of diffs of powerful physique, of practically no forehead, of spatulate nose, of wide gap-jawed mouth, of a stooped posture that emphasized their brooding hunched menacing aspect. Like many a member of the poorer folk they chewed Cham all the time. They were reputed to be fond of Fristles, and the Fristles did not reciprocate, which amused everyone except the Fristles.

“Tough,” I said, as casually as I could manage. “Kei-Wo's ruffians are tough, too. They'll handle ‘em."

“If only we could have brought in the army,” said Kuong, and his voice was not altogether steady. “This is all so—so—"

“So underhand and horrible,” I said for him. “Brassud! We're going in!"

“Hold on!” came a breathy voice from the shadows to our rear. “Wait for me. I'm not so fast right now, what with my wound an’ all."

Mevancy swung about at once. “Who said you could get out of bed?"

“Well, now, my lady.” Llodi the Voice marched up, and I swear his splendid nose had grown in size and number of fissures. He had been stabbed in the side on the same occasion I'd had a chunk of my left arm ripped off. Because Llodi had not bathed in the Sacred Pool of Baptism in far Aphrasöe he did not mend with the magical speed I did. I didn't know if I was pleased or not to see him here.

Kuong was already running fleetly towards the opening door. Llodi gave his strangdja a heft and, as it were, sidled past Mevancy and trotted off after Kuong. She stared after him and then turned on me.

“He's not fit yet. You knew about this?” She was all set to accuse me and pronounce judgment.

“No. We'll just have to keep an eye on him, that's all."

“Well, come on, cabbage. Stop lollygagging about there like a movong waiting for an offoce!” With that she turned and ran across to the door.

Kei-Wo's villains knew their job. Directly inside the door the body of the guard slumped against the wall. Lamplight lit the corridor. The raiders flitted through like shadows. I ran along with them, wishing Lunky had had more information about the layout of this villa. San Nalgre Hien-Mi could be kept prisoner anywhere. My guess was the cellar complex.

So far no sound had betrayed us. Just as I reached the head of the cellar steps a clang of metal on metal and then a frightful shriek told us all that we had been discovered. Now the raid would begin in earnest.

As I clattered down the brick steps I wondered how long each one of the gang would search for the necklace before cupidity overcame Kei-Wo's orders and the fear of the sorcerer. There was precious little light down here. I reckoned the gang would search patiently for a considerable time judging by their terrified reaction to the name of Na-Si-Fantong.

My first impression of the darkness down in the cellars was swiftly succeeded by an awareness of the edge of each tread below me, of the grimed and greasy walls, of the brick floor cumbered by rubbish. I was concentrating on listening for hostile Vankaris or for a possible cry for help, so I just padded silently down the stairs and cautiously ventured across the floor to the opposite door. This was of flimsy reed construction, reeds forming a common building material considering the scarcity and price of wood. I gave it a gentle push, ready for an immense guard to rush roaring at me.

Nothing happened save dust floating from between the reeds. The cellar beyond was empty of anything except more rubbish and a pervasive smell of river mud.

Philosophically I went silently on, searching in all the cellars to find them uniformly the same. The longer I looked the more clearly I could see. Eventually I climbed back up the stairs hoping the others had had better fortune.

From the head of the stairs I could hear a tremendous racket above with the clash of metal mingled with shouts and shrieks and the screaming of women. The light from the lanterns hurt my eyes and I blinked.

Nalgre had to be somewhere in here. Lunky had said so. Most of the noise crashed down from the next floor and the stairs here were covered by carpet. Up I went to burst out into a wide hall. Here the Vankaris had made a stand. Kei-Wo's gang must have fought like leems, for there were more dead and dying guards than ruffians.

Well, I have had my fill of stepping delicately over the human debris of a battlefield. Some of the gang were crawling out of it, trailing blood, and I had to hope they'd make it safely outside. Time was running out for us. Quickly I ran through the hall looking past open doors into the rooms beyond. Kei-Wo's people were busily ransacking everything that looked as though it might contain treasure.

The next flight of stairs led past a pile of mingled corpses.

A quick glance up showed me Naghan the Chik snatching a knife from his belt and hurling it clean at a Vankari guard who screeched and fell away with the knife through his throat. Another guard screamed incoherently and clawed at the ruin of his face. Amongst the red pudding many little needles stood out like porcupine quills.

Mevancy swung to face me, her forearms extended.

“Pigeon!"

“Oh, you!” she shouted, annoyed. “He's not here anywhere!"

“Next floor."

“Right."

Naghan went lumbering across to the nearest door. So far he had not stopped to loot. Mevancy and I raced for the next stairway as Fing-Na tumbled down it, swearing horribly, his sword a red bar and a great gash across the side of his face.

“My moustaches!” he shrieked.

And, indeed, it was so. Now he had a magnificent single whisker sprouting from the uninjured side of his face.

Mevancy and I pushed him aside as he stumbled back. We went haring up the treads. The ceiling here was painted in a representation of one of the more obscure legends of Kregen; Mevancy pointedly ignored the pictured scenes. Three guards leaped on us. Mevancy splattered the first with a shower of her deadly bindles and as he clawed his shattered face I sliced up the next one and whirled to catch the blade of the last on my edge. A quick turn of the wrist and a thrust and he went down.

Below us the noise of combat died down. No one screamed any more.

“If we don't find him soon,” panted Mevancy, “the whole city will be up."

These rooms formed a suite, well furnished, and we rushed through door after door. In the lamplight a man sat with his back to the wall, holding his guts. He was the fellow who'd been imprisoned in the chair with his head in the metal vice. A single look convinced me he had been better off then than now.

Just beyond him a Vankari guard was trying to stand up, and failing because of the blood pouring from his right leg. Mevancy gave him a kick as we ran past and into the last room.

The place looked like a shambles. Bodies lay everywhere. I saw the sinewy form of Sooey sprawled out, her lank black hair dabbled with blood, her single bright eye closed for ever. Kei-Wo was just finishing off his opponent. Llodi stood sweeping his strangdja about him and two Vankari guards tumbled back. Kuong slid his blade deftly and took his man. The noise that a moment ago had racketed to the ceiling ceased. The raw tang of blood smoked on the close air. Kei-Wo swung about to glare at me.

Before he could say whatever he was thinking, Kuong shouted: “Too late! Too late!"

Mevancy rushed across to the outside wall. Here a round opening with its covering panel swung back told the whole grisly story.

“Just shoved him through,” said Llodi, slamming his strangdja down and leaning on it, breathing hard. “Like an old sack of rubbish. Dumped him down the chute and into the river, and him a dikaster an’ all."

Chapter eighteen

Queen Leone queened it in Makilorn.

With the disappearance of San Nalgre Hien-Mi there was no chance the adjudication could be overturned. Queen Leone was queen of all Tsungfaril.

A new Repositer would take Nalgre's place and continuity would be maintained. The incoming dikaster, man or woman, could have no influence on past decisions.

Queen Leone, a bright, outgoing personality, a beautiful young girl, was welcomed ecstatically wherever she went. She was popular. Everyone wholeheartedly supported her—except for us few ingrates.

“So that's it, then.” San Chandro sounded so despondent. If it were not for his automatic exclusion from Gilium he'd have slit his throat, there and then.

“I can say goodbye to my lands of Taranik.” Kuong heaved up a sigh. “And it isn't just for that I supported Kirsty."

“Surely,” snapped Mevancy as she slammed her cup down, for we were at the second breakfast. “Surely the people of Tsungfaril will not allow those awful diffs of Tarankar to attack them and steal their lands without fighting back?"

“The people will do what the queen tells them. And she does what Shang-Li-Po tells her to do.” Chandro spilled palines as he spoke.

“You were her mentor,” I pointed out.

Chandro's narrow face twisted in mortification. “She told me she does not hold a grudge, and I believe her, for she is a bright forgiving girl. But she no longer trusts me. After all,” and here Chandro waved a finger in bitter anguish, “did I not betray her? Did I not vote for her rival Kirsty?"

“As you would again, san,” said Kuong.

“Aye. Aye, as I would again, Tsung-Tan forgive me."

I caught Mevancy's eye and nodded my head sideways. She stood up. We were both about to make our excuses to leave, for although we had talked incessantly about the disaster to our plans, there was yet more to be said.

Kuong was sitting bent forward with a paline half in and half out of his mouth. Chandro's head was turned awkwardly as he looked up at Mevancy. Neither moved.

Very quietly, Mevancy said: “I am frightened, cabbage."

There was nothing sensible I could reply. We both waited as Kuong and Chandro sat stiff and unmoving. We waited for the Star Lords.

The coldness gripped the room and passed. The Gdoinye flew in at an open window, circled around and alighted upon a high cupboard. He cocked his head on one side and surveyed us through one piercing eye.

Presently the Gdoinya flew in and joined him. The two superb raptors perched there, claws biting into the plaster of the cupboard, their golden and scarlet feathers sheening in the brilliance of the early suns.

The raucous squawk battered down on us; but which bird spoke we could not say.

“You have failed the Everoinye."

In a cool, calm, modulated voice I said: “We have not failed the Everoinye. We preserved the lives of Lunky and of Kirsty."

“Onker! Kirsty is not queen!"

“So you did have Queen Leone murdered, you rasts!"

“Drajak—” Mevancy's voice was a stifled moan.

“No! That was not the doing of the Everoinye."

“No? You snatched me away when—"

“When the old queen's time was numbered, it was numbered. You had the new queen to protect."

I shook my head. I couldn't remain cool, calm and collected much longer, not when I recalled the passion and beauty, the warmth of the dead queen. Mevancy cleared her throat.

“The evil work was taken out of our hands.” Her voice whispered.

The two gorgeous birds shining refulgently in that upper chamber of the Mishuro villa shifted their perches, almost as though they communed together. Mevancy was trembling. I felt growing anger that the Star Lords in their high and mighty aloof way could so thoroughly frighten the girl.

At last they spoke in their raucous squawk. “Yes, that is so. There is still work to be done. Other hands must take up your task, and when they have done what must be done, you must finish the task."

“Other hands?” Mevancy's color, always high, had practically vanished. Now spots of crimson glowed in her cheeks.

“Hands more sure.” Was there a smug knowingness in the harsh tone?

“Tell us what to do next, you pair of nurdling great onkers!"

At this outburst I couldn't stifle, Mevancy collapsed back into her chair. She covered her eyes, as though expecting me to be blasted on the spot. Well, by Krun, that wouldn't have surprised me, either.

“You will be told when the time—"

“Is right!” I shouted up. “It's always the same with you! If you want to do something useful why don't you get this maniac Wizard of Loh, Na-Si-Fantong, off my back?"

“Your ridiculous escapade with the Skantiklar is your concern. Fantong has decided this gem is not available for the moment and has gone."

“Gone? Where?"

“When he arrives we will know. He is not for the moment important. Your concerns lie in other directions."

If I was surprised to learn the Star Lords had even that little concern for my skin, the next words of the twin birds astonished me completely.

“You have served us well in the past. Mevancy is loyal. We have no wish to lose your services, selfish though they may be. We are holding the evil influence of Carazaar at a distance. But more failures will inevitably increase his power."

I shut my open mouth. I swallowed down. What I was about to say I've no idea, for Mevancy interrupted, speaking in a hesitant vague way. “Yes, I am loyal. I do not understand what you are saying; but I am loyal!"

In a biting tone I said: “Perhaps you had better tell me about this Carazaar. At least I've done for his henchthing, Arzuriel."

The birds did not exactly laugh; their cackle was perilously close to mocking laughter. “Arzuriel is a multi-dimensional being. You have not finished with him or seen the last of him."

“I stuck him—” I started, hotly.

“One dimensional representation only. As for his master, Carazaar, your bungling here increases his influence. Do what must be done here and then we will—"

“If we'd had more co-operation,” I fairly yelled up, “things would have been different! The bungling is all yours, you and the Star Lords!"

Mevancy put a hand on my arm. “We will do as you command.” She spoke up firmly, her voice clear and controlled. I admired her more in that moment, for I understood her feelings—at least, I thought I did.

With lazy, arrogant beats of their shining wings, the two raptors flew through the open window, and their last squawks floated down.

Chandro said: “Take great care, Mevancy.” He finished his turning movement to look up at her. His eyebrows drew down. Clearly, he could see the change in her face caused by an occurrence of which he was entirely ignorant. “You do not feel well?"

Kuong popped his paline into his mouth as Mevancy brushed a hand across her forehead, forcing a smile for Chandro. “Oh, all this business would upset Benga Serenmefa."

With that Mevancy and I were able to leave. We had a lot to discuss. We were, as they say in Clishdrin, in a pretty pickle.

“At least,” I said to her as we walked down the stairs to the villa's side exit, “we don't have that idiot Wizard of Walfarg Na-Si-Fantong on our backs."

“On your back, cabbage!"

Oho, I said to myself. So madam is recovering her spirits. Good!

She went on: “You'd better explain the other things—Carazaar?"

“An apparition. His beast follower, Arzuriel, apparently is not dead, which in itself is a crime against nature. They seek to do me mischief."

“If they are connected with the Everoinye—"

“I had assumed not. I was surprised when those damned birds—"

“Cabbage! Really! You must moderate your tone. Who knows what could have happened to you?” She turned her face to me, glowing now with her natural high color all returned. I felt a real mean sort of fellow to cause her distress. But, I'd been slanging the Gdoinye now for years and he returned my insults with interest. As with the Star Lords themselves, I had established a rapport and a kind of accommodation with the Gdoinye.

“Yes, well,” I said, mumbling a bit. “Those uppity birds fairly get up your hooter.” We walked out into the radiance of the Suns of Scorpio. “Let's go and find a cool drink of parclear. I'm parched."

“After all you drank at breakfast?"

“Too right."

There is always an odd feeling in a fellow when he walks along with a pretty woman and nearly all the passing men turn to stare at her. This is not rudeness, at least as I see it, rather it is a form of homage to beauty. Of course, if the lady is restive, if her escort feels the stares to be too oppressive, then perhaps action must be taken. All the same, you really cannot legislate against the thoughts in a man's mind—at least, not until these prophecies of thought police and control become realities.

So Mevancy took absolutely no notice of the man who stared openly at her from across the street. I gave him a hard look. He was of middle height, with dark brown hair and eyes. His face appeared to me to be pleasing and regular of feature, although marked by a couple of spots here and there. Like most folk of Makilorn he wore the ubiquitous fawn gown and cloak and his left hand rested inside his robes. When he saw me staring at him he swung away and vanished down an alley. No thought of following him crossed my mind. Mevancy, head up, strode on ahead.

One—just about the only one, by Vox!—good thing to come out of the victory of Shang-Li-Po's party, as far as Mevancy and I were concerned, was that we were off the hook of assassins. At least, I had taken that view, one concurred in by both Kuong and Chandro. The sight of this smart fellow, well set-up, watching us with more than simple admiration for Mevancy, worried me. As I have said, Mevancy was not your raving beauty of a girl. Her attractiveness came from her vitality and aliveness more than the configuration of her features. So, what did this fellow want?

We found a small open-air counter on the corner of a building with apartments above and drank our parclear. At least, I did. Being contrariwise in the accepted way of womankind she demanded sazz. She chose a bright green drink. That didn't bother me one iota.

We discussed the apparition of Carazaar, and I said that it hadn't needed the Gdoinyi[3] to tell me he was evil to his backbone.

[3 Gdoinyi: Prescot spells this out. It is the plural form. A.B.A.]

“If he is connected with the Everoinye in any way, cabbage, then he is my business, too."

“Assuredly."

“Oh, you!"

Well, I said to myself, she may not be the prettiest girl in two worlds, she has a fire and spirit anyone would admire.

By this time she'd tumbled to my gentle mockery, my idiotic leg-pulling, and would flash me a glance from those eyes of hers that was designed to cut me down to size and put me in my place.

She did not mention the man who had stared at her.

I turned around to lean back against the counter with my elbows on the bar, watching the passing parade. The suns slanted in and there was the usual taint of dust on the air. A party of the Queen's Guards marched along and as this was in Loh and the old imperial traditions still persisted they marched all in step with a swing. The yellow fletchings of their arrows caught the light and shone brassily. At their head a Hikdar with an anemic face and too much gold lace about him walked, I thought, rather too mincingly for a soldier. He called a command in a high-pitched voice and the party came to a crashing halt opposite the refreshment counter. I shoved up straight and I couldn't prevent my hand going to my sword hilt.

“None of that, tikshim!” The reedy voice had a nasal twang. “You are Drajak known as the Sudden?"

“Who wants to know?"

“Cabbage!” came the fierce whisper at my side.

“Hikdar Vangli ti Trishnar, shint! You are summoned!"

With that the guard party closed up about me.

There was no way even Dray Prescot was going to cut free from this little lot, particularly as the Lohvian longbows came off shoulders and the sharp steel arrowheads all aimed at my midriff.

I said: “Who summons me?"

No way or not, if the wrong answer was given I'd have to make the effort.

“The queen, shint! Now, Bratch!"

That was not the wrong answer. At least this unpleasant person had said Bratch and not the slave-driving Grak. I moved quickly forward until I stood by his side. He blinked. He opened his mouth, which was thick-lipped and purple, and I said sharply: “What are you waiting for? Let's go.” And I pushed past the two nearest guards and started off.

He pattered up alongside, trying to match my stride. I did not turn my head. If Mevancy—as we moved along I heaved a sigh of relief. She had had the sense not to cry out or make a scene. As far as Vangli ti Trishnar could see she was just a woman at the counter and nothing to do with the man he'd been ordered to bring in.

So we all swung along in the dusty sunslight toward the palace.

You had to give Leone the credit. She looked every inch a queen. My escort wheeled me into a chamber that, whilst it was not large or conspicuously grand, was not your simple ante-chamber. Leone sat in what can only be described as a mini throne, glittering with gold and cool with ivory. She wore a queen's ransom of jewels about her person. Her light-colored hair was coiffed up and threaded with gems. Her face—well, that pretty face glowed with color and her eyes looked brilliantly upon me.

“Drajak!"

“Majestrix."

She waved the escort off and Vangli hesitated. “You may rest easy, Hikdar. This man is a friend."

He bowed and took his guard party off.

Leone frowned at me. “I call you a friend, Drajak, yet you ignore me."

“You have new friends now, Leone. San Chandro—"

“Oh!” she burst out. “And are you going to whine on his behalf?"

“He loves you dearly—"

“And a fine way he has of showing that!” She was breathing rapidly and the jewels adorning her bosom glittered. “And you, Drajak, do you love me as much?"

The thought occurred to me that she had the power to order: “Off with his head!"

I stared into her face, seeing the high color, the brilliance, and the little betraying tremble of those soft lips.

“Well, Drajak?"

“You know the answer to that, Leone."

She bit her lip and sank back in the throne. A little silken-slippered foot tapped the ivory rail. “You would be my consort."

“This is impossible. I would spare you the indignity—"

“Indignity!” She flared up, leaning forward and sitting bolt upright. The jewels positively coruscated about her. “Shang-Li-Po has said certain things about you, and about San Chandro. Had I a mind to..."

In a hard and hating voice I fairly snarled out: “Shang-Li-Po is no friend to you, Leone! He had Nalgre murdered. He will have Chandro slain if he can find a way. He cares only for himself."

She was shaking with passion. “You cannot speak to me like that!"

“I just have. And there is more. If you listen to Chandro—"

“After his betrayal!"

Clearly you couldn't expect her to understand, still less accept Chandro's support for her cousin Kirsty. I said: “Just remember, Leone, Chandro and Lunky and Kuong are your true friends."

We might have gone on wrangling like this for some time if Wink hadn't walked in with Prang and Ching-Lee. At least I'd got her off the subject of me. Her friends crowded in, laughing, calling: “He is here!"

She was almost as glad as I was at the interruption. Also I was glad to see she had remained on intimate terms with her palace companions. There was a great deal to admire in Leone, as I knew. Now, I surmised, she'd regain her composure and have another go at me later on.

She rose gracefully from the mini throne. “You may go now, Drajak.” I didn't smile at her tone. She'd picked up the knack of giving orders quickly enough. “My portrait is to be painted and the artist is here."

I favored her with a small bow and she lifted her head and went out with her companions, all chattering in the old way.

Finding my way out was not difficult. Guards stood here and there and the palace corridors were familiar. I suspected poor old Chandro missed the comfort of his quarters in the queen's palace over at the Mishuro villa. The penultimate corridor before the chambers leading to the side doors lay before me empty of guards. At the far end I caught a glimpse of movement instantly stilled at the rear of one of the huge ceramic jars. So I was ready as I walked down. This, I felt completely confident, was not Leone's work. This was the dark hand of Shang-Li-Po. The fellow down there, a damned assassin, I felt sure, had been hurriedly summoned the moment Hikdar Vangli had reported my presence in the palace. I trod on steadily, ready to catch the first blow and stick the stikitche in return.

A few paces only remained before the ceramic jar. A bulky man wearing black robes toppled out from behind the jar, sprawled face down. From his back protruded the handle of a dagger.

I stopped stock-still, and now I drew my sword.

“You won't need that, dom. He's done for."

The voice was light and self-assured. The man I'd seen staring at Mevancy stepped out from the shadows of the doorway. He strolled up, bent down, and retrieved his dagger, wiping it on the black robes.

He looked about. “We'd better put some distance between us and this pathetic stikitche, Drajak. Through here."

Without further ado he pressed a panel in the wall and a secret door slid open. “I found this only this morning. It was so simple it would make you cry. These folk really aren't up to much."

If he'd intended to kill me he'd have done it by now—or, at least, died trying. I nodded and we went into the secret passage and the door closed. A lantern burned at a corner corresponding to the turn of the outside wall. Here stood two doors, both closed.

He put his hand on the latch of the left hand door, and nodded to the other one. “That leads outside. Now I must cut along to the queen. It won't do to keep her waiting at the first sitting."

The door did lead outside into an inner courtyard, as I knew from my explorations. This artist was certainly a lively fellow.

He didn't open the door. He half-turned to me. “You are Drajak the Sudden, surely?” His hand grasped the dagger handle.

“Aye. And you?"

“Caspar Del Vanian. Lahal."

“Lahal.” I felt a genuine shock. I didn't know him. A superb artist who'd painted for Delia's grandfather, the Emperor of Vallia, had been called Caspar Del Vanian. If this fine young fellow was the great grandson it was clear he'd never seen Dray Prescot when I'd been Emperor of Vallia. In addition, Caspar had been made a trylon, the third highest rank of nobility after a kov and a vad—not counting a Vadvar—not only for his enormously brilliant artistic achievements but for financial assistance to the crown. Things had gone wrong for the Del Vanians and whilst I did not know all the details, I had heard they'd lost their trylonate and little had been heard of them at the beginning of Vallia's Time of Troubles. Now it seemed this latest scion of the line intended to regain his family's fortunes by more than the brush and paints.

“You don't,” he said, continuing his line of thought, “appear alarmed that you were nearly assassinated."

“I was just thinking that you were a pretty cool customer yourself."

He smiled at that, showing even white teeth. “It's a trade."

“Oh?"

He shook his head at my tone. “No, no. I'm not your ordinary run-of-the-mill assassin."

“I can't say I care for the breed, myself."

“I understand perfectly what you mean. But, you must admit there are people in the world who'd be better off out of it."

“Yes,” I said, thinking among others of Shang-Li-Po.

“There you are then.” He really had an attractive smile. “I must be off. This first sitting won't take long then I'll come to see you and Mevancy at the Mishuro villa. The Everoinye made it quite clear you needed other hands."

Chapter nineteen

“Other hands! You mean to say, cabbage, the other hands belong to an assassin?"

“And a very smart well set-up young fellow he is, to be sure."

“Caspar Del Vanian? What kind of name is that, for the sweet sake of Gahamond?"

No doubt the good Vallian name sounded odd down here in Loh, she was just making a fuss because she'd been surprised. People of Kregen are well accustomed to hearing and using all manner of weird and outlandish names.

“He must come from some country to the north. You'll have to ask him when he gets here."

“By Spurl! I'll ask him a lot more than that!"

Her color glowed in our sitting room. Carefully, for she was running this show—was she not?—I said: “No doubt he will make it look like an accident. But in any event Chandro must—"

I had not been careful enough.

She flared up, in a way different from but reminiscent of the way Leone had flared up in her throne. “How many times must I tell you, cabbage? Leave the thinking to me. Of course we must not let San Chandro find out this Del Vanian's profession. D'you think I'm an onker?"

“There's no answer to that, pigeon."

“Oh, you!"

“All the same, when Shang-Li-Po is out of the way, however this Caspar manages it, Chandro will have to seize his chance."

The ramifications here extended hazily so that any attempt to foretell what would happen was completely useless. Chandro had been insistent that any violence between or against the dikasters would result in catastrophes within Tsungfaril. If Caspar simply knocked Shang-Li-Po over that might precipitate the disasters. My feelings were that the Star Lords would not choose anyone less than totally expert at their craft to serve them. And this, mind you, after my meetings with other kregoinye who had amused me.

In this little silence as my thoughts twined around, Mevancy had clearly been thinking along parallel lines.

“If Shang-Li-Po dies of an accident or of apparently natural causes, then San Chandro must pounce at once. I shall tell this Caspar that he is not to assassinate Shang-Li-Po like any common stikitche."

“Oh, he's not common."

“I shall go and put on some nice clothes.” She gave me a sudden and dazzling smile and in that smile she was truly beautiful. “After all, it's not every day I have my portrait painted by an artist who paints the queen!"

“Oh, I shouldn't bother,” I shouted after her, feeling devilish. “He'll probably want you to take all your clothes off."

She swung about, leveled her right arm and in the next heartbeat one of her bindles flew past my ear and stuck quivering in the plaster. “Crude,” she snapped. “That's all you are, Drajak, crude.” And, with that, she stuck her nose in the air and swept out. That, by Krun, is the only way to describe her decisive exit.

Perhaps I ought to have elaborated on the circumstances of my meeting with Caspar Del Vanian, stikitche extraordinaire. After all, if that damned fellow in black waiting for me in the corridor meant business on my account then he might have friends contracted to deal with Mevancy. Llodi the Voice came in to say that Wr. Caspar Del Vanian had arrived and was waiting to be admitted. I nodded and in a twinkling there was Caspar, still dressed in the ochre robes, half-smiling, walking forward.

“Lahal, Drajak. Mevancy? Is she here?"

“Lahal, Caspar. She is under the impression you are about to paint her portrait.” I couldn't help adding: “No doubt using the very same brushes and paints as those you used to paint the queen."

“Capital!” he exclaimed. “A splendid idea!"

“Ah—yes,” I said, all the wind knocked out of my sails.

When Mevancy joined us the wait was well worthwhile. She looked marvelous. She wore a light chiffon costume of some exotic kind, with, very naturally, heavier material looped along her arms. Her hair was brushed and shining. Something cunning had been done to her face. There was absolutely no doubt that cosmetics had been applied, but so expertly that I could not swear to detect them. The result was that she glowed. By the time I realized that I was feeling very pleased for her the lahals had been made and she and Caspar were engaged in a lively and bantering conversation. All the same, some of the smartness and alertness seemed to me to have deserted Caspar. Why?

“What's up, Caspar?” I interrupted. “You look as though you've lost a zorca and found a calsany."

He shook his head, frowning. “No, Drajak. Quite the opposite."

“Oh?"

“Yes, by Vox. I've lost the damned calsany and found a beautiful zorca."

At his bitter words I felt uneasy. Mevancy rattled on ignoring what we mere men discussed, saying: “I do hope there will be time for you to paint both portraits, Caspar. It must be so wonderful to have such a divine talent."

“Talent,” he said, trying to rouse himself. “And hard work."

“Oh—of course!"

“The queen has commanded me to wait on her in the morning. We have the rest of today and tonight to decide how best to go about it."

As he had brought no painterly equipment with him I judged he did not intend to begin on Mevancy just yet. We sat down and stood up and walked about, helping ourselves to light refreshments from the side table as we talked. Mevancy wanted to know all about Caspar.

He told her that he intended to recoup his fortunes. He painted portraits of the high and mighty ones of those lands he visited. He had strayed a long way from home following various commissions and, I guessed, at the commands of the Star Lords. He said with vehemence: “I detest the lot of them—well, almost the lot of them. My real work lies among the poor folk, in the warrens, the souks, the aracloins. There I find so many subjects that I regret every moment I must spend painting some fat fool of a lord or lady."

He was a real painter in the sense he wished always to be trying something new, attempting to capture the most difficult subjects, trying to put down on canvas the inner truths that his eyes saw.

In the next instant he showed how much I underestimated him. He had not brought easel and palette and brushes. Instead from his robes he took a sketching block. The paper was very good quality; it was not the paper milled and distributed by the Savanti. He eyed Mevancy keenly. He used a stick of charcoal and began quickly sketching.

She said: “How do you wish me to pose, Caspar?"

“Oh—just continue as we are. I wish to catch as much—” he stopped. Then: “It must look like an accident."

“That is true,” I said.

“And,” he went on. “How can that be achieved? I was informed of the situation here, as you know. I am the other hands required. But if the dikasters are to be defeated the corpse must receive the full rites of the Kaopan. That sounds disgusting to me. But the Everoinye command. The corpse's disfigurement will clearly disprove any idea of an accident."

I felt a whirl of bewilderment. Mevancy gasped.

“But Shang-Li-Po is not a paol-ur-bliem! No one will question his death if it is accidental."

He looked up from his sketch pad. His face looked abruptly haggard. “Shang-Li-Po, Mevancy?” He shook his head and the stick of charcoal snapped across with a crack. “No. My target is the queen."

I stood absolutely perfectly stock-still.

Mevancy opened her mouth, said nothing, clamped her lips.

Caspar went on heavily: “The Everoinye wish Kirsty to be queen."

On the wall hung a pretty picture of the river with boats and the twin sunsets. I looked at it. I could say nothing.

Now I knew why Caspar did not look so jolly.

And, also, I knew without the shadow of a doubt he would kill Leone, disfigure her body in the rites of Kaopan, and obey the Star Lords. This, after all, would be the quickest and simplest way of crowning Kirsty as Queen of Tsungfaril.

At last Mevancy got her breath. “No,” she said. Her voice shook. “There has to be another way."

I did not tell her; but I knew another way. This bright spark of an artist would have to be put out of the way first. That was all.

“If another way could be found then I would be happy.” He was perfectly genuine. He might go around assassinating people on the orders of the Star Lords. The people he disposed of needed that treatment and left Kregen smelling sweeter by their absence.

I said: “I have not heard of the Everoinye employing a kregoinye in this fashion before."

“I am not a kregoinye—"

“But you must be!” flashed Mevancy.

“I am a kaogoinye."

The aptness of the name was not lost on Mevancy or me. Kaogoinye.

“There must be another way,” repeated Mevancy.

I felt sympathy for her. Damned Star Lords! They were putting her in an impossible situation, yet one which, by the very nature of the Star Lords, could not be impossible. What they commanded would be done.

The Star Lords had once been human. That was a long long time ago. I believed I had detected remnants of humanity, a sense of humor, even, as I had come to know them better. And, now, this. As was perfectly obvious, to achieve their ends meant putting Queen Leone out of the running and this agent of theirs, this kaogoinye, was the simplest answer.

Caspar had stopped sketching. “The problem is not insoluble. Afterwards, people must think the queen met with an accident and some other hand inflicted the rites of Kaopan. Will that succeed?"

“Hardly.” I spoke so that Caspar swung sharply to stare at me.

“Then you have a better idea?"

I didn't say: “Yeh! Tip you in the river for the stranks."

Anyway, if that happened the Star Lords would send someone else. Also, they would punish me. They'd hurl me back to Earth, four hundred light years through empty space, contemptuously fling me down all naked in some benighted spot. Then they'd leave me to rot. They'd done that to me before. I'd spent twenty-one awful years on Earth before clawing my way back to Kregen. Oh, no! I wasn't going to let that happen to me again.

I said: “Yes. But Chandro will have to be brought into the plot. We have no influence here in Tsungfaril; Chandro can arrange what is necessary.” I bore down on them with a stare. “The details are going to be unpleasant."

“But Leone—” began Mevancy.

“I regret the necessity,” put in Caspar.

“Nobody is going to hurt Leone,” I said. “She may be a silly little girl, but she has courage. All this paol-ur-bliem nonsense may be true. Either way, nobody is going to chop Leone up."

“That is for the Everoinye—” began Caspar, somewhat stiffly.

“Aye. And what goes on here is for us."

“Hadn't, cabbage, you better tell us this marvelous plan of yours?” Her voice shivered with icicles. “I remember your last plan."

“A fair hit,” I acknowledged. Indeed, a palpable hit. “We must first get hold of the body of some poor dead girl and that's where Chandro will come into the plot. Llodi will help, Kuong too."

“I see. And we substitute some poor dead trollop for the queen?"

“Yes."

“You cretin! You onker! Don't you think anyone will see the difference?"

“Kaopan."

“Oh!” she said, on a gasp, and was silent.

I turned to Caspar. “I suppose the precious Everoinye told you how to carry out this disgusting procedure?"

“Of course."

I suppose, being Dray Prescot, I couldn't have stopped myself on two worlds from saying: “Sooner you than me."

He nodded, his frank open face sheened with sweat, set hard. “It is the necessity only, you understand."

When Chandro and Kuong joined us, Llodi was sent for. The atmosphere of anxiety, subterfuge and defiance enclosing us seemed almost palpable in the room. Chandro was horrified that anyone could dream of harming Leone, let alone disgustingly preventing her from entering Gilium in the fullness of time when her punishment ended. We knew he drew the line even at dealing with Shang-Li-Po. When he heard the details of the plot within a plot he shook his head, his narrow face like a sparrow's, turning from side to side as he sought a different solution. In the end he had to agree. There was no other acceptable way.

I refrained from suggesting to Mevancy and Caspar that perhaps the Star Lords were watching and listening to us. What would their reaction be? To my way of thinking, if we achieved the result they demanded then how we did it was up to us. Certainly, that had been my experience.

Nervous and tense with forebodings though we were we managed to eat a bite like good Kregans. Llodi, armed with a note from Chandro, went off with an escort to the city watch tower some distance away. You will understand the fraughtness of the situation and my feelings when I say that had Llodi taken to the profession of Burke and Hare, which was as well known on Kregen as it was on Earth, I would not have been surprised.

The dreadful thought occurred to me that were the girl alive that would make it much easier to bring her along with us. For the sake of sweet Opaz rather than any Makki Grodno curse! Corruption can eat the soul.

That thought, banal though it was, brought me to a fresh realization of the cunning lethality of the punishment given to the Accursed. Surely, the idea must have gone, a person can commit enough sins in one lifetime to make hazardous their entry into Gilium. How much harder, therefore, to enter Gilium having to run the gauntlet of a hundred lifetimes open to all the sinful temptations that will drag the sinners down to the Death Jungles of Sichaz.

To keep her mind occupied in something other than fretting over the hazardous task that lay before us, Mevancy began to ask Caspar the questions she had promised.

“Home?” he said, trying to be polite. “Oh, I've strayed a long way from home."

“Vanian,” she said. “I've heard of Varnion, where the mussels come from. Although by the time they reach here they're mostly inedible."

“Vanian is the family name, not my location.” He sat down opposite Mevancy and leaned forward. “No, my home is in Vallia."

“Vallia! But that's dwaburs away north—right over the equator."

“We use airboats to fly vast distances."

“So I have heard. You must tell me about them and about the emperor.” Her voice fell to a conspiratorial whisper. “And is the empress as beautiful as word has it? The most gracious lady—"

“Drak and Silda. Yes, I have painted both their portraits. I admire them both vastly—"

“I have not heard of Drak and Silda. Are you sure? You are not confusing Emperor Nedfar of Hamal?” She was just like any empty-headed girl listening to gossip about the great figures of the world. “I thought the emperor and empress of Vallia were called Dray Prescot and Delia."

“Oh, they were, they were. But they abdicated. Opaz have them in his keeping."

“What on Kregen would they do that for?"

“The latest information is that they are to be rulers of all Paz."

“We here are in Paz,” interjected Kuong who had been listening. “How can they claim to rule us?"

“Oh, they don't claim it, trylon. The task is being thrust upon them by forces no one can resist. The Force of Destiny, if you will."

“That's all very well—"

I said: “The point is all the islands and continents making up Paz have got to stick together to fight the Shanks. And it would seem some poor pair of idiots have got to be elected figureheads."

“Cabbage! You shouldn't speak so disrespectfully of Dray and Delia Prescot! Why, if you'd read all the books about them I have, you'd understand!"

This surprised me. Of course, any Vallian bookseller would be only too happy to sell his wares overseas. There were many stories about me circulating in various gaudy guises, most totally untrue. Also, Mevancy didn't come from this cut-off part of the world.

Feeling mean and devilish at the same time, I said: “You must lend me one some day."

“Oh, no!” she snapped. “I don't lend books. They never come back."

“You can say that again,” said San Chandro.

“Figureheads,” said Kuong. “We-ell, it makes sense.” Then he proved he was a most sensible man by saying: “It's certain sure I wouldn't want the job!"

Presently Caspar got onto more interesting details of Vallia, to which Mevancy listened fascinated. Kuong was interested, too. I lapped up a deal of news I was grateful to learn. Drak and Silda were keeping the old country on an even keel, thanks be to Opaz.

When the next glass had been turned Chandro stood up. “I am for bed. There will be a great deal to do and I need my rest."

He was right.

In a splatter of mutual Mellow Moonlights, we all trailed off to our bedchambers, the Mishuro villa having ample accommodation for all.

About to get my head down I sat up sharply in the bed.

A blue haze shimmered against the opposite wall.

If the damned Star Lords had been listening in and had come to impose some discipline, I was in for a nasty confrontation. Then I let out a sigh of relief.

The friendly familiar features of Deb-Lu-Quienyin appeared as his image solidified from the haze.

“Lahal, Dray. Again this plane is awkward. My apologies."

“Lahal, Deb-Lu. All is well?"

“As May Be Expected. I have news of the Skantiklar."

“Ah!"

“This Na-Si-Fantong would appear to have vast ambitions."

“He certainly scares those he meets."

“Yes, I was fortunate enough to have half an eye on your escapade with this poor Naghan fellow they slid down the chute. Unpleasant."

He put up a hand to straighten his ever-toppling turban. Light glowed on him from a different angle from my small lamp. He went on: “The facts are easily established and quite simple. It is the interpretation that will present the puzzle. A long time ago, accounts vary, a great Wizard of Walfarg died. You now grasp the distinctions between a Wizard of Loh and a true Wizard of Walfarg, Jak?"

“Um, I trust so—although—still, no matter. Go on."

“His power was truly great. There was an object—some say a bracelet, others a necklace, others a plastron, containing nine gems. Each gem looked like a ruby and was identical. With these nine jewels came the source of unimaginable power.” Here Deb-Lu stopped with one of his dry chuckles. “Well, Jak, unimaginable to most non-sorcerers, I suppose."

“I see. So Na-Si-Fantong intends to collect all nine and set up as a master mage."

“The power is very great, in sooth, very great."

I realized I had been deceived by his manner. When he called me Jak, as he more often did in remembrance of our adventures together, he was relaxed and easy going. His struggle through the planes to reach me here and my obvious pleasure in seeing him had caused him to revert to Jak. But he was deadly serious. He mentioned power and he meant power. This Skantiklar was no apprentice sorcerer's plaything.

His figure began to waver. I could see the wall through him.

I said: “Fantong has left Makilorn and given up the attempt to take the gem here. I do not know where he has gone."

“I shall seek him and apprize you. I fear I must take my leave."

Without a remberee he vanished.

Some force I didn't understand and over which, it appeared, Deb-Lu had only partial control, must be interfering with his jaunts through the planes.

As for the story of the Skantiklar, interesting though that might be, it had no bearing on my nefarious dealings to come. The notion of an article of power being broken up and scattered and of some great wizard seeking all the parts, and joining them, and so making himself a master mage, whilst not new still retained a certain charm. As Deb-Lu had said, that was not the puzzle. The puzzle was just what Fantong wanted the power for. Still, at the sound of his name, I got that itch over the ‘Si'.

I stretched out and lay down and woke up to find Llodi shaking my shoulder. “Breakfast and Wr. Caspar is ready to go."

So there was no need to ask if Llodi had been successful.

Chandro turned up late for the first breakfast, having had his religious observances to attend to. Mevancy kept smiling and looking brilliant yet she was clearly ill at ease. Llodi, who joined us, took things in his phlegmatic way. Kuong couldn't sit still. Only Caspar appeared unconcerned, eating and drinking comfortably.

Somehow or other he and Mevancy got onto talking over the weapons an assassin might use. Caspar showed her the dagger he carried concealed in a scabbard under his robes. “This is a peaker. See, it has grooves for poison. Deadly in the right hands.” He resheathed the narrow blade. “Folk sometimes call me Caspar the Peaker."

“Caspar the Peaker,” she said. She hadn't liked that dagger. “Yes, it has a ring."

Making sure I downed a handsome breakfast—there is something unwholesome about going into action on an empty stomach—I found myself idly wondering how Mevancy was reacting to her cabbage not only having an idea but actually persuading her amongst the others to go along with the plan. If there was going to be any silly nonsense about who was in command, I'd let them get on with squabbling. I didn't want to have to come the heavy hand. But, by Krun, if I had to I would.

The way we agreed to work it was thusly: Llodi would act as assistant to Caspar, carrying his painting equipment. Kuong and Mevancy would wait for my return from my audience of the queen—and a pretty yarn I was going to have to spin Leone—with the body. Then we would go in and rendezvous with Caspar. It sounded simple; it would not be, inevitably.

“All the marks have been removed from my gherimcal."[4]

[4 gherimcal: small carrying chair, sedan chair. A.B.A.]

Chandro's voice quavered. He was most unhappy at all this. Mevancy attempted to reassure him; but he shook that lean face, unhappy.

“A small quantity of wine, I think, even at this hour,” said Caspar.

They each had a thimbleful; I didn't bother. I stared at Caspar.

“I do not envy you your task, dom. But I must ask again. Are you fully instructed in what is necessary? You are aware of the situation here in Makilorn, I know. But, in such a secret matter as the Kaopan?"

“They gave me full instructions."

My val! I said to myself. What a difference in treatment! Could this incredible disparity simply be the result of my own intransigence? Surely, I'd slanged the Gdoinye and the Star Lords enough times, always believing them to be aloof from petty human emotions. Still and all—had I held them in awe, as Pompino and Mevancy and the other kregoinyi did, what might have been the result? We had aims in common. We ought, then, to work together. Since the last great defeat of the Shanks at Yumakrell, capital of Yumapan in Pandahem, little had been heard of them. Knowing them as I did I had no illusions they had sailed away to their own mysterious lands over the curve of the world. They bided their time to strike again. And the Star Lords had sent Mevancy and me, and now Caspar, to Tsungfaril.

I swallowed down. “Caspar—what did the Everoinye say of the Shanks?"

Clearly his mind had not followed the train of thought of mine. He was still wrapped up in the unpleasant business of mutilating the fresh corpse of a young girl. “Shanks?” he said, not looking up.

“You know, Shanks, Shants, Shtarkins, Schnooprins. By Vox, dom, you must have heard of them!"

His head snapped up. “Naturally—by Vox!” He made the oath significant.

I forced myself to pick up a biscuit from the dish. It was a Sweet Ordum, octagonal and nice. I chewed. Then: “Well?"

“They are also known as Schturgins and they come from Schan, the grouping of continents and islands on the other side of Kregen from Paz."

My astonishment was at once quelled. Of course, the Star Lords would tell their favorite assassin far more than their most disregarded kregoinye. I went doggedly on: “Is there more known of them after Yumakrell?"

“There were more than that one band operating.” He looked at me as surprised I knew so little if I was a kregoinye. Mevancy, listening intently, had the sense to keep silent. “Another evil lot of Fish Heads are still attempting to subdue Mehzta."

“I am glad to know they have not yet succeeded."

“Yes, well, how long that can go on for, Opaz alone knows."

“Yumakrell?"

“The Leem-Lovers retreated in great disorder. Luckily for them some of their airboats were still operational. With those and their ships—weird but wonderful craft—they made good their escape."

All that had happened after the Witch of Loh, Csitra, had given her life in misguided love. Loriman the Hunter had gone in pursuit of the Shanks—well, he could be trusted never to give up a hunt.

“Did the Everoinye tell you where the Shanks had gone?"

He looked oddly at me again, and shook his head. “I begin to wonder if you are a true kregoinye or not! By the Blade of Kurin, Drajak! What is going on?"

“I don't understand you."

He made a little gesture with open palms as of resignation to a fool.

“Why d'ye think we're all down here in this Opaz-benighted place?"

“Because the damned Star Lords sent us, that's why, confound it!"

By the putrescent glistening eyeball and pendulous dripping nose of Makki Grodno! This fine fellow who knew it all had better spit out what he knew, and damn quick, by Zair!

He heaved up a sigh. “If they didn't tell you there must be a reason. I can't tell you if they don't permit."

If I'd been wearing a hat I'd have torn it off, thrown it on the floor and jumped up and down on it. By the tangled and nit-infested locks of the Divine Lady of Belschutz! What a carry-on!

Kuong and Chandro over at the other end of the room looked across at the sound of our raised voices. Llodi walked in half hidden by the easel and cases of paints and brushes. He called out: “All ready!"

Lowering my voice I said: “Look, dom. We're all in this together. I'd like to know why I'm risking my neck. I mean, know particularly."

As I spoke I think I began to gather in enough details to fill in the picture. I could see all the little pieces fitting together.

Slowly, I said: “Tell me, Caspar, is it not true that after we beat the Fish Heads at Yumakrell they fled southwards and passed between Loh and Havilfar, and rounding southern Loh landed somewhere along the west coast?” I studied him, and added quickly: “Or, they fled northwards past the Hoboling Islands and rounded Erthyrdrin and sailed south in the Cyphren Sea and, again, landed on the west coast of Loh."

Kuong called across: “All set?"

“Ready,” replied Mevancy. Then, in a fierce whisper: “Whichever way the Leem Lovers went, they're on the west coast of Loh. They're in Tarankar!"

“Well, of course,” said Caspar, moving off to pick up his scrip. “And they'll be in Tsungfaril soon if we don't get a queen and college who will stand up to them. Wenda!"[5]

[5 wenda! Let's go! A.B.A.]

So out we trooped about our nefarious business, not just to save Leone and put Queen Kirsty on the throne but to start the process of saving all Tsungfaril and surrounding parts of Loh from the marauding and merciless Shanks.

Chapter twenty

The smells off the river wafted rich and pungent even this early in the day. Slaves would be sweating their insides out all over the city, hauling and lifting, cleaning and scrubbing. The ever-present tang of dust in the air slicked a gritty film on tongue and lips. All in all, as we walked on to Queen Leone's palace, an average day in Makilorn.

So this was all about the Shanks! Well, I suppose I ought to have known that, to have realized earlier that the Star Lords would not abandon the crusade we had struck up together to halt and throw back the reivers from over the curve of the world.

As for this fancy Caspar Del Vanian, Caspar the Peaker—the name Peaker made me imagine that he ought to run a chain of restaurants—his intrusion into the schemes was welcome and meant that the Star Lords were bringing in the heavy weapons. I'd known for a long time that I was their boy they threw in when other folk fouled up—as in the fire where I'd met Mevancy.

Mevancy at the moment was garbed in a long man's robe, a burnous-like garment, and was at the back end of the gherimcal. Kuong carried the front end. He was clad in simple clothes, with nothing of the lord about him. I walked at the side, one hand steadying the chair. In the chair sat the corpse.

Much as we were all acting as a group of automata, appearing just to go on straight ahead without reflection, in reality each one of us remained supremely aware of what we were doing. Our own desires, our own fears, had to be put aside. If Shang-Li-Po could not be erased from the problem, then the queen must be changed to one who would boldly front the Shanks. As far as I was aware, and I had had extensive experience of the Fish Heads, there was absolutely no question of parleying with them. They did not talk to the inhabitants of Paz. They slew them. Sometimes they took a few slaves to ease their daily burdens. I often felt the poor unfortunates taken as slaves would wish they had been killed first.

Being a cautious old leem-hunter I was well aware that I could not altogether trust Caspar. Like all the other servants of the Star Lords I had met, he stood in mortal fear and awe of them. And, rightfully so, I supposed. He'd agreed to go along with the plan. I knew without the shadow of a doubt that he'd plunge his poisoned peaker into Leone if that became necessary in his view.

The closed ochre curtains of the carrying chair concealed the occupant. I must admit as we trudged along that I felt profoundly thankful that Llodi with Chandro's influence had found a dead young girl easily enough. I didn't stop to wonder what I'd have done had no corpse been available and the conspirators taken up a living girl. I know what the Dray Prescot of seasons ago would have done, and been banished to Earth for his pains.

Luz and Walig shone down refulgently this early and twinned shadows lay sharp edged in ruby and jade. There was no wind. I tasted the dust in the air and hardly noticed the smell of the few flowers allowed to grow in the square before the palace. Kuong led around the kyro to a rear entrance.

The guard here was a Fristle. The cat-man looked bored out of his skull and his scimitar, the Fristles’ racial weapon, remained scabbarded.

The admission Chandro had signed and sealed got us in without the slightest hindrance. Quickly we passed through a gaggle of slaves carrying water jars. We pushed on deeper into the rear quarters of the palace until we reached as far as it was sensible to venture. I knew the layout here and without any fuss, seizing the opportunity when the corridor was empty, we passed through a secret door into a cobwebby passage parallel to the main corridor. Here the gherimcal was set down.

Kuong licked his lips. “I can only wish you good fortune, Drajak. May the beneficent Tsung-Tan smile on you."

Mevancy said: “Cabbage! May Gahamond have you in his keeping—and, by Spurl! Take care!"

What she didn't say, because Kuong listened, was something like: “And don't make a mess of it for the sweet sake of the Everoinye!"

Making sure the corridor was clear I slid out of the secret panel and set off for the queen's quarters.

By this time, according to the plan's calculations, Caspar should be setting up the easel and organizing his paints and brushes, making a show. He'd do a preliminary sketch first. Llodi would stand in attendance.

The guard slapped their strangdjas in a cross before the silver-bound doors. I said: “Pass word to the queen. Tell her Drajak the Sudden craves audience on the matter we discussed. She will see me immediately."

I put on the harsh domineering manner so unpleasantly easy to me.

They jumped.

All too soon one came panting back, calling: “Pass Drajak the Sudden through! Bratch!” Then he added: “The queen took fire at his name!"

Well, poor soul, I was duping her. I'd have to apologize most abjectly afterwards—if we were all still alive. As for Dray Prescot apologizing, well, in this case that was no marvel, by Zair.

With a couple of Khibils as escort I stomped through the elaborate passageways and ante-rooms until a door of ivory was flung open and I was ushered into a smallish room where a skylight admitted an opaline radiance.

The easel was set up. The boxes of paints were thrown open. Caspar looked up. Llodi was standing in a corner, motionless. Leone, dressed in a simple shift-like white garment, sat on a plain chair. To one side stood a wicker frame draped with a gown smothered in an emperor's fortune in gems. This was all to plan.

At each side of the gemmed gown stood a Khibil guard, alert, ready to protect the gems. At each side of Leone stood two more, equally alert, ready to protect the queen. This was not in the plan.

By the Black Chunkrah! I said to myself. We couldn't plan our way out of an earthenware pot!

Ergo—the plan must change.

“Drajak!” exclaimed Leone, her color high, her breast heaving, her eyes bright, her breath short—all the Clishdrin descriptives applying to a poor girl in her infatuated condition. “I am glad to see you—” About then she realized she had an audience. “Leave me!” she commanded, waving one slender hand at the guards.

At the sharpness of the command Llodi jumped forward and slammed down the lid of the nearest paintbox, all set to clear out. The guards did not move. Caspar remained at the easel, his bright eyes watching, calculating.

The room was smallish. That meant in a palace it was four or five times the size of an ordinary mortal's dining room. From the shadows of the far end emerged the columnar figure and granite features of Shang-Li-Po. The redness of his robes blazed in the room. His chain of office coruscated about his neck. Here was a man who knew full well the power he wielded and who intended to maintain and increase that power no matter who might be crushed underfoot on the way. The granite lips barely moved.

“It would not be wise, queen, to dismiss the guards."

His gaze rested unflinchingly upon me. He knew who I was all right! By that, I do not mean he knew I was Dray Prescot. In me he saw an adversary employed by his enemies.

Leone's face flushed even more deeply. Her head lifted. “San Ranal,” she said, her voice husky, and I had to remind myself that Shang-Li-Po was San Ranal the Kaour. “This man is a friend—and, soon, to be more than just a friend!"

“That may be so, queen. Also, many a wight has aspired and found his ambitions among the stranks of the river."

You couldn't say fairer than that, by Krun!

She half-turned to the dikaster, flustered, not quite sure how to react. She was held, too, by her nature of obedience. I fancy Kirsty in similar circumstances would have told Shang-Li-Po where he could go.

I said: “Please forgive me, Leone. I had not realized you were so engaged. Allow me to leave you—for now."

She bit her lip, then: “And you will return? As you promise?"

“Oh, yes, Leone, I shall return."

Caspar rustled his paper. “Can we get on, majestrix?” He was perfectly the temperamental artist, absorbed only in his work.

Shang-Li-Po watched narrowly as I gave the queen a polite if perfunctory bow and then took myself off. I let out a breath. We had not foreseen this contretemps in our planning. What, I wondered, would Mevancy have to say?

The trouble was, I had absolutely no desire to slay the Khibil guards. They were just soldiers, earning their hire. Of course, when great affairs of state are at risk, the lives of a few cheap soldiers mean precious little. That, disgustingly, is the way of two worlds.

I went off to the corridor and when it was empty slid past the secret panel. Kuong and Mevancy had already taken the gherimcal to pieces.

When I told them what had transpired, Kuong said despairingly: “Then it is all for nothing. We are beaten!"

“Not so!” snapped Mevancy. “By Spurl! We'll just have to—"

“Yes,” I said. “And you will not shoot your bindles. That would betray us absolutely. It is cold steel. And if we can, we will not kill the haughty Khibils. Now, let's get the blacks on."

She gave me a ferocious look; but said nothing in reply. We changed into the black stikitche clothes taken from the assassins who had previously attempted us and sequestered by Chandro. Mevancy and Kuong carried the dismantled carrying chair. I carried the corpse.

We could have left the chair by the secret panel for collection on our way out; we might be forced to take another route and so needed the gherimcal with us. My audience of Leone had been vitally necessary to discover where she was in the maze of the palace. I knew the way there in theory. In practice I took a few false turns. In the end we found ourselves in a narrow filthy passage hidden behind the wall of the room where Leone was having her portrait painted.

Watching through a spyhole I saw the damned tall red figure of Shang-Li-Po hovering like a blood-sucking bat.

We pulled the black masks over our faces.

It would be three to four until Llodi and Caspar joined in.

Sword in fist I moved up to the secret door and prepared to burst through. I just hoped we wouldn't have to slay the guards.

Kuong tapped me on the arm.

“It is my duty to go first, Drajak."

“Uh,” I said, like a loon, completely caught off-balance. Then: “Of course, trylon. After you."

As he set himself, facing the panel, I had time to reflect on all the other and far superior ways we could have managed this business. There was a case for kidnapping the queen and having the disfigured corpse found elsewhere. That had seemed to us not a water-tight scheme. We were stuck with what we had—and Kuong thrust the panel wide and leaped into the room.

Mevancy bundled me aside and jumped through second. She had to be allowed to do this, for her sake. I whistled through very quickly after her, very quickly, by Krun!

The Khibil guards had no time to react. Their attention was centered on the gown and on the queen. Only one was slain. Kuong caught him as he swung about, and the poor devil took the blade through the guts. I saw Mevancy knock a guard down with a full blooded blow from a blatterer then I slammed the hilt of my sword into the third's chin and whirled to the fourth to see him stagger under Kuong's onslaught, so I hit him as he went down.

Leone was trying to scream and emitting only choked squeaks.

Shang-Li-Po had his own secret entrances and exits within the palace and he'd tried to scuttle off into the shadows of the far end of the room. He hadn't moved from the spot; he was struggling and tugging, trying to tear free from the dagger that pinned the hem of his red robe to the floor. His granite face broke and shivered in terror as Kuong leaped on him.

“A neat throw,” observed Mevancy.

Caspar said: “I'll have my dagger back."

I said: “I'll fetch the girl—explain to Leone."

When I re-entered the room with that opaline radiance falling across the recumbent guards, Leone was saying: “But I am the queen!” Her voice was at once petulant and filled with bravado. I truly felt sorry for her.

“Try to understand,” Mevancy said in a patient way. “You cannot be queen, for they will kill you, Kaopan, you understand?"

Caspar said: “I'll start over there, by the chair. You don't have to watch."

“But I like being queen! You don't dare kill me! I shall call the guards—"

“Leone,” I said, and she jumped, flinching. I took her upper arm into my fist and led her across to the chair she had vacated. Caspar was already at work. “Look, Leone,” I said. “That is you."

I caught her as she fell.

“At least that'll keep her quiet,” snapped Mevancy, who carefully, very carefully, did not look at what Caspar wreaked. “You were hard on her."

The stink of spilled blood permeated the room.

“There will be a lot of blood,” commented Caspar, working on.

He had rolled his sleeves up and put on an artist's smock. That might have been an affectation, down here in Loh; in the present circumstances it was highly practical. He covered his arms and hands with a pair of long stockings. Letting Leone gently to the floor I ripped off her shift and underthings and threw them across to Caspar. Mevancy tut-tutted at the sight of the limp naked body and took out the clothes we had brought.

I walked over to the unconscious form of Shang-Li-Po.

“This shint is called the Kaour.” I bent and dragged him across. “Let's make him earn the name."

Caspar did not look up. “A capital notion."

“What—?” said Mevancy. Then: “Oh, I see."

The sound of heavy breathing and a clearing of a throat was followed by Llodi saying: “What about me and the artist, an’ all?"

“Knocked over by assassins,” I said, cheerfully.

“Oh. Right. Mebbe I'd better be the one to wake up and rush out to raise the alarm and everything."

“Be my guest,” said Caspar, delicately allowing blood to stain Shang-Li-Po's robes.

The cruel and pathetic irony for this poor girl lay in this: she had in life been one of the hungry masses, in death she was the queen.

Caspar took his time, and finished without undue haste. I guessed he had in reality worked fast. He cleaned his knife and we arranged the tableau.

We pulled Shang-Li-Po's form across and dabbled his gown in the blood. We put his own dagger in his right fist—and Kuong knew he was not left-handed—and the poor dead girl's heart in his left. We smeared all with blood. Anyone finding that revolting scene would not doubt that Shang-Li-Po had killed the queen and had then performed the rites of Kaopan upon her naked body, and as a result had been overcome. If Llodi timed it right he would bring in the guards answering the alarm at just the moment the dikaster was regaining his senses. That would be nice...

I didn't think we'd hang around to find out.

Caspar took off his bloodstained smock and rolled it up carefully. I had to help him pull off the stockings. I didn't mind a few spots of blood on my clothes if none stained Caspar's. He arranged himself comfortably on the floor, by the easel, and relaxed. “I'm ready."

I remained doubtful. I studied him. I couldn't see any obvious blood on him. Modern forensic science had not yet been developed sufficiently on Kregen to discover the blood that indubitably was to be found on his person. I said: “You sure? You're taking one hell of a risk."

“That cramph didn't see who threw the dagger. I'm safe enough. Anyway, a life without risks—who wants that?"

I didn't burst out: “I wouldn't mind, by Vox!” But I felt the attractions of a peaceful life, by Zair!

That ridiculous notion had no chance of ever becoming real, anyway, on Kregen, for me or for a whole lot of other folk. Life's problems stuck with us. Many of us might not have to worry over where the rent and the money for food were coming from, and those problems are of the very real variety, Opaz knows! We had the Shanks to fret over, to fear, to try to deal with. Whilst the confrontation with the reivers from over the curve of the world remained unsolved the whole of life continued risky for all of us living in Paz.

Llodi took up his position halfway between Shang-Li-Po and the door. When the Repositer stirred Llodi would run out to raise the alarm—an’ all.

“I can't,” he said with an uncharacteristic loquacity, “say life hasn't been interesting an’ everything since we met up, Drajak."

Mevancy snapped: “Get out of the blacks, and hurry. We don't have all day."

When we were back in our ochre desert robes and the blacks and Caspar's blood-stained clothing stowed in a bag all safe, we said a quick remberee and decamped past the secret panel into the passage. Mevancy sneezed as dust puffed up. The panel closed. Through the spyhole we could glimpse Llodi standing, poised. He gave us a cheery wave. Yes, it is refreshing and mighty comforting to have good comrades on Kregen!

The other two carried the parts of the gherimcal. I had Leone slung over my shoulder and the clothes bag clutched in my other fist.

By the time we reached the door through which we must exit onto the open corridor we were dusty and cobweb-smothered. It was therefore vital to clean up before venturing out. The carrying chair went together easily enough and we put the clothes bag in on top of Leone. Mevancy fussed over arranging the curtains to conceal everything.

“All set?” demanded Kuong. With some pleasure I realized that apart from the mutilation of that poor dead girl he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

And, too, I realized that for one of the Accursed, one who was paol-ur-bliem, the sight and remembrance of just what Kaopan meant must come as unwelcome and downright frightening.

“Wenda!” said Mevancy, and out we went into the empty corridor.

Retracing our steps though the palace we quickly came upon crowds of people hurrying about their business. No one spared us a glance.

We had just entered a long gallery flanked by statues. A column of heated air rose from the nearest corner. Kuong and Mevancy padded past without hesitation. I hung back. The shimmer tried to solidify, and gusted about, wavering. I saw clearly, and for an instant only, the features of Deb-Lu-Quienyin. He was trying to get through the planes to me.

Garbled, distorted, his voice said: “Jak! A source of weak kharrna[6] lies ahead. There is a strong personal animus...” The voice died and the spectral shimmer of the projected lupal image of Deb-Lu vanished.

[6 kharrna: sorcerous power, thaumaturgical energy. A.B.A.]

Instantly, I said in a penetrating whisper: “Kuong, Mevancy! Take the next turning to the right. You can rejoin the straight way out a few rooms ahead."

“Cabbage—what are you on about?"

“Just go on, pigeon. I'll see you back at the villa."

Kuong recognized the urgency in my voice. “Come on, Mevancy!"

She turned her head to give me a hard look and I gestured irritably.

“Oh, you!” she said, and perforce swung right to follow Kuong, the gherimcal swaying between them.

If Deb-Lu said there was trouble ahead there was trouble ahead!

No genius of deduction was required to guess what that trouble was. Na-Si-Fantong, besides having left Makilorn, would not, in my view, be a source of weak kharrna. So the troublemaker ahead had to be the court wizard, Chang-So, the fellow who nursed a grudge against me. I'd known he'd make an attempt on me. It had to develop just now, just when our scheme was coming to fruition and we were making good our escape. Still, that's the way sand castles are washed away, as they say in Clishdrin.

Their eyes wide and blank with fear, a parcel of raggedy slaves ran past. Chang-So could scare them easily enough. When I rounded the corner into the next gallery Chang-So in his dazzling robes and tall hat was carefully standing to the rear of half a dozen hulking bully boy guards. Quite clearly he had been apprized of my presence in the palace and was now here to exact his vengeance for the slight I had put upon him.

The guards carried swords, lynxters, and it was borne in on me that Chang-So wanted me dead.

I had far too much to do to allow that, by Zair!

The guards charged. I ripped out my own blade and met their rush in a chingle of steel. They were solid professional workmen of the sword. They'd get the job done without anything fancy. They would be, I judged, only on distant nodding acquaintance with Kurin.

All the same, there were six of them and if I was stupid they'd stick me.

In a very real sense, as I may have mentioned before, every fight is different and every fight is the same. They circled to get at me from both sides. They were not all apim; I didn't wait to check up on all their diverse racial stocks. I just went slap bang into the nearest, chopped him down, kicked his comrade and sliced my blade across the next and so was through, leaving the three who'd circled me gasping. I faced Chang-So.

He had struck me as a man who gloated in the secrets he knew. Now the most important secret in his life was no longer a secret and that told him his life was no longer his life. He really believed I was about to cut him down.

He staggered back. He lifted his arms and the fingers tried to form some magical symbol. He tried to croak words, and his tall hat shook and fell off to roll on the floor. I gave him a gentle push in the shoulder.

Instantly I had to whirl and catch the quickest guard's blade on my own. There was genuine regret in me as my sword slid his and sank into his body. Still, he took pay for this work and payment came in death as well as coin.

The next hesitated, waiting for his comrade to join him.

I reached around and got my left fist wrapped around Chang-So's collar. I lifted him a trifle so that his heels left the floor. He was gobbling and spitting and tears streamed down his cheeks from rage and frustration and, I daresay, fear. He was not used to being treated like this, no, by The Seven Arcades!

“Look at him, doms,” I said in my harsh way. “This is the specimen you'll get yourselves killed for. It's not worth it, as Tsung-Tan is my witness. Schtump! Clear off while you still have the chance."

Three were down and three were left. Blood ran greasily on the floor. The wizard looked to them as though he wouldn't live long enough to pay their hire. One of them, a Fristle, spat out: “Let us take Herkin away with us. You have only wounded him. By Odiflor! You are quick."

“Take Herkin.” I hoicked Chang-So up and threw him bodily onto the two corpses and the wounded form of Herkin. “And take the wizard also.” With that I sprinted somewhat sharply around the next corner.

Not a shred of doubt existed in my mind that Kuong and Mevancy would succeed. They'd take Leone to the villa, we'd all meet up, and take counsel on our next moves. If our work was over in Makilorn there was equally no doubt in my mind that the Star Lords would soon find fresh work for us.

That work would most probably lie over to the west, trying to deal with the Shanks in Tarankar. Kuong, as Trylon of Taranik, might be very useful. And Caspar the Peaker? Would the Star Lords find someone else they wished removed from Kregen?

The amusing thought occurred to me that in all these calculations about what might happen in the future, in which ‘we’ would do this or that, the ‘we', the ‘us', simply included Mevancy as a normal part of life.

That made me realize I had a most wonderful opportunity ahead. By Vox! If only I could manage it! The Shank threat in Tarankar was so serious that I had every right to demand all the help I could summon. The Star Lords should see that. So should the Sisters of the Rose. I'd arrange for a message to go to Seg. He'd contact Milsi and she would contact Delia. Then—then this forsaken part of Loh would see what a real empress looked like!

I was so taken up in anticipatory joy at my own cleverness that the rustling voice addressing me spoke a whole sentence before I located the speaker.

“You, Dray Prescot, have disobeyed the Everoinye and failed to do what you were commanded to do."

Crouching by the corridor wall, a reddish brown scorpion, glinting of body and arrogant of tail, spoke to me, spoke to me directly from the Star Lords. Nothing else moved in the corridor. I breathed lightly.

“Of course I haven't failed! Kirsty will be queen!"

“Nevertheless, you disobeyed!"

“You stupid eight-legged onker! That's nothing to do with it! Kirsty is going to be queen and she'll see to it that Tsungfaril is defended from the Shanks. That's the object of all this."

“It is not for you to tell the Everoinye the objects they pursue."

“Well, if they think I failed then it's time someone told them—"

“Enough, Dray Prescot!"

“And another thing! You can tell your precious Star Lords it's about time I went home.” Here I hesitated for a fear-filled fraction of time, and hurried on very very quickly: “Home to Valka! Then we can deal with the Shanks."

“You will deal with the Shanks, Dray Prescot.” The rustling voice like dead leaves blown scraping over gravel spoke menacingly. “Before that you will answer for your disobedience."

I opened my mouth to shout in baffled rage that this cretin of a scorpion couldn't understand, and, then, I understood. Disobedience was the issue here. The blue radiance grew about me. I looked up to see the gigantic form of the phantom blue Scorpion hovering. Chill smote me. In an icy blueness, I swept away into blackness.

About the author

Alan Burt Akers was a pen name of the prolific British author Kenneth Bulmer, who died in December 2005 aged eighty-four.

Bulmer wrote over 160 novels and countless short stories, predominantly science fiction, both under his real name and numerous pseudonyms, including Alan Burt Akers, Frank Brandon, Rupert Clinton, Ernest Corley, Peter Green, Adam Hardy, Philip Kent, Bruno Krauss, Karl Maras, Manning Norvil, Chesman Scot, Nelson Sherwood, Richard Silver, H. Philip Stratford, and Tully Zetford. Kenneth Johns was a collective pseudonym used for a collaboration with author John Newman. Some of Bulmer's works were published along with the works of other authors under “house names” (collective pseudonyms) such as Ken Blake (for a series of tie-ins with the 1970s television programme The Professionals), Arthur Frazier, Neil Langholm, Charles R. Pike, and Andrew Quiller.

Bulmer was also active in science fiction fandom, and in the 1970s he edited nine issues of the New Writings in Science Fiction anthology series in succession to John Carnell, who originated the series.

More details about the author, and current links to other sources of information, can be found at www.mushroom-ebooks.com, and at wikipedia.org.

The Dray Prescot Series

The Delian Cycle:

1. Transit to Scorpio

2. The Suns of Scorpio

3. Warrior of Scorpio

4. Swordships of Scorpio

5. Prince of Scorpio

Havilfar Cycle:

6. Manhounds of Antares

7. Arena of Antares

8. Fliers of Antares

9. Bladesman of Antares

10. Avenger of Antares

11. Armada of Antares

The Krozair Cycle:

12. The Tides of Kregen

13. Renegade of Kregen

14. Krozair of Kregen

Vallian cycle:

15. Secret Scorpio

16. Savage Scorpio

17. Captive Scorpio

18. Golden Scorpio

Jikaida cycle:

19. A Life for Kregen

20. A Sword for Kregen

21. A Fortune for Kregen

22. A Victory for Kregen

Spikatur cycle:

23. Beasts of Antares

24. Rebel of Antares

25. Legions of Antares

26. Allies of Antares

Pandahem cycle:

27. Mazes of Scorpio

28. Delia of Vallia

29. Fires of Scorpio

30. Talons of Scorpio

31. Masks of Scorpio

32. Seg the Bowman

Witch War cycle:

33. Werewolves of Kregen

34. Witches of Kregen

35. Storm over Vallia

36. Omens of Kregen

37. Warlord of Antares

Lohvian cycle:

38. Scorpio Reborn

39. Scorpio Assassin

40. Scorpio Invasion

41. Scorpio Ablaze

42. Scorpio Drums

43. Scorpio Triumph

Balintol cycle:

44. Intrigue of Antares

45. Gangs of Antares

46. Demons of Antares

47. Scourge of Antares

48. Challenge of Antares

49. Wrath of Antares

50. Shadows over Kregen

Phantom cycle:

51. Murder on Kregen

52. Turmoil on Kregen

Visit www.mushroom-ebooks.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.