243.

"A milessaratish serves her mistress. I sought only to further your desires, Lady."

"By disobeying orders?""A good servant fulfills the desire of her mistress rather than the letter of the request. I was told that you wished that the runners stop harassing the Hidden Cir- cle. Was that not correct?"

"It was correct," the Lady said softly without look- ing at Hart.

Hart could feel the chill. The earth beneath her feet felt like ice. Fragile ice.

"Killing Verner would not have achieved this end.

I have worked with them and know them. They would only have redoubled their efforts seeking to avenge Verner's death. But with him missing, they shall be unsure. More likely they will search for him instead of the Circle."

The Lady finally turned her emerald eyes on Hart.

"So you have arranged for them to bother me."

"They will find no connection," Hart said hastily.

"I used reliable people who have no connection with the Shidhe."

"If your reputation is half true, you could have madehim disappear without bringing him here."

"Yes. But dead, he has no further use."

There was the slightest thawing in the Lady's atti- tude as she said. "And alive, he does?"

"Circumstances have changed before; they may again. Verner is a ready weapon to send against the Hidden Circle should their actions fail to fulfill your expectations. If he were dead, you would need to find and hone another tool."

The Lady was silent. Hart wondered if she had made the wrong play. Deigh did not like surprises, nor did she like subordinates with too much initiative.

"I do not like being disobeyed, Hart. You were told that Verner was to die."

244.

Robert N. Charrette "I was told that the actions of the runners against the druids must be disrupted. I took that as the pri- mary goal to be achieved. Verner's death was sug-gested as the most expedient method of achieving that end, but I saw another way to achieve the goal and retain options. My evaluation of the situation was that his death would jeopardize the primary objective.

"Verner's death would be an irrevocable step. His disappearance could still be just as effective. If he were to remain here in Ireland, no one need know he is still alive, and I can arrange that the world outside your court believe that he is dead. Captivity in place of death maintains his value as a pawn in your schemes.

The renegade druids of the Hidden Circle have proven to be resourceful and unpredictable foes. Should cir- cumstances arise in which Verner's skills and talents would be of use, he will be available. If he dies, he ceases to be a factor, and you will have permanently expended a potential resource."

"You were thinking of my best interests, then?"

"Yes, Lady."

"Hmmm." The Lady studied Sam's face. A sly smile flitted across her lips. "I begin to see possibil-ities in what you have done. Mortals can be so ...

entertaining."

Hart found herself bothered by the Lady's words, and even more by the possible motivations behind Deigh's fleeting smile. Hart hadn't brought Sam here only to have him become a plaything for a jaded tart who deluded herself about her immortal elven heri- tage.

She was surprised at herself, not just at the emotion she felt but at the very fact that she was feeling emo- tion at all. Jealousy was foreign to her; the hot, angry thoughts that flooded her now were disturbing. But she could not express her feelings. It would be too dan- gerous for Sam. And for her.

245.

"You will let him live?"

The Lady gave a slight shrug. "Your arguments have some small merit, but I must also consider how it will look. My word is law in the court and you disobeyed orders."

"Only to serve you better. Such disobedience is nocrime in the eyes of a wise ruler.''

Deigh regarded her sidewise. "As long as the ser- vant is wise as well."

"I believe that I have done nothing to compromise you. And I have my own reputation to consider."

"Ah, reputation. Such a strange master and ser- vant," the lady said wistfully. "You have staked more than your reputation here. Do you think you know me so well that you can rely on my forgiveness?"

Hart knew that the wrong answer to the question could be dangerous. Had she read the Lady wrong?

Hoping that Deigh was just playing games, Hart stead- ied her nerves and spoke.

"I spent weeks in the court before you sent me after the Hidden Circle. I listened to your subjects. Even before I took your contract, I researched you as well as I could, I know you for a strict disciplinarian. But I also know you for an intelligent woman and ruler.

You would not throw away an advantage, especially so potentially useful an advantage, over such a small mat- ter as the interpretation of orders. Only your loyal Bambatu and I know the wording of your orders. Ihave nothing to gain by talking and he has even less.

You have something to gain and nothing to lose by accepting the situation as stands."

"I do not stand in need of a lecture," the Lady snapped in sudden anger. She turned on her heel and strode toward the space from which she had entered.

The rectangle of light appeared before her. On its threshold she spun and faced Hart again. "And if there is a problem?"

246.

Robert N. Charrette "I guarantee my work," Hart said, looking directly into the Lady's eyes.

Lady Deigh smiled coldly. "Work such as yours is only guaranteed with lives, Hart. Yours shall stand for his."

Hart lowered her gaze. "I understand.""I don't think you do, but I accept your guarantee.

He shall live for now. On my terms."

Lady Deigh gestured; the bier on which Sam lay lifted from the ground and floated away from Hart into the darkness that surrounded the clearing. Hart's elven eyes couldn't pierce the gloom beyond the first few meters. Even shifting to astral senses only revealed the hulking spirits carrying the bier. She watched anx- iously as the gloom hid Sam from her sight. When Hart looked toward the doorway, the Lady was gone as well.

Had she done the right thing?

32.

Sam awoke to the gentle whisper of someone pray- ing.

He tried to sit up, but the sudden flash of pain in his head doomed his eifort. His return to the horizontal wasn't fast enough to satisfy his stomach; it lurched and heaved. Sam rolled onto his side just in time to spew the contents mostly onto the floor rather than himself.He groaned.

"Ah, you are awake."

A man in dark clothing appeared at Sam's side. The man had a ceramic bowl in one hand and some towels 247.

in the other. Without asking, he started to help Sam clean himself off.

Sam let the man take over the job. His head still hurt, almost as bad as after a long session in the Ma- trix. That was an old familiar pain. It would pass.

His belly felt acid-scorched and his muscles ached. He felt like drek. Through the wool that seemed impacted around his teeth and tongue, he asked, "What hap- pened?"

"That I cannot tell you. My first sight of you was when the servants brought you here. From your con- dition, I'd say you had been drugged."

Hart. In his memory, Sam could see her saddened face hovering over the muzzle of her Crusader. Hesaw the muzzle flash and felt the slug hit. But it couldn't have been a slug. If it had, he would have been dead.

She must have loaded her weapon with tranquillizer bullets. Why? What was going on?

Sam looked around. There wasn't much to see.

Rough stone walls defined a circular chamber about three meters in diameter. A small alcove held a pool of water. The walls were beaded with moisture and spotted with patches of luminous lichen. Puzzled that he couldn't feel the humidity or smell the mold, Sam shifted briefly to astral senses. The change in sensory input disoriented him; there seemed to be a severe fuzziness to his perceptions, but he learned that the walls' appearance was an illusion. He and the stranger were being held in a modern cell. The illusory lichens hid lighting panels; the real walls were concrete and embedded with some kind of high-tech circuitry which frustrated his attempts to penetrate with his astral vi- sion. He felt too weak to press the issue, and returned to his mundane senses. If the man with the clothshad noticed Sam's absence, he gave no sign.

"Where are we?" Sam asked.

"In general, somewhere south and west of Dublin.

248.

Robert N. Charrette In specific, a holding cell in the stronghold of the See- lie Court."

"Dublin?" Sam was stunned. His mind didn't want to work. "Dublin, Ireland?"

"Yes." The man tossed the dirty cloths into the bowl. "You seem surprised."

"Confused would be a better word. You'd be, too. I was shot in London."

"Shot?" The man's eyes grew concerned as he be- gan to search Sam for a wound. Sam was too spaced to do anything. "Ah, the drug. You were shot with a tranquilizer gun, then."

Sam thought he nodded in the affirmative."It would seem that you have not slept too long, judging from the condition of your last meal. Who shot you and why?"

He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to think about it. Hart had shot him down. Why?

Without a word of explanation, she had shot him. Then, he had awoken a captive. Had the bitch sold him to his ene- mies? They had been lovers; he hadn't thought she could be so cold. He had loved her. He really didn't want to think about it. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Then we shall not speak of it. Perhaps though, it would not trouble your memories to recall when you were shot. I no longer have a timepiece, and I have lost track of the days here. The light, you see, doesn't change and the meals are irregular. There is no way to measure the passage of the time here."

Time? Sam realized he had lost track of time him- self. The long days of tracking down the Hidden Circle had all blended into one another. He had barely noted the passage of Christmas and the coming of the new year. The last date he recalled clearly was the Solstice;the Man of Light's words had burned the date into his mind.

"It was late January, the twenty-ninth, I think."

249.

"The twenty-ninth." The man sighed. "It's been over a week and the others have not found me. If the elves' magics are so strong that I have not heard from them by now, I fear I never will. These elves do the devil's work."

Sam's head was slowly clearing. He listened to the man's words, but they only made partial sense.

"Who are you?''

"I? I am a sinner who answers to the name Pietro Rinaldi. I am also a priest of the Order of St. Sylves- ter, and, for the sin of inattention, a captive like your- self."

"You're a priest? But this is Ireland. I thought all the priests had been kicked out when the Shidhe took over.''"I am but lately come to these shores."

"Not a very good start for your missionary work."

"Missionary work is not my calling. Although it is the task of all priests to aid souls toward salvation, the Order of St. Sylvester has another mandate. I am part of an investigative team. While my fellows concen- trated on England, I came to Ireland seeking infor- mation. I had assumed that the diplomatic pass from His Holiness would have been better respected.

Alas, the arrogant leaders of this state seem to have no con- cept of any authority higher than their own."

"So, you showed up at the airport, and they took one look at your Vatican passport and chucked you in this hole.''

"Quite the contrary. I was admitted without any trouble at all. It was not until after I had begun my inquiries that I attracted the attention of the Lady Deign."

"Who?""Lady Brane Deigh, a very rich and powerful elven woman who styles herself queen of the Seelie Court."

250.

Robert N. Charrette "Whoa, father. You're not telling me you're here because you got involved with a woman, are you?"

"Involved with?" Rinaldi blinked in brief confu- sion, then smiled wryly. "Ah. Yes, involved indeed, but not in the way you think. Since the Reunification, celibacy is no longer required of priests, but my Order still takes the vow for ritual reasons. I have not broken that vow. My fall came not from the temptations of the flesh; my involvement with the Lady, as they call her, was one of matters more arcane than carnal."

"Arcane? Are you going to tell me that you're a magician, too?"Rinaldi chuckled. "Would it matter if I did?"

"It might."

"Then I hope it is not too much of a disappoint- ment, but I am not. I am a sensitive, however, and so know that you are one, yourself." Rinaldi paused, of- fering Sam a chance to say something. When he did not, the priest tried another tack. "My limited gifts do not tell me your name."

Sam was embarrassed. Here he had been grilling Rinaldi and had never even introduced himself. He started to give his name, but sudden suspicion stopped his tongue. Names were important, both magically and in the world of the shadows. How did Sam know if this priesta151if he was a priesta151was who he said he was? Rinaldi had admitted to being involved with this elf queen, Deigh. Maybe his involvement hadn't ended. He might be one of Deigh's flunkies and the whole friendly approach some kind of trap. The sus- picion gnawed at Sam, and he hated himself for it.

It had been bad enough when Dodger manipulated him, but what Hart had done . . . her perfidy was shat-tering. It made him want to believe the Man of Light's implication that their affair had been induced by magic.

but magic wasn't causing his feelings now. The anger 251.

and pain made mock of any attempt to accept that his feelings for Hart had not been real.