Never doubted it for a minute, Temrai replied truthfully. And you can leave the rest to us.

The man looked doubtful. Temrai didn't bother explaining. He didn't much like these people, for all that the whole venture depended on them. But he trusted them. Doubt the gods, or the love of wife, mother and daughter, or the loyalty of friends; but always trust the profit motive. A lever based on that one firm place was about to move the world.

'Admit it,' Gannadius said, his voice only just audible over the hum of conversation in the main room of the tavern, 'you're regressing. This is the sort of prank I'd expect from a second-year student rather than the Patriarch of the Order.'

The Patriarch of the Order who's also seriously ill and horrendously overworked, he could have added but didn't. No need to say what they both knew.

'That's why,' Alexius replied, addressing the unspoken part of the rebuke, 'I needed a change. This is a change.' He grinned under the floppy overhang of his broad-brimmed hat. 'I'm enjoying myself. It's a distraction.'

'I thought you always said you were too easily distracted,' Gannadius replied, sipping the rough, unpalatable wine. 'Why go to all this trouble to invite it?'

Alexius shrugged. 'Indulge me,' he said. 'I haven't been in a place like this for over twenty years. Besides,' he added, in what he hoped was a rather more grown-up voice, 'it enables me to monitor at first hand the mood of the city.'

Gannadius didn't dignify that obvious piece of nonsense with a reply. 'If anybody recognises you-'

'They'll point and say, "There's a tramp in that corner who looks just like the Patriarch." And their friend'll say, "Don't be ridiculous, the Patriarch's ears don't stick out like that." People only see what they can cope with.' He finished off his wine and put down the cup. 'One more,' he said, 'and that'll have to do. The days when I could put down five of these and still recite the thirty-two cardinal suppositions are long gone, I fear.'

'Stay there,' Gannadius sighed, getting up from the table. 'If anybody tries to talk to you, pretend you're a leper.'

Perhaps Gannadius is right, Alexius said to himself; perhaps this is second-childishness brought on by stress and an excess of responsibility. For the Patriarch suddenly to yield to an urge to dress up in scruffy clothes and go drinking in the lower city, even in a reasonably salubrious tavern such as this, is more or less unthinkable. I should be in my cell, lying on my back calculating extrapolations of pure theory and staring at those confounded mosaics. But this is a much better place to come and clear my head.

It needed clearing. The wine or the noise or something of the sort was making the sides of his head throb; but he had grown used to headaches recently, since he'd been hustled onto the Security Council and made to spend his days keeping the Prefect and the Deputy Lord Lieutenant from each other's throats. Correction; keeping the Prefect occupied while the Deputy Lord Lieutenant did his job. That was, he knew, the best thing he could do for his city, and he'd worked more diligently at it than anything he'd done before in his life. Thank goodness he had Gannadius to run the Order for him in the meantime. Or thank enlightened self-interest. Now he'd been officially declared Vice-Patriarch, his succession was assured. Somehow, though, he doubted whether Gannadius cared too much about that. It was a curious thing, but he genuinely believed that Gannadius, whose company he'd actively avoided not all that long ago, was now the nearest thing he'd had to a friend since he'd been appointed Patriarch.

Another correction; Bardas Loredan, the man he'd cursed, was a friend too, someone he could talk to freely, admit his fears and aggravations to. Remarkable, that so near the end of his life he should suddenly and quite unexpectedly discover friendship. It was like being able to see for the first time at an age when everyone else is starting to go blind.

'Here you are, and I hope it chokes you,' Gannadius muttered, plonking down a cup and sliding awkwardly back onto the bench. 'I might point out that if you wanted to drink excessive quantities of cheap wine, we could have gone to the Academy buttery and done so for free.'

'Yes, and where'd be the fun in that?' Alexius objected mildly. 'And, as I told you just now, we're here on business. Note the apparent air of normality, the lack of brittleness and panic. Clearly the morale of the city remains encouragingly high.'

Gannadius sniffed. 'The fools haven't yet realised what a desperate mess we're in. Or they've forgotten, or assumed it's gone away. It's not that long since they were rioting in the streets.'

'We had a riot when I was in my third year,' Alexius said dreamily. 'A group of freshmen had stolen a pig from the cattlemarket, painted it blue with raddle from the auctioneers' yard and dressed it up in the robes of the Commissioner of Fair Trading. Then they chased the poor creature down the city promenade until they came up against a detachment of the watch. That should have been the end of the matter, only we - I mean, a contingent of reprobate students who'd been drinking heavily to celebrate the end of their third-year examinations - happened to pass by, saw their comrades in the hands of a hostile agency and immediately hurried to the rescue. Nobody was seriously hurt,' he added defensively, 'and the Order paid for the damages. And it taught the watch a lesson in the tactful exercise of their powers when dealing with over-privileged young drunks.'

'I see,' Gannadius said drily. 'And what'd you do if a gang of our first years did the same thing? Declare a day's holiday and treat them to a dinner in Hall?'

'Certainly not,' Alexius replied. 'I'd throw them out of the Order and hand them over to the civil authorities. We can't be doing with that sort of thoughtless behaviour.'

'I'm delighted to hear it.' Gannadius took a sip of wine and made a face. 'You can have mine, too, if you like. I've got a bad enough head already without drinking myself another one.'

Alexius looked at him. 'You too?'

'Why? Have you . . .?'

'Ever since we came in here. I put it down to rough wine and the ambience, but if you've got one as well-'

'Our Island friends? Oh, not again, please. Haven't we got enough to contend with already?'

'Apparently not.'

Surreptitiously, Gannadius peered round the room. 'I can't see them,' he said. 'It must be the wine. Headaches can occur from natural causes, you know,' he added, 'and I'm flattering this sheep-dip by calling it natural. I think honest grapes and yeast had very little to do with its manufacture.'

He saw Alexius relax. 'I'm sure you're right,' he said. 'Bad wine, too much of it and an over-active imagination. Perhaps we should go home now.'

They got up, as unobtrusively as they could; in their anxiety to be thoroughly disguised, they'd turned themselves into the class of person not usually welcome in this class of establishment. Getting slung out into the street was scarcely the best way of staying inconspicuous.

It would probably have been all right if Alexius hadn't tripped over a small leather bag that someone had left lying between two tables, sending him lurching into the back of a customer just returning with a full jug of hot mulled cider. As the contents of the jug slopped down his leg, the customer yowled with pain and swirled round.

'You idiot,' he snapped. 'Look what you've done.'

Alexius stammered an apology, but not quite loud enough to be audible. The customer attached a broad hand to his collar. 'You realise these breeches are ruined,' he went on. 'And someone's going to pay for them.'

'Of course,' Gannadius said, in his most conciliatory tone, battle-tested in a hundred faculty meetings. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten that his best diplomatic voice didn't quite accord with his disguise. The customer could hardly fail to notice the discrepancy, which Gannadius made worse by oozing more soothing assurances and reaching for the purse in his sleeve. Before his hand was halfway there, the customer had grabbed it and twisted it painfully aside.

'Who the hell are you?' he demanded. Heads began to turn.

'Does it matter?'

Alexius looked round to see who'd said that, and saw a burly figure directly behind the customer; big, tall and bald, with a foreign but familiar accent. Very familiar, somehow.

'The gentleman's said he'll pay,' the stranger continued. 'Now mind your manners.'

The customer released Gannadius' arm and pressed the side of his own head, as if in pain. 'All right,' he said, 'there's no need for anybody else to stick their nose in. So long as I get my money-'

Gannadius produced a sum that would have clothed the man in ermine from head to foot, grabbed Alexius by the elbow and hustled him out into the cool night air. 'Damn it, Alexius, I knew this nonsense would land us in serious trouble. We could so easily have been recognised-'

'We were,' Alexius replied wearily. 'Oh, don't worry, we won't be the laughing stock of the city by this time tomorrow, if that's what you're thinking. But we were definitely recognised, be sure of that.' He realised he was standing in a puddle of something that wasn't just water, and stepped out of it. 'Come on, let's go home before we find something even more stupid to do.'

He set off down the street, his pace quicker and steadier than Gannadius would have thought possible, as if he were too preoccupied to remember his own infirmity. Gannadius scuttled after him.

'It's all very well saying we were recognised,' he hissed, 'but you can't just leave it at that. Who the hell by?'

'Our rescuer,' Alexius replied over his shoulder. 'That big bald man.' He sighed. 'Just think,' he added, 'I honestly thought matters were sorting themselves out. We've hardly seen the beginning of it yet.'

'Alexius, if you're going to turn oracular on me I shall give you up as a lost cause. Explain, for pity's sake.'

The Patriarch smiled bleakly. 'Gannadius, you surprise me, I always thought you were an observant man. I was sure you'd have recognised him.'

'Recognised who? The bald man, you mean? I thought you said he'd recognised us.'

'He did.' Alexius halted for a moment to catch his breath. 'He recognised us, and I recognised him. And, since I don't believe in coincidences to the point of blind idolatry, I can only conclude that somehow or other he caused us to be there.' He shook his head sadly. 'I suppose it explains my sudden urge to go drinking in taverns after twenty years. I wonder how he managed it?'

'Alexius . . .'

'He was in that dream we all shared. You really don't remember?' Alexius took a deep breath and let it go, slowly, through his nose. 'That was Gorgas Loredan.'

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

War preparations meant more trade. More trade meant more litigation. More litigation meant more lawyers. And, since the turnover in the profession was necessarily high, newly qualified advocates were getting their chance to stand up in court for the first time rather earlier than usual.

Because justice must be seen to be done, the court listings were pinned up on the courthouse door every morning, four hours before the first session, to give the general public a certain amount of notice of the cases to be decided, to enable them to exercise their civic right to witness the proceedings and lay their bets.

Since Venart and Vetriz had gone home, taking with them enough rope to tie the Island to the city several times over, Athli had nothing in particular to do. When she happened to pass the courthouse and glance at the listings and the names of the advocates, she rapidly revised her plans for the day and joined the queue. There was a certain advocate making her first appearance in whose career Athli was personally interested.

The case was a rather complicated matter concerning a shipload of beans. The plaintiff alleged that the defendant, a ship's master who had contracted to carry the said beans from Perimadeia to Nissa for the sum more particularly specified in the charter party, had failed to exercise proper care and attention in stowing the said beans during the voyage, in that he had allowed the said beans to become damp, with the result that they had sprouted and become valueless, thereby rendering the plaintiff in breach of his contract to supply the said beans to a third party in Nissa, in consequence of which the plaintiff had lost the value of his contract and of the said beans, and further was liable to the said third party in damages.

The defendant alleged that the said beans had sprouted as a result of the plaintiff's own negligence in packing the said beans in barrels that were badly fitted and inadequately sealed; further or in the alternative it was a term of the plaintiff's contract with the said third party that risk in the said beans passed to the said third party on the ship's departure from Perimadeia, and that accordingly the said plaintiff had not breached the said contract and had suffered no loss at the hands of the defendant even if (which was not admitted) the defendant had been negligent in his stowing of the said beans.

While this rigmarole was being read out by the clerks, the audience sat in good-natured silence, broken only by the usual gentle coughing and the furtive munching of apples. It was a large crowd; lady advocates weren't exactly a novelty in the courts, but they weren't an everyday spectacle either, and a rumour had spread that this lady advocate was also young and pretty. On the strength of this rumour, several large bunches of flowers and baskets of fruit had already been handed in at the side door of the courthouse.

Not pretty, exactly, Athli said to herself; striking-looking. The girl - even now Athli couldn't remember her name, though she'd recognised it immediately when she'd seen it written down - was dressed for the occasion in the traditional court costume of a male advocate; not what lady fencers usually wore, and the defendant's clerk had tried to argue the point to the judge before the boos and hisses from the spectators had drowned out his words. The judge, an ex-fencer whom Athli recognised, had threatened to clear the court if the disturbance continued, but had disallowed the point of procedure. The trial was therefore about to begin.

The defence advocate was the first to take guard, adopting the bent-knees crouch of the City fence. Athli knew of him; he was no novice, and his reputation was for an energetic style of fencing that relied as much on the edge of the blade as the point. He was no more than average height, but his broad shoulders and thick forearms suggested that his wristwork would be strong and fast. The girl took her guard in the Old fence, standing up straight with her heels almost together and her sword-arm extended, the point held steady and unwavering. Athli put her apple core in her pocket and sat up straight. This was going to be interesting.

The woman next to her, middle-aged, red-faced, brightly dressed and fat, nudged her gently in the ribs. 'Silver quarter on the bloke,' she whispered. 'Seen him last week, he's mustard.'

'Bet,' Athli replied, as the defendant hop-skipped a pace forward, lifting his sword and aiming to push her blade aside in a pre-emptive parry that would leave her open. The girl watched him come; at the last moment she turned her own wrist over, bringing her blade up inside the parry, at the same time taking a step to her left. It was an intelligent gambit; he was now on a completely different line to her, and if she'd had the physical strength to deflect him safely, she could have counterthrust and finished the matter there and then. As it was, he was the one who counterthrust; she avoided it easily with footwork, but couldn't reach far enough to thrust back. She reverted to guard; he did the same. She had the moral victory, of course; but, as Loredan was so fond of saying, moral victories feed no crows. It was still all to play for.

In the next encounter, the defence displayed a little more intelligence. Because she was using the Old fence it was obvious the plaintiff was waiting for him to come to her; logical enough, since he was bigger and stronger. He did no such thing, guessing that her relative inexperience would lead her to make an attack simply to relieve the tension. She stayed put, however, her sword-point as still as a star in the clear night sky, and in the event he was the one who lost patience first. Taking a gamble on her inexperience, he deliberately lowered his guard a little, creating an opening for her. She would take advantage of it, he would be ready for her, and that ought to be that.

The girl refused to oblige. Even from where she was sitting, Athli could see the sweat glistening on the man's forehead; but the girl's face was pale and dry as paper, and her eyes were fixed on the other man's sword, exactly as they were supposed to be. It was almost, Athli realised, like watching Loredan fence; that total concentration on the ribbon of steel in the other man's fist, that alert stillness which implied a dogged refusal to make assumptions until the other man's sword was actually moving. If she had her back to me, Athli thought, I might even think it was him.

The battle of temperament was almost over. The defendant lowered his guard a little more, provocatively, like a woman hitching her skirt over her knee. The girl ignored him, continued staring down her blade at his. The crowd were beginning to murmur - hadn't paid good money to see two people standing still - when the man closed up his guard and made a good, orthodox lunge, leading a true line and angling his blade down to make the parry as hard as possible.

The next development happened very fast. The girl took two steps to her right, circling, stepping out of his line, the fundamental ploy of the Old fence. Her movement took her out of striking range for a counterthrust of her own, but it allowed her to turn her arm and fend his blade away, opening him up on his right side so that he couldn't easily recover in time to parry. He reared back, trying to get his sword inside hers to be in a position to use the strength of his wrist to make up for his disadvantage in position. But before he could even touch his blade to hers, she was inside him again; the counterthrust he'd anticipated she'd make hadn't happened, and he was parrying a sword that wasn't there. Before he had time to get back out of it, she'd stabbed him under his right arm. He fell off her blade, hit the ground and died.

'Oh,' said the fat woman. 'Damn.' She shrugged her big round shoulders, dug in her sleeve and produced a rather worn silver quarter. 'Double or quits on the next case?' she asked hopefully, still gripping the coin. Athli shook her head and held her hand out for the money. Then she stood up and walked out of the courthouse.

By the time she reached the street, she was trembling a little.

Wonderful advertisement for the school, she told herself. Wonder if she's looking for a clerk?

It was purely force of habit that led her to the usual tavern, just round the corner. She'd just watched a lawsuit, and so she felt thirsty, in need of a stiff drink. It was the first time she'd ever been in the place on her own, and even though it was the sort of establishment where unescorted women wouldn't expect to encounter difficulties, she nevertheless felt rather apprehensive until she saw a female figure sitting alone at a table by the window. A moment later, she realised who it must be.

Coincidentally, it was the same table she used to sit at with Loredan; out of the way of the through traffic to and from the back room, handy for the long-established matted sheaf of cobweb in case there were cuts to dress. Was it conscious imitation, or simply an inherent fencer's instinct that had led the girl to it?

I'll tell him when I see him next. He might be amused.

There was, of course, no need for her to go over and make conversation; she didn't even want to. But she stood there looking in the girl's direction for a minute or so longer than she should have. The girl looked up, caught her eye and recognised her. Good manners deprived Athli of the option of silent withdrawal. She went over.

'Hello,' she said, smiling. 'I've just been watching you in court. Well done.'

The girl nodded a perfunctory acknowledgement. In front of her was a small glass of wine, the smallest measure that the house provided. Athli asked if she'd like another. She shook her head, the minimum of movement necessary to convey her meaning. Rather appalling to think that, even in partial jest, Athli had contemplated clerking for this person. She decided to persevere a little longer.

'Your first case, I gather,' she said. 'Rather a substantial client to get for your maiden brief.'

'I'm related to him,' the girl replied, turning her head away and staring out of the window. 'On my father's side. And it wasn't as if they expected me to do anything; they were sure they were going to settle before it got to court.' She looked round, straight into Athli's eyes. 'Neither side wanted it to go to trial,' she went on. 'They wanted to carry on doing business together, and all this stuff was just in the way.'

Athli was intrigued, in spite of herself. 'What went wrong, then?' she asked.

'I knew there was going to be a cancellation in the listings, so I went to the court clerk and had this case brought forwards. It was such short notice they didn't have time to settle. So I got my fight.'

'I see,' Athli replied slowly.

The girl grinned at her. 'One of the advantages of not having a clerk,' she said. 'I can do things like that.'

'Well, it'll be good for your career,' Athli replied. 'You shouldn't have any trouble finding work now.'

The girl shrugged. 'I need the practice,' she said. 'Schoolwork's all very well, but I need to get the feel of the real thing. Actually kill people in open court a few times, build up my temperament.'

It was a reasonable attitude for a professional, and it wasn't the first time Athli had heard the gist of it, though never put quite in that way. Nevertheless, she found the girl's attitude rather revolting, and decided not to say anything.

'You were a clerk, weren't you?' the girl went on, looking away again. 'So you'll know about these things. If I wanted to get work from the State Prosecutor's Office, are there any particular advocates I should be trying to get a case against? As I see it, if I target particular advocates, the Prosecutor'll notice me far quicker than if I just flounder about in general practice.'

Athli thought for a moment and suggested a couple of names; established advocates who picked and chose their work and charged high fees. 'If you beat any of them,' she went on, 'you'd certainly make a name for yourself. And obviously, the Prosecutor's always looking out for new advocates.' She paused, not wanting to know the answer to the question she was minded to ask. 'Why do you want to work for the Prosecutor, particularly? The money's good but nothing special, you'd do better in commercial practice. In fact, being a woman you'll probably find divorce would be a good field to be in.'

The girl shook her head, dislodging one of the combs from her hair; it fell on the table with a clatter. 'Divorce is a waste of time,' she said. 'Thanks for those names; I'll bear them in mind.'

Athli felt a great urge to go away, and decided to give in to it. 'Well,' she forced herself to say, 'well done once again and the best of luck.' She stood up. 'Clearly all that extra tuition wasn't wasted.'

The girl looked up sharply at that. 'No,' she said, 'I intend to make sure it wasn't. Goodbye.'

She said the word like a military officer saying Dismissed, and Athli walked away without looking back. She had decided not to say anything to Loredan; after all, he was through with all this, and he had a city to defend. Besides, she found she couldn't even now remember the wretched girl's name.

The enemy camp appeared under the walls of the city one morning like a mushroom, or a suspicious lump under one's skin not previously noticed. Later, the Security Council decided that they must have sneaked their rafts downstream as far as the gorge where the river cut through the low hills, a mile or so from the fork. Then, during the night, they somehow managed to make the last mile in pitch darkness, land their gear and set up camp no more than a third of a mile from the Drovers' Bridge; all in utter silence, setting up tents by feel without a sound or a gleam of light. Practice, the Council supposed, makes perfect, and for nomads pitching and breaking camp must be second nature. Nevertheless, it was an impressive achievement.

That was what was said in retrospect. When the first light of a grey and rather chilly day illuminated a vast expanse of ghostly grey and brown shapes apparently growing out of the low slopes on the left bank of the river, the city's reaction was rather less analytical.

This time, however, there were no mobs or riots; not even the anticipated mad rush to the harbour that Loredan had carefully provided against in his first-stage plans. That was just as well; even his plans hadn't covered the possibility of the enemy simply being there one morning. Instead, the city was quite unnervingly quiet, with groups of people standing out in the streets as if they were waiting for something to happen but had no idea what it was likely to be.

The first Loredan knew of it was when someone he didn't know burst into the small, cold room in the second-city gatehouse that he'd been using as a bedroom since his return from the cavalry raid. He jerked awake and was scrabbling for the hilt of his sword when the intruder spoke.

'We've got company,' the man said.

Loredan forgot about the sword and concentrated on getting his eyes open. He'd been up late the night before going over some discrepancies in the Quartermaster's accounts.

'What?' he mumbled. 'What's going on?'

'They're here. The enemy. They're camped outside the gates. Sir,' the man added as an afterthought. 'You're needed right away.'

Loredan swung his legs off the stone shelf that served him as a bed. 'Who the hell are you?' he asked.

'I'm Captain Doria of the change watch. With respect, sir, are you coming or not?'