"And yet our Masterfire is is extraordinary," Miltzin mused. "How might his talents best impress and educate my subjects? Ah, I've a thought. The Zoketsa sings Queen Phantina again tomorrow evening. You recall the famous Mad Scene, in which Phantina sets torch to the palace? Only think what it would be to see vast torrents of green flame engulfing all the stage! Yes! That's how it should be, and the verisimilitude will inspire the diva to scale new artistic heights. Ah, she will be so happy!" extraordinary," Miltzin mused. "How might his talents best impress and educate my subjects? Ah, I've a thought. The Zoketsa sings Queen Phantina again tomorrow evening. You recall the famous Mad Scene, in which Phantina sets torch to the palace? Only think what it would be to see vast torrents of green flame engulfing all the stage! Yes! That's how it should be, and the verisimilitude will inspire the diva to scale new artistic heights. Ah, she will be so happy!"

"Let me a.s.sure myself that I understand Your Majesty. You wish to use Masterfire as a theatrical property?"

"The spectacle will be magnificent."

"I see." Frivolous, trivial, insulting. Frivolous, trivial, insulting. An angry retort rose to Nevenskoi's lips, and he suppressed it with the self-control born of practice. He filled his mouth with an anchovy barquette, the better to obstruct the escape of rash words, and while he chewed, he considered. A night at the opera for Masterfire. An absurd indignity on the face of it, and yet undoubtedly a step up from the king's chafing dish. The Toltz Opera House, at least, was public and urban. Masterfire would be seen.... An angry retort rose to Nevenskoi's lips, and he suppressed it with the self-control born of practice. He filled his mouth with an anchovy barquette, the better to obstruct the escape of rash words, and while he chewed, he considered. A night at the opera for Masterfire. An absurd indignity on the face of it, and yet undoubtedly a step up from the king's chafing dish. The Toltz Opera House, at least, was public and urban. Masterfire would be seen.... Vast torrents of green flame engulfing all the stage.... Vast torrents of green flame engulfing all the stage.... Mad Miltzin was right, the spectacle would overwhelm the audience. Masterfire's fame would spread, along with the fame of his creator. Great things might eventually come of it. It was, at least, a start. Mad Miltzin was right, the spectacle would overwhelm the audience. Masterfire's fame would spread, along with the fame of his creator. Great things might eventually come of it. It was, at least, a start.

His spirits rose. The anchovy barquette, he noticed, was delightfully piquant.

Now we are happy again. Masterfire flowed like water over the study walls. Masterfire flowed like water over the study walls.

"An inspired suggestion, Majesty," Nevenskoi murmured suavely.

"Yes, my friend, I am inspired, for I am touched by the fire of the Zoketsa's genius. She and I are psychically linked. I have never known such intense closeness with a woman, it is a marriage of souls." Lost in golden dreams, Miltzin took an allumette garnished with truffles and crayfish tails, ate it, and broke from his trance to observe, "Gad, but that new sous-chef is a wonder! In his own way he possesses a kind of genius that rivals the Zoketsa's own. Or yours, for that matter."

"It is true, Sire," Nevenskoi conceded without reservation. The cook in question, hired weeks earlier to fill the vacancy left by the flight of the king's poisoner, had lost no time in establishing indispensability. He was an artist almost glaringly marked for greatness.

"Such talent and diligence merit reward. The fellow must receive a royal commendation. What's his name again?"

"Majesty, I've no idea."

"Oh, vexation." Miltzin yanked a bellpull.

Moments later a footman answered the summons. The servant took one look at the study walls swimming in green flame and flinched.

"That new sous-chef, hired a few weeks ago-d'you know his name?" the king demanded, cheerfully blind to the other's distress.

"Sire, I do." The footman took a breath and reclaimed his professional impa.s.sivity. "The cook in question, a native of Your Majesty's city of Flenkutz, is named Giggy Neeper."

Cousin Giggy. Always liked to putter with pastry and pates, even as a boy. Hadn't seen his kinsman Nitz in fifteen years, but surely would not have forgotten. Cousin Giggy-here in the Waterwitch Palace.

Nevenskoi's intestines writhed, and a pang of exquisite agony shot through him.

THE GREAT VINE LOWERED LUZELLE to the ground and released her so gently and smoothly that she staggered a little but never lost her footing. The next moment Girays was set down beside her. The vines withdrew, retracting into the jungle. The arms of the forest stilled themselves. to the ground and released her so gently and smoothly that she staggered a little but never lost her footing. The next moment Girays was set down beside her. The vines withdrew, retracting into the jungle. The arms of the forest stilled themselves.

She caught her breath and surveyed her surroundings. Behind her the green wild terminated abruptly. Before her rose small wooden shacks bordering scraggly vegetable gardens, a cl.u.s.ter of small market stalls, and a public prayer hut. Beyond them loomed the high and handsome white architecture of Jumo Towne, arch-windowed and adorned in fanciful Aennorvi style with wrought-iron grillwork and rooftop gardens. Her eyes widened, for the spectacle of that pristine, thoroughly westernized city set in the midst of the jungle was startling despite the many descriptions of this place she had read or heard. The descriptions had not prepared her for the almost unsettling contrast between sophistication and surrounding untamed nature, between upstart civilization and the ancient savagery poised to obliterate it. Jumo Towne, for all its elegance or because of it, appeared distinctly precarious.

But civilization and comfort would endure so long as the diamond mines continued to generate wealth. The huge profits from the mines, which had transformed an obscure Aennorvi colonial outpost into a city as luxurious as any to be found in the world, ensured protection and survival. So long as the great pits yielded bits of crystal, the theaters and casinos would flourish, the grand hotels would offer the finest cuisine, the shops would stock the costliest wares, the streets and mansions would shine, and the jungle would be held at bay. But even the richest of mines were not inexhaustible, and the jungle knew how to wait.

Luzelle slanted a look at Girays. He seemed hardly aware of the white city ahead. His eyes anch.o.r.ed on the jungle. He looked as if he wanted to run back in, track down the tribal shamans, and milk them of magical secrets. She could understand that particular mental itch, which she shared, but it was not something she would have expected of M. the Marquis. Girays v'Alisante, however, was no longer recognizable as a hereditary seigneur, a formerly-Exalted, or even as a moderately respectable member of society. Shirtless, ragged, filthy, unshorn, and unshaven, his chin black with disreputable stubble, M. the Marquis looked like a vagrant, or worse.

She herself was almost as bad, with her dirty sap-sticky clothing, her dirty curls and dirty face, but at least she was fully covered. No matter. Jumo Towne offered every conceivable amenity at a price, and she retained a full wallet. Within a matter of hours she and Girays would revert to their former selves, unless he had lost all his belongings, in which case his antiquated formerly-Exalted code would probably deny her permission to pay his bills.

"Girays." She jogged his arm, and his dark eyes tore themselves from the forest. "Have you still got your pa.s.sport and money?"

He slid a hand into a pocket, verified the contents, and nodded.

"Good. Let's go spend some, then." She began to walk on into the city, and he fell into step beside her.

"On what?" he asked as they went.

"I want a bath, a long, perfumed bath. I want new clothes and travel gear. I want some decent food, preferably expensive. I want a plush plush hotel room, or better yet, a suite. I want-" hotel room, or better yet, a suite. I want-"

"I get your general drift, but may I offer a practical suggestion?"

"I'm not in the mood for practical suggestions."

"This one is small and fairly painless. Before we do anything else, I propose that we find our way to the city hall before it closes for the day, and have our pa.s.sports stamped. Once that's accomplished, we can afford to relax a little. What do you think?"

We, he kept saying, as if he had forgotten that they were rivals. It would be so easy and natural to let herself forget as well. The so-easy-and-natural road to defeat, and she would not take that road. She would maintain her detachment, and she would leave him behind at the first opportunity.

"You're right, of course," she murmured submissively, and he darted a sharp glance at her. "We'd better get it done. I just hope it won't take long. Remember the underclerk in Xoxo?"

"Too well. 'Our Grewzian contender, the Overcommander Stornzof, will whip your Vonahrish backsides.'"

"Karsler." Luzelle's forehead creased. "What do you think has happened to him? If he was aboard the Water Sprite Water Sprite, he might still be trapped in the Ta'ahri Capillaries. The Blessed Tribesmen may have killed him, or he could starve in the jungle."

"Possible, but I doubt it. Stornzof's a singular character of unusual abilities-"

"Oh, you admit it?"

"I admit it. He's likely to prevail on his own merits. But if you're worried, here's what we can do. Remember, the South Ygahro Territory's part of the Imperium now. When we get to the city hall, we can tell the Grewzian authorities what happened to the Water Sprite. Water Sprite. When they hear what the natives have been up to, they'll probably send troops to the rescue." When they hear what the natives have been up to, they'll probably send troops to the rescue."

"Seems like a terrible thing to do to the Blessed Tribesmen, after they helped us."

"Yes, but it's not every stranded traveler who happens to know how to claim Ygahri hospitality. Those tribesmen are violent, they should be controlled."

"But they're only acting in self-defense, aren't they?"

"The death of Jhiv-Huze-self-defense?"

"The tribesmen might maintain that Oonuvu acted in defense of his honor. Besides, they must regard all westerners as invaders, which we are, and naturally they defend their own homeland. Can you really blame them for that?"

"Yes, when they attack and murder harmless civilian travelers."

"But are those civilian travelers really harmless? Only consider-"

They continued arguing the point as they advanced into Jumo Towne. Absorbed though she was in the debate, Luzelle did not fail to note the little native shacks and hovels that cluttered the outskirts of the city giving way to spotless white town houses lining wonderfully clean paved avenues. Everything was perfectly maintained, and no wonder. All around her she saw native menials gathering litter and animal droppings, raking gravel, scrubbing stucco, polishing gla.s.s and bra.s.s. The lawns bordering the houses were beautifully groomed, and the remarkable gardens combined jungle vitality and tropical color with rigorous westernized order.

On they marched along streets filled with the smartest carriages drawn by horses that would have shone anywhere in the world, pausing once for Girays to ask a random pedestrian for directions to the city hall. The pedestrian averted his eyes, quickened his pace, and hurried by without reply. Probably he thought that the foreign scarecrow was trying to ask for money.

Luzelle felt her face go red. Both of them looked wretched, but Girays was conspicuously half naked. The guards at the entrance would never admit him to the city hall in such a state. When she spied a pushcart vendor of oddments at the side of the road, she halted to observe, "Look, he's got a shirt for sale. Better take it."

"It's purple, Luzelle."

"I'd call it more of an aubergine."

"It resembles a giant bruise."

"It will keep you from being arrested for indecent exposure."

"My exposure is not indecent, only indecorous."

"Semantics. Just veil your charms for now, the world isn't ready."

He bought the shirt and put it on. Luzelle looked at him and felt the giggles rising. Girays was not a large man, but the shirt-clearly intended for a compact Ygahri wearer-was far too small for him. The sleeves ended inches short of his wrists, and there was not enough fabric to tuck into his waistband. The color was execrable.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Girays was watching her face.

"I wish I had one of those new light-sensitive gla.s.s plate things to capture the image for posterity. What is that shirt made of?"

"Tissue paper, I believe. Come on, let's get this over with."

The vendor furnished directions, and they moved on toward the city hall. The buildings grew taller and grander around them as they went, and they pa.s.sed a splendid white hotel on which Luzelle cast a longing eye. QUEEN OF DIAMONDS QUEEN OF DIAMONDS, the sign above the entrance proclaimed in Vonahrish, and the place looked as if it might live up to its name. But they would never let her cross the threshold in her present condition, and she found herself wondering whether Jumo Towne harbored an old-fashioned public bathhouse of which she and Girays might avail themselves before purchasing decent clothes, before checking into that beautiful hotel. And then, dinner.... But somewhere in the midst of all that pleasant activity, perhaps during the shopping phase, she would have to slip away on her own to investigate available travel options, for she needed to reach the port of Dasuneville, there to book pa.s.sage for Aveshq, exotic eastern extremity of the Grand Ellipse. And best to do it without Girays's knowledge, for the chance might arise to pull ahead....

What an underhanded notion. A slight sense of shame or guilt burned her. She could only hope that Girays would not read her mind, and sometimes M. the Marquis seemed almost as telepathic as Karsler Stornzof. But then, she reminded herself, she had nothing to be ashamed of. Girays had been willing to abandon her in Xoxo. He would leave her behind in Jumo, if possible. As he himself had observed, they were in a race.

The city hall rose before them, a handsome Aennorvi-style edifice topped with the Grewzian flag. They approached, and a grey-uniformed sentry demanded their business and their credentials. They explained one and produced the other, and the sentry let them in. They found their way to the registrar's office without difficulty, there to discover an elderly Aennorvi bureaucrat too insignificant to merit a Grewzian replacement. Girays addressed the registrar in his excellent fluent Aennorvi, and drew a strongly positive response. Both Vonahrish pa.s.sports immediately received stamps. Girays described the plight of the Water Sprite Water Sprite, and the registrar promised to relay the information to the appropriate authorities. The two travelers departed.

Done, easily and efficiently. Another official mark of progress along the Grand Ellipse. And now for a little well-deserved self-indulgence.

Luzelle was smiling as they emerged into the steamy sunlit glare of the tropical afternoon. "Have you realized," she asked, "that we've probably now pulled ahead of everyone else in the race, with the possible exception of the Festinette twins? Where d'you suppose those two are, anyway?"

"Haven't heard anything about them in weeks. Can't speak for Tchornoi, Zavune, or a couple of the others, either, for that matter."

"When last seen, those others were behind us. The Festinettes drew ahead long ago, then vanished. If they'd been through Xoxo before us, surely we would have heard. Think they might have had some sort of accident?"

"No way of knowing, no point in speculating."

"That's so phlegmatic."

"I'd call it logical."

"No it isn't, because you're wrong, there's plenty of point in speculating. Speculation raises questions, stimulates the intellect-" She chattered on as they walked, enjoying the mental exercise.

They drew level with the mouth of a small alley, and the sound of angry voices pulled her eyes into the pa.s.sageway, where she saw two khaki-uniformed Jumo Towne constables beating a native. The Ygahri-nearly naked, covered with bruises and cuts-offered no resistance. Arms raised to shield his head, he crouched whimpering on the ground. Deaf or indifferent to all pleas, the constables methodically plied their truncheons.

"Here-stop that!" Luzelle did not pause to think. Already she was running down the alley, shouting as she went. "You're killing him, stop!"

The constables looked up from their work, and one of them snarled something in Aennorvi. His words were meaningless to her, but the gesture that accompanied them was perfectly intelligible. She herself had addressed them in Vonahrish, which the officers might or might not know, but surely she could make herself understood. Halting, she moderated her tone, appealing quietly, "Please stop. He is not resisting you. Stop."

The constables stared at her. The native crouched on the ground did likewise. One of the khaki officers snapped an angry command.

"He's telling you to keep out of it," Girays translated. He had advanced to stand beside her.

"You can talk to them. Tell them to stop before they kill that man."

"I don't think it will do any good."

"Please try."

"Very well." Girays addressed the constables in their own language. He spoke calmly, reasonably, and they listened for a few moments, then fired a burst of irritable Aennorvi at him. "They say that this man is a fugitive worker from the diamond mines," he translated. "They say that the native miners are forbidden by law to abandon their labors-"

"That's outrageous, that's serfdom!"

"And that recaptured escapees are always soundly thrashed, at the very least, as a matter of policy. Sets an example for the other native malcontents."

"They're disgusting. I might have expected this of the Grewzians, but these people are Aennorvis, aren't they?" She addressed herself to the constables, this time speaking in Grewzian, which they might well comprehend. "Very well, you have the prisoner made secured, and you have punished well and truly. Now why, if you please, cannot you merely-"

The hostile eyes were turned in her direction. Seizing the providential opportunity, the battered Ygahri sprang to his feet and streaked for the mouth of the alley. Yelling, the constables gave chase.

"Wait!" Instinctively Luzelle moved to block their path. One of the officers collided with her, and she sat down hard. From her new position on the ground, she had a clear view of Girays's foot discreetly positioning itself to intercept the second Aennorvi, who tripped and fell full length. His partner paused at the intersection, glancing right and left. Evidently the quarry had already vanished, for he turned away with a curse.

The fallen constable arose to spew infuriated Aennorvi at Girays, who murmured a bland, meek apology that failed to turn aside wrath. The angry tirade continued. Luzelle stood up, and the second constable opened verbal fire in Aennorvi. She shrugged her incomprehension, and he switched to Grewzian.

"You have aided and abetted a fugitive. You have hindered city officers in the performance of their duty. These are serious felonies."

"Accidents, sir. I am the most clumsy," Luzelle confessed remorsefully, taking her cue from Girays's demeanor. "I regret all trouble, but truly, made only the unfortunate accidents."

"You blocked my path and delayed me, while this clown in the purple shirt tripped my partner. The fugitive native has escaped justice for now, thanks to your meddling. You claim all this was accidental?"

"Truly, Constable, the most unfortunate-"

"Silence, you are both under arrest. You are in Jumo Towne, a city of the Imperium now, and our laws are not to be mocked by foreign beggars, vagabonds, and vagrants."

Why you miserable spineless little collaborators, I'll wager most of your fellow Aennorvis would like to tear you apart, Luzelle thought. She clamped her jaw to keep the words in.

"Officers, gentlemen, we are neither beggars nor vagabonds." Girays spoke up politely. "We are two respectable Vonahrish travelers. We compete in the Grand Ellipse race. You have heard of the Grand Ellipse, yes?"

"Enough foolery, these lies make things worse for you," a constable advised.

"No lies," Girays maintained. "See, I will show you my pa.s.sport." His hand approached his pocket.

"Halt."

Service revolvers materialized in the hands of both officers. Luzelle gasped. Girays froze.

"Hands up. Both of you."

The prisoners obeyed. One of the constables searched them brusquely, removing pa.s.sports and wallets.

"Blue ground," the investigator reported with a low whistle. "Take a look at this." He displayed the contents of the confiscated wallets. "Vonahrish New-rekkoes. Thousands."

"So." His partner nodded with an air of confirmed expectation, then demanded of Girays, "Where did you steal this?"

"I did not steal it," Girays returned. "The pa.s.sports and wallets belong to me and to this lady."

"Do yourself a favor, don't make us angry."