As if the demons within had suddenly lost energy upon hearing her words, Lazar slumped against the mattress, still silent. In fact he became so still that Jumo had to look carefully to convince himself that his friend still breathed.

"They will need to be changed twice daily," Ellyana warned.

Both listeners nodded, exhausted by their labors and concerned about the days ahead.

"Are we losing him?" Jumo asked.

Ellyana stared into his earnest expression. "I won't tell untruths for comfort's sake. He's dying, Jumo. This is the final stage before the venom works on the heart. I think perhaps we were too late."

"No!" At his exclamation she laid a hand on his arm but he shook it away. "We have to save him. You brought us here, you made him make that journey across the water and up the cliff side." His voice broke. "You save him," he demanded. He glanced toward Zafira through a mist of tears he refused to spill and he could see the hopelessness in her gaze. So she too understood that Lazar was as good as lost, even after all her work.

"Jumo," Ellyana began.

"Don't placate me," he warned. "You wouldn't have come here if you didn't have a vested interest in him. I don't know what that interest is, and to be honest, I don't care. I just want you to try, even if you think you're wasting your time."

"It would be no waste to save this man's life," she uttered softly. "I want him to live too but I want you to understand that it's not within my power to give him life."

"But you can try!"

"Yes." She nodded, resignation in the soft sigh that followed. "I will try for you." She picked up the pot of liquid that they'd made and been forced to wait while it cooled. "This special tea we've brewed is made from the rare circad. It is the only thing I've discovered that can act aggressively against snake poison and it is especially effective against drezdenaif administered quickly enough."

"How often do we give him the tea?" Jumo asked.

"As often as he will tolerate it. It is unpleasantly bitter. The more we get into him, the better his chances of healing. He will bring it back up but we will have to persevere."

"Then I will persevere," he echoed firmly.

Ellyana smiled sadly. "Jumo, leave this to the women. You have done all you can."

"What?" Jumo scowleda"surely she couldn't be suggesting he leave Lazar in such a perilous state.

"Go back to the city," she replied calmly. "Wait for news."

"But why nota"" he began, only to be stilled by the sad smile on the face of the old woman and the way she calmly lifted a finger to quiet him.

"Jumo, we now know that Lazar has enemies within the palace who feel sufficiently threatened by him to make a very determined attempt on his life. We are presuming it is the Grand Master Eunuch at work but we are not certain. The Vizier could be involved, the Valide might have a hand in it, even the Zar, if he's been compromised in some way."

"Never," Jumo whispered, further angered by the suggestion, for Lazar had such faith in Boaz.

"We cannot be sure. And we shouldn't risk our tiny chance at reviving him by letting anyone know where he is."

Bitterness laced Jumo's tone as he asked warily, "What do you want me to do?"

"Return to Lazar's house and await our message. If he lives, you can spread the good news and be our eyes. Watch for who reacts positively but mostly for who does not. Pez will be a great help in this, as regards the palace, but you can keep your ear to the ground around the city and listen to what the people are saying. We need to know that Salmeo and his cohorts aren't spreading rumors about the Spur. We must be informed of Lazar's position before he sets foot back in the city."

"You speak as if you believe he will live," Jumo observed.

"If he dies, Jumo, then you and Pez can still be of more use to Lazar in Percheron proper than here. You can see who relishes the news of his death and get word to the Zar. Either way you are serving your master best by being close to the palace."

Jumo shook his head. "I would prefer to be with himato the end if necessary. I don't want this man dying alone."

"He won't be alone," Ellyana countered firmly. "Zafira and I will be at his side for every minute that he breathes."

"I can't leave him," he beseeched. "I couldn't live with myself if anything should happen."

Ellyana took his hand in hers. "I will give every bit of myself toward saving him, and so will Zafira. It doesn't need three of us and Lazar can benefit from your presence elsewhere."

Jumo closed his eyes in frustration. "But the very moment I return to his home, I will be besieged with inquiries. What am I to tell them?"

"You will lie. Our aim is to keep Lazar's antagonists well away from him until we know he's strong enough again." Ellyana shrugged. "So, without knowing who his enemies are, we must treat everyone as foe. You will tell anyone who asks after Lazar that following your arrival at the Sea Temple, where he requested you take him, he fell deathly ill. The priestess said she would do what she could for him and suggested you leave him with her for a while until she could assess the extent of his injuries."

"No one will believe that," he said.

"You can say you were so shocked by Lazar's condition that you weren't thinking straight. The priestess gave you a drink and you had no idea that it was drugged with a sedative. When you woke, Lazar was gone and you've been searching ever since but have found no sign of him."

Jumo's incredulity deepened. "You think they'll accept any of that story?"

"Yes, because there is no word of him. There is no sign of him. No one saw us leave with him, and no one must see you return. You will have to go in disguise."

"And how do I explain my absence for so long?"

Zafira spoke up quietly. "You could legitimately claim that you were so overcome with grief that you found the nearest drinking hole and drank yourself into oblivion. You'd need to buy off the silence of the mosha-man, of course, but that won't be hard."

"I don't drink in mosha houses," Jumo complained, knowing it was a hollow attempt to thwart the idea.

"Then throw the liquor over yourself. You only have to smell of it to convince anyone listening to your torrid tale."

"She's right," Ellyana agreed. "It's a good plan."

"It makes Zafira out to be a villain, though."

Zafira snorted gently. "As if that frightens me, dear Jumo. We who worship the Goddess have lived as outcasts and villains for the entirety of my lifetime and well before that. I have my faith, and that is all I need. What people think of me in my dotage is of no concern."

"Jumo, can't you see that we are helping Lazar, not punishing you?" Ellyana pushed.

"Yes, of course I can," he snapped. "But you don't understand how much we've been through together." He looked at the face of the man he loved. It was devoid of expression, the lips a pale smudge on the once-bronzed skin that now looked leached of all color.

"It is best that you leave nowa"getting this tea down him is going to be ugly," Ellyana warned.

Jumo turned to her again. "What do you mean?"

"He'll rail against it with the little strength he has left and that exertion alone could cost him his life. It will be a gentle balance between forcing him to drink whilst not making him fight us as well as the poison. Leave us now, Jumo. Use the boat and row yourself back to the harbor. I promise we'll get word to you within the next day or so."

Jumo turned helplessly to Zafira for support but her expression was implacable. She agreed with Ellyana, that much was clear. He raised a finger in warning. "Be sure you do and be sure you save him, or so help me, Ellyana, I shall come looking for you."

21.

It was humid in Percheron, the air stifling within the confines of the city. Despite the heat, the bazaar hummed with its usual activity as traders encouraged the evening's stream of humanity to buy everything from freshly baked honey puffs to painted tiles.

As usual, Gold Alley was the most congested area; the Percherese did not rush into the purchase of gold but loved to roam the small corridors of glittering stalls at leisure. Many would pay close attention to the changing prices over days, often weeks, before investing. Others just liked to sit down with the traders and touch the seductive metal long before they were ready to pay good cash. There was never any hurry. The merchants gave each customer time, often sending their subordinates to fetch tea that arrived in colorful glasses on small trays. Tea meant hospitality and fellowship. It prompted conversation and ultimately sales.

Tariq saw none of this, however, as he hurried through the sloping streets. The color and ritual of Gold Alley were lost on him, his eyes fixed ahead on the next corner, his mind enmeshed in visions of power and wealth. He didn't stop to help or even apologize to the youngster whose elbow he clipped, sending a tray of dark golden tea clattering to the ground as the cranberry-colored glass, edged in gold, smashed in a hail of tinkling shards. No one recognized him, for although the Vizier's forked and bejeweled beard alone normally marked him for who he was, on this night Tariq had taken measures to disguise himself. The tea boy would later blame an ignorant woman, tall and fully veiled in a jamoosh.

Tariq pressed on, his mind a whirl of possibilities mingled with fear. Was he doing the right thing? It was only temporary, he reminded himself, and then he'd be unimaginably wealthy for the rest of his life. He wasn't too old to enjoy riches, and if he was fully honest, it was the riches that attracted him more than the power. Power was for a younger man, he now realized. If Maliz had visited him ten or fifteen years earlier, Tariq might have bartered for influence with the Zar, but since this afternoon he had decided he was tired of the palace, wearied of the political maneuverings, unhappy that he now served a Zar who was still too young to grow a beard.

He'd never had a good relationship with Joreba"that much was clear, or he would already be Grand Vizier. But to be back at the beginning, having to prime and grow a new relationship with someone already so untrusting of him, was draining. Joreb had not cared much for Tariq but they had forged a working relationship; Tariq suspected Boaz was not interested in such a relationship. So perhaps in the end Maliz's offer of extraordinary wealth was the sole reason for agreeing to his terms. Tariq could see himself retiring and living the decadent life he'd always dreamed of. That kind of wealth was power in itself anyway. He would no longer be a servant to the royals but one of the people they entertained.

You will never regret it, Maliz had assured Tariq, his tone slightly mocking. He had given the Vizier directions and disappeared swiftly from the Vizier's mind.

And so Tariq had disguised himself as a woman beneath the veil, the only way he could think of to hide his instantly recognizable beard. Now he was hurrying through the streets, the spilled tea long forgotten as he made his way toward the harbor and an area known as the Ditch.

There were fewer lanterns here, so the shadows were deeper, and the salty tang in the air became stronger. People were dressed more roughly but nobody gave the tall woman a second glance. A new smell permeated Tariq's nostrilsa"fragrant and strong, layering itself across the almost permanently fishy odor that hung predictably around the foreshore. His nose told him he was close to the main spice market as the mix of seeds and powders, fresh herbs and spices, clamored for his attention.

Tariq felt safer in the bazaar, not only because there was so much more activity beneath the lanes of brightly colored wares but also because the lanes were crowded with women. Fewer were veiling themselves, he noticed with interesta"it had been a long time since he'd wandered the streets of the common people. Full veiling of women had once been a national tradition but it had begun to die out over the last century as more liberal attitudes prevailed. Now only high-caste families insisted that their women remain veiled outside their homes. And royalty, of course.

Tariq forced himself to stop at several stalls, pretending to consider the wares on display. He figured it was more natural for him to weave his way west if he looked like a genuine shopper. Attention was the last thing he needed.

With a forced casualness, he dawdled by a stall selling hot spices, picking up cloves and cardamom seeds and smelling them, turning over chilies to check color and freshness before moving on, pausing briefly by a store selling only variations of pepper, feigning fascination in the colors and choice being offered. Finally he strolled down the middle of the main thoroughfare, turning toward the western gate and maintaining his casual meander, pretending to be absorbed in the produce until his eye caught the sign that read BELOCH'S TABLE.

It was every bit as vulgar as he'd imagined. A fat man with a dirty apron grinned at him, a calon hanging from one lip and smoking itself, it seemed, by the length of ash still clinging to it. "My sister, can we serve you today? Quishtar perhaps or a plate of yemshi?" he offered, oblivious to the cockroach crawling across his foot.

The cheek of it, the Vizier thought, simmering beneath the veil, using the name of one of the city's great icons to herald this tawdry little eatery. He passed over the karel he had readied. "I've been told to give you this. You have no memory of my being here," he said. If the grubby owner was surprised to hear a man's voice from behind the jamoosh, he gave no outward sign. "I wish to use your back door."

"Be my guest, erasister," the man welcomed him, pocketing the karel as expertly as a master thief. No one had seen the coin change hands and the tall woman was instantly forgotten as the owner began soliciting new customers.

The Vizier moved quickly to the back of the eatery, pushing past servers and the two cooks until he spotted the open door and the lane beyond. He turned as instructed and could just make out, courtesy of a single lantern. the small green doorway at the end of the alley. It was dim, deserted, the noise from the bazaar muffled. A rat scurried by, leaping over Tariq's foot and causing him to let out a small shriek of disgust. He could feel his heart pounding. Was this such a good idea after all? He told himself that he could still back out. Maliz would be angry but what could the demon do to him? He was only a voice.

Tariq paused, now only a dozen steps from the door. This was it. If he was going to flee, it would have to be now. As if on cue, an amused voice filled his head.

Welcome to my abode, Tariq. Please, come in.

Too late, he thought, there was no choice anymore. "Where are you?" he called tentatively.

Step inside. There are a few of us but you'll know me soon enough.

Tariq reached for the handle of the green door, taking a deep breath. He had never been so scared in his entire life.

PEZ TURNED ON his usual antics for the men before knocking theatrically on the Zar's door. At night Boaz was waited on by guards on both sides of the door to his sleeping chamber, so Pez was greeted by a grim-faced man who obviously didn't appreciate the late-night arrival.

"Oh, it's you," he said, a hint of disgust in his voice. "We're to permit you even if he's sleeping, so I suppose you'd better come in."

"Do you like custard?" Pez asked earnestly.

"Not particularly," the guard replied. "Nor am I keen to wake His Majesty."

"Oh, His Majesty loves custard. I prefer dolphins. What about slugs, do you like them? They sing rather oddly."

The man raised his eyes in frustration. The hour was late enough without this nonsense. He turned on his heel and left Pez standing by the door.

Pez hesitated. He had made a curious decision to be not altogether truthful with Boaz. He couldn't say exactly why he had decided as he had, he only knew that it felt somehow right.

He knocked gently at the bedchamber door, wondering what in Lyana's name he was going to say to the boy about his whereabouts these past hours. From behind the door he heard mumbling and risked opening it.

"Purple flowers smell strange," Pez muttered.

The door was pulled back fully. "Where have you been?" Boaz demanded. Pez was taken aback by the vehemence in the youngster's voice. He looked around to see where the guards were, an excuse rushing to form itself when Boaz continued, "I've been worried sick about you."

Pez turned back, relieved. "I'm sorry, High One," he replied. "I can explain."

"Come on in. I couldn't sleep anyway. There's hardly a breath of air."

"It's worse in the city."

"Is that where you've been?"

"Yes," the dwarf lied.

"Good. I figured you'd been with Lazar. Now tell me where he is and that he's recovering. I shall send my own physics immediately. He must have the best attention." The Zar shook his head. "I haven't been able to think straight all evening. Ia"" He closed his mouth at his friend's grave expression.

"I can't help, High One," Pez replied solemnly. "I have no idea where he is."

"What? Not even you?"

"Not even me."

"Pez, no one can tell me where the Spur is. I've had the city combed and there's no word on the street of his whereabouts. How can a man who looked half dead and yet so recognizable just disappear?"

Pez's voice was hard. "He didn't only look half dead, Majesty. He was dying."

Boaz was silent a long moment. Then he said quietly, "Please tell me you're jesting."

"I lie not. It's true that I accompanied Lazar and Jumo to the Sea Temple. If they're not there now, I have no idea where they are," Pez replied, hating himself for the fabrication.

The boy studied him. "But you and Lazar are such good friends. Surely you would have stayed with him?"

"I don't care to be abroad in the city too often or for long periods, my Zar. I was no help anyway. Lazar was unconscious and his wounds were so horrific that both Jumo and I were helpless."

He watched Boaz force control over himself. The boy was close to falling apart but Pez felt a gentle pride in noting that the young Zar was rising to his station.

"Why the Sea Temple? No one goes there," Boaz queried.

Pez shrugged. "Jumo tells me it is a place Lazar discovered very recently. He liked its peace and the fact that it is deserted, save for an old priestess."