Warak Mariner sat up a little straighter on the pallet and stared at his grandson. "A what came through the wall?"

"An anvil."

"I see."

Rory frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Warak didn't answer his question. Instead, for no apparent reason, he asked about the headaches again. "And now the pain in your head is gone, you say? Did that happen before or after this stray anvil came flying through the wall?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, wondering what the old man was on about. "I guess it happened around the same time. Why?"

Warak placed a weathered old hand on his grandson's shoulder and frowned. "Unless there was an anvil-chucking contest going on behind that wall, my guess is that you've inherited some of the family talent, Rorin, my lad."

Rory smiled sceptically as he recalled what Patria had said about their grandfather's far-fetched stories. "The only talent I have, Grandpa, is finding trouble. You ask my pa."

"That may be truer than you think, lad. Did anybody besides Patria see you in that lane?"

Rory shrugged. "I don't know."

"Then you're not to admit you were there. I'll speak to your cousin when she gets home.

Hopefully, there'll be no more trouble about this."

Rory shrugged uncertainly. "You make it sound like it was my fault, somehow."

"If it was, Rorin lad, then we're in way more trouble than your cousin turning tricks."

"I don't understand."

Warak smiled at him sympathetically. "I know you don't, Rorin, but that's all right. You just forget about flying anvils and what your poor cousin is up to, eh? In the meantime, I'll write a letter to your cousin in Hythria."

"The rich one?" Rory asked, humouring the old man. Patria might think his stories wild and unbelievable, but they were often the only escape Rory had from the drudgery of his existence and he wasn't quite as ready to dismiss them as flights of fancy.

"Aye," the old sailor agreed.

"Why?"

"Because if what I think happened tonight is true," the old man replied, "you may need to get out of Fardohnya."

That night, several weeks ago, still burned in Rory's brain as if it had happened yesterday. Patria had come home a few hours later with tales of the unexplained death of a sailor in an alley off Victory Parade as if she was just repeating gossip and not intimately involved in the incident. The manner of his death had everyone talking, too. He'd been hit with an anvil, they claimed, and it had taken three men to lift it back into place. Already there were rumours flying through the slums, claiming the anvil could only have been moved by magic. Patria studiously avoided Rory's eye whenever the subject came up and refused to discuss the matter.

Rory had listened to her tale and then looked at his grandfather questioningly, but the old man shook his head and warned the boy to silence. It was their little secret. They had to wait, Rory knew, until they had an answer from his cousin in Hythria, because if the rumours were true, and he really had moved that anvil by magic, then the only chance he had of getting out of Talabar, out of Fardohnya, before someone discovered his ability, was if some girl in Hythria that he'd never even met agreed to send the money for his passage.

Rory wasn't nearly so dubious about his grandfather's stories any more. If he could accidentally throw an anvil through a wall with his mind, then the stories of their family having a Harshini ancestor might not be so silly, after all. And if that was true, what was to say all the other stories Warak Mariner told them weren't just as real?

And if they were real, if Rory really had inherited some sort of magical ability, it made him more than just an object of suspicion.

It made him guilty of murder.

Chapter 5.

Of all the debts her mother had left Luciena, the largest was the mortgage on the house, a sum of some one hundred and eighty thousand gold rivets. The debt itself was bad enough. What made it intolerable was she'd be lucky if the property was worth half that, so even selling it wouldn't get her out of trouble.

And just to make matters worse, the money was owed to the most notorious moneylender in Greenharbour, Ameel Parkesh.

Ameel Parkesh was the sort of moneylender respectable people didn't do business with and, for the life of her, Luciena couldn't understand why her mother had been dealing with the man. Luciena's father had left them with a healthy stipend. He'd arranged for his daughter and her court'esa mother to be kept in the manner they had become accustomed to while he was alive. Even Princess Marla, although she'd stolen the rest of Jarvan Mariner's fortune the moment he drew his last breath, hadn't attempted to interfere with the arrangements.

Or had she?

Perhaps that's why the money had dried up? Perhaps they were in debt because her mother hadn't wanted to tell her the truth? Perhaps that scheming bitch at the palace had decided she wanted it all, and even the relatively small amount it took to keep Luciena and her mother housed, clothed and fed had become too much of a temptation? Was that what had prompted the sudden invitation to the palace? Was Marla finally asking to meet with Luciena just so she could gloat?

There was really only one way to find out, so Luciena set out on foot for the financial district of town, several days after her visit from Lieutenant Taranger and the Palace Guard, to visit her father's business manager, Farlian Kell. She allowed herself a private smile of triumph as she pushed through the crowded streets, wondering what Princess Marla's reaction had been when her lackey had delivered Luciena's message. She had visions of the princess in a towering rage, smashing priceless pieces of Walsark porcelain in her fury when she learned that even though she controlled almost unlimited wealth and probably most of Hythria, she had no power over the common, baseborn daughter of a slave.

Serves her right, Luciena thought. Let her see what it feels like to have all her illusions shattered.

It took Luciena the better part of the morning to reach the financial district and then another hour of waiting around before she was allowed in to see Farlian Kell. He had never kept her waiting before and she was hot, sticky and quite out of sorts by the time she was shown into his presence.

The old man rose to his feet as she entered the room, clearly suffering from the gout that had plagued him for much of his adult life-certainly as long as Luciena had known him. He smiled wanly and bade her take a seat, before lowering himself back down to his own seat and lifting his swollen foot onto the padded footstool under the desk.

"This is a pleasant surprise," he said, as he shifted his foot into a more comfortable position. "I didn't really expect to see you so soon, Luciena. Shouldn't you still be in mourning?"

"I am in mourning, Master Kell," she said. "Mostly for my inheritance."

Farlian seemed a little put out by her tone. "Is there a problem? Surely, anything your mother had was left to you? I know your father made excellent provision for you."

"Well, that's the problem, you see. My mother had nothing. If my father left me anything, I see no sign of it."

Farlian shook his head. "That's not possible."

"Not only is it possible, it's happened. My inheritance is substantial, Master Kell. The problem is, I owe it, rather than having it owed to me."

"But how could this happen?" Farlian asked, clearly confused. "There was more than enough put aside for your living expenses."

"I was hoping you could tell me," Luciena replied. "I thought maybe Princess Marla decided to- "

"Absolutely not!" Farlian declared emphatically.

"How can you be so sure? You said yourself, the monthly stipend my father left us was more than enough to cover our expenses. Yet according to the household accounts, two years ago the stipend simply ceased. We've been living on borrowed money ever since."

"Then it must have something to do with your mother's investments, Luciena," Farlian told her.

"I can promise you, Princess Marla has never once attempted to interfere in the provision of your upkeep."

"What investments?" Luciena scoffed. "My mother was a court'esa, Master Kell. She knew about keeping a man satisfied and she was a very proficient linguist, but she had no notion of finances and certainly no clue about investing money."

"Be that as it may," Farlian shrugged, "she obviously fancied herself a little more knowledgeable about money than you give her credit for."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Luciena, the monthly stipend your father left you stopped two years ago because your mother asked for the remaining money to be paid in a lump sum. She said she had some investments she wanted to make and believed the return on her money would be significantly more than the allowance your father had left her to run the household."

"And you just gave her the money?" Luciena gasped, appalled her mother had been able to ask such a boon. And, what was worse, had been given it.

"Your mother was very determined, Luciena."

"But she was a slave! Surely it's illegal to hand that sort of money over to a slave?"

"Normally, yes," Farlian agreed. "But your father had specifically granted her control over your stipend in his will, to allow her to maintain your house and provide for you. I certainly couldn't have given her any other money, but there was nothing to stop her taking what was legally left in her care."

He sighed, seeming to take pity on her. "Is there nothing in the accounts indicating the type of investments your mother made?"

"Nothing," Luciena sighed, shaking her head. "Just debts. Even the house is mortgaged to Ameel Parkesh."

"I wish I could help, my dear. Parkesh is not a man to be trifled with."

"Is there some way of borrowing the money?" she asked, beginning to feel truly desperate. "I could pay it back, Master Kell. You know me to be a woman of my word. I could find work . . . I could work here, for that matter, to clear the debt, if need be. You know I have a head for figures."

"How much do you need?"

"One hundred and eighty thousand gold rivets. And that's just to clear the debt on the house."

The old man shook his head, clearly sympathetic, but powerless. "I can't loan you that sort of money, Luciena. Not without going to Princess Marla for permission."

She sat back in her chair, the bitter taste of defeat on her lips. "Princess bloody Marla. It always comes back to her, doesn't it?"

"Perhaps if you explained your dilemma to her-"

"I'd rather sell myself into slavery than accept help from that woman."

Farlian was obviously puzzled by her attitude. "Has her highness done something to you, Luciena?"

"On the contrary, Master Kell," she corrected, rising to her feet. "She's done nothing. Nothing at all. That's the problem. Thank you for your time."

She turned to leave, but Farlian's voice stopped her at the door. "You should go and see her, you know."

Luciena glanced over her shoulder at him. "The only thing I have left is my pride, Master Kell. I'm not going to sell that just to get out of debt."

"Pride won't keep you fed, lass. And it won't put a roof over your head."

"No," she agreed bitterly. "But it will allow me to sleep at night, even if I am sleeping in the streets."

If Farlian Kell had an answer for that, Luciena didn't wait around to hear it. She closed the door on him and strode past the rows of scribes and secretaries in the outer office with her head held high, looking neither left nor right. It wasn't until she was back out in the street, now deserted as the midday heat drove everyone indoors for a time, that she allowed the tears to blur her vision. She turned and headed in the direction of the house that she would, very soon, no longer be able to call home.

Luciena was three streets away from the house when she remembered she wasn't the only one with problems. No matter how desperate her own situation seemed, she had a cousin in Talabar in far worse trouble. Although she wasn't able to explain it to Aleesha, Luciena didn't have much in the way of family and it seemed a crime to turn her back on the one cousin she knew of. Assuming, of course, her uncle's letter wasn't just a very clever ruse to extort money from her, as her slave suspected.

Still, you can't get blood out of a stone, Luciena reminded herself, thinking Warak Mariner sorely misinformed if he thought there was any of the Mariner money left for his niece to squander. But that didn't mean she couldn't try to help. Rory had exhibited signs of magical talent and Warak wanted money to send him to the Sorcerers' Collective in Greenharbour.

Maybe, if Luciena couldn't help him, the High Arrion could.

Luciena didn't even get past the gates of the Sorcerers' Collective before they turned her away, not in the slightest bit interested in her tale about her magically gifted cousin in distant Talabar.

Infuriated, although not really surprised, by the Collective's careless dismissal of her petition, footsore, weary and bowed down by the weight of her problems, it was midafternoon before Luciena turned into the street where she lived, only to find the day had just plunged from bad to infinitely worse. Parked outside the house was a litter with four muscular slaves leaning against the outer wall of the house, making the most of what little shade there was on the street.

"Whose litter is this?" she demanded of the nearest bearer as she approached the door.

"Master Parkesh's," the slave informed her in a bored voice. He didn't bother to stand up straight or even offer a "my lady." His insolence scared Luciena. These men knew she was only one unpaid debt away from joining their ranks.

Luciena pushed the door open and hurried through the tiled foyer and into the reception hall.

There was no sign of Aleesha but there were two men in the hall, one of whom clutched a wax tablet and seemed to be reporting to the other on the various vintages stored in the cellar.

"Which one of you is Ameel Parkesh?" she demanded, her depression rapidly turning to anger.

Clearly, they had been taking an inventory of the remaining contents of the house. How dare these men come in here and start cataloguing her possessions!

"I am," the taller of the two men answered, as they both turned to look at her. He was a thin man, with a goatee beard and a heavy gold earring in his left lobe. His vest was embroidered and sleeveless, revealing powerful arms that undoubtedly got that way by beating defaulting debtors to a pulp. He dismissed the clerk with a wave of his arm and smiled as Luciena approached. "And you must be the lovely Katira Keyne's daughter. I'm delighted to see you didn't take after your father in looks, Luciena. He was an ugly old bastard."

"Where is my slave?"

"The chubby one? Ran out of here howling as soon as we arrived. She was yelling something about going for help." He smiled coldly and looked around. "Can't see she's had much luck so far."

"Get out of my house."

Parkesh seemed amused rather than intimidated by her order. "Don't you mean my house?"

"It will be your house, Master Parkesh, if and when I default on the debt. As I believe the debt is not due to be settled until the end of the week, you have no right to be here."

"You have my money then?" he asked with a raised brow.

"We'll discuss that at the end of the week."

He took a step closer to her. She could smell the sweat on him, the leather of his vest, and the faint hint of olive oil he used to slick back his hair. She hoped he couldn't smell her fear just as easily.

"And what shall we do with you, my dear, if you can't pay me?"

"I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement," she replied, wishing even as she uttered the words that she hadn't.

Parkesh smiled and reached out to run his finger gently down the side of her face. "Oh, I'm quite sure we can come to an arrangement, Luciena."

"I was referring to some sort of financial agreement," she snapped, jerking her head away from his touch.