Carlos stared at me, then at Marie. "What are you holding out?"

"Nothing, Carlos."

"Nothing," Marie echoed. "Just like David said."

One-Hand brushed his hand down the front of his tunic, then took a step toward Marie.

I held up a hand. The bruised one. "It's not her fault, Carlos. I slipped up while cutting a purse." I waved the bruise under his aquiline nose. "My left hand isn't working too well, for some reason." I held out my right hand, as though offering it as a sacrifice. "Go ahead. Hurt this one. Then you can be sure I'll miss quota tomorrow."

Carlos One-Hand shook his head, his limp gray hair whipping around his thin, withered face. "No." He smiled affectionately. "I'm sorry about your hand. You're correct; it's my fault."

He started to turn away, then spun back and hacked down at me with his stump.

That was his way of accepting my excuse. If he had been really angry, he would have used his hand.

I ignored the punches and kicks, as much as possible; his heart didn't seem to be in his work today.

That had to mean something. But what?

Finally, he let me cringe against a rough-hewn wall, and then turned to Marie. "I know why I bother with him. I know' why I let him get away with cheating the old man that fed and raised him. When he gets old enough, I'll get him to work Elwere for me. Make me rich, he will. But you-you're only good for one thing-"

"Leave her alone, Carlos." I'd had enough. Besides, he'd tired himself out, pretending to beat me to a pulp.

Speaking up wasn't too much of a risk. I hoped.

"If you didn't have something on your mind, you would have hurt me worse." The night before, he had kicked the h.e.l.l out of both of us, and just sent us out in the morning.

The old man hesitated for a moment, stroking at his beard, then nodded.

"Quite right." Pulling up a cushion, he dropped to the rug, seating himself tailor-fashion. He crooked his finger at Marie. "You sit down near me. "You," he said, beckoning to me, "you can get out of the corner now.

"Listen carefully-I've been thinking this through for a while." One-Hand tugged at his beard. "We're not making enough with the usual slice-and-run, correct?"

I didn't bother to answer.

Marie did. "What else can we do?""Shh. He'll tell us." I shook my head. Whatever Carlos had in mind, I was sure that it wasn't going to be either safe or pleasant.

"Now," he said, warming to the subject, "I can't send David here into Elwere, at least not yet." He smiled at me. "We've got to put a few pounds and a few more years on you, then get up enough of a stake to set you up like a proper Elwerean."

"d.a.m.n Elweries-"

"Elwereans." He punctuated the word with a slap. "That's what they call themselves, and you had better get used to it. I don't want you to use that other word again. When we try to pa.s.s you as an Elwerean-"

"Like you used to do?"

"Yes." He waved his stump. "And until I lost my hand, I did very well, for quite a few years; I made a good Elwerean. I stole you out, didn't I?"

"That worked real well." I was the last of seven or eight Elwerie-Elwerean-infants that One-Hand had kidnapped, then held for ransom. But my father didn't pay; he wanted his b.a.s.t.a.r.d dead, not returned.

So he I had posted rewards for both Carlos and me.

"Not dead-or-alive rewards-just dead. Carlos would show me the old fliers, every once in a while.

"It did work well, until..." He let his voice trail off.

He'd never told us how he used to get in and out of Elwere. There was always talk among the lowers about the Great Tunnel, which would lead into Elwere, and to food, and warmth, and safety.

Could One-Hand have found the Great Tunnel? I guess it was possible. He couldn't have actually entered as a citizen; the Elwereans could afford the off world technology to check finger and retina prints.

Maybe he had found a way to enter on a work permit, and then leave the prescribed areas and dump his work harness.

Maybe- "David." A sharp clout brought my attention back to the present. "Pay attention, if you please. What we need is one big haul. We've got to steal something big enough so that we can buy half a tonne of food-and new clothes for you. Then we'll hole up here for a couple of years, and get you ready to take on Elwere."

"Wonderful idea, Carlos," I said sarcastically. "Now all you need to do is find the something big enough, no?"

"How about Amos van Ingstrand's brooch?"

I stood up. "Forget it."

One-Hand's eyes twinkled as the old man smiled up at me. In his younger days, Carlos must have had a lot of charm. "Just listen. It has seven diamonds. Seven. Big ones. How long do you think we could live on what that .would bring?"

"About a day. Maybe two."

"We can't," Marie piped up. "He'd find us, Carlos. He'd find us."One-Hand ignored her. "It has to be you. She doesn't have the experience. This sort of thing needs more than fast fingers."

"Right. Try insanity." My hands balled themselves into fists. "You can beat me just as much as you want to-"

"Precisely."

"-but we can't. Marie's right. He'd hunt us down, find us."

"How?" One-Hand shrugged.

"Through the fence, maybe? Elren Mac Cormier isn't known for keeping her mouth shut."

"How about Benno the Exchanger? Think about it."

I started to shake my head, then stopped. That began to make sense. Of all the people in Lower City who dealt in stolen and black-market goods, n.o.body had as much of a reputation for closed-mouthedness as Benno. We'd never dealt with Benno; his prices were awful.

"No, Carlos. It's still too risky. This might be the one time that Benno sells out."

"You know his daughter. You might be able to feel her out," he said, smiling. "Perhaps-"

"Gina keeps away from her father's business. That's why she's in a house on Joy Street. Just think, Carlos-can you imagine the sort of reward van Ingstrand would offer? Stealing the brooch would make him look like a fool."

One-Hand sucked on his lip. "I'll make you a deal. Do it, and after tonight I'll leave her alone... at least for a while." He jerked his head toward Marie.

I looked over at Marie, seeing the panic and fear and hope in her face, almost hearing her plead with me.

But what was she asking for? A yes-please, make him leave me alone, David-or a no-it's too dangerous} "Carlos, the deal is you leave her alone forever. And starting now."

He chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "Done."

FIRST INTERLUDE:.

Eschteef and the Thief Eschteef raised its head to look at the setting sun, its inner eyelids automatically sliding over its corneas and then immediately darkening, protecting the retinas from the brightness.

It was getting late. Its blunt fingers took the last pendant from its display hook, placing it with exquisite gentleness in a velvet niche of the ma.s.sive wooden box. Eschteef was alone at the smallest of the three stalls that the schtann rented from Amos van Ingstrand to display its wares in Lower City-but, in another way, a more real way, Eschteef was never alone.

And it never would be alone, it never could be alone. As it caressed the smoothness of the onyx pendant, Eschteef could feel the cherat, the mindlink with the other members of the schtann, reflecting and amplifying its pleasure at the pendant's simple beauty.Eschteef reached deep in its mind to feel the deeper cherat, the one with the subtler but richer taste. The schtann was on many worlds, and it had existed for thousands and thousands of years, and would for thousands and thousands more. Dimly, Eschteef could feel cherat with the others of his schtann, some separated by distances so vast that light would take tens of years to span the gap, others separated by time itself.

But the separation didn't matter. The others-the living, the dead, and the yet-to-live-were always with it. Eschteef would never be alone.

It is time to close shop for the day, it thought, not without a trace of regret.

Even though few of the humans in the Lower City could afford its wares, there was sufficient reward in watching them admire its work. And there was profit to be made from the Elwereans. And pleasure there, too.

Not the same sort of pleasure that cherat with the others provided, of course, but that was to be expected; humans were not part of the schtann, and the mindlink was absent.

Still, there was a certain something in watching a human's eyes widen, or seeing it draw in a sharp breath at the sudden display of a particularly good piece of work.

Such faces these humans had! Even after twenty years on Oroga-real Schriftalt years, not these flitteringly short Orogan ones-those faces still caused Eschteef to feel wonder. And pity. Forever denied the true communication of cherat, humans had to make do with facial muscles as a way of sharing feelings. The poor crippled creatures...

That is not fair, it thought, chiding itself for its insensitivity and pride. Being born a schrift and having become a member of the metal-and-jewel-workers' schtann had been Eschteef's destiny, and its good luck; it was not a reward, just as the humans' individual prisons of their own minds were not their punishments.

I have spent too much time around the Elwereans; I begin to mistake fortune for virtue!

That was one of the least attractive traits of that strange race, the almost universal belief that whatever , benefit came one's way was simply a reward for being virtuous. A reward! As though being born wealthy were a reward for the virtue of a creature that hadn't even existed until it had been born.

A dim feeling of coming danger warmed Eschteef's mind. It was Hrotisft, of course, warning all of the oncoming night.

Eschteef hissed in amus.e.m.e.nt. Hrotisft acted as though Eschteef didn't have eyes in its head. Even after more than a hundred years, Hrotisft tended to treat Eschteef as though it still was the youngling that Hrotisft had brought into the schtann. Hrotisft had brought many younglings into the schtann; it treated all the same way.

That was something that Eschteef envied. There were no breeding ponds on Oroga, no childgrowers.

Eschteef would not have the joy of bringing a young one into the schtann for many years, not until it returned to Schriftalt.

The feeling of coming danger grew; Eschteef quelled it with a louder mental hiss. There was still ample time to pack up and be home before dark, before the t'Tant turned savage.

But perhaps Hrotisft was right. Eschteef had a tendency to gather its thoughts with the oncoming night, rather than prepare for it. Best to finish packing up.Eschteef turned and took its chrost.i.th down from the wide shelf at the back of the booth. A fine piece of work, it was: a seamless silver pitcher, its surface unmarked and unmarred. Not the kind of work that others of the schtann preferred, not the incredibly detailed work of Sthtasfth or the grandiose creations Ysthstht now built for the humans on Earth.

Ysthstht, I do miss you, it thought, as it wrapped the chrost.i.th in a velvet sheet, then put it away in its own box. It is possible that I will never see you again, that we will never again speak. Cherat could not carry a structured thought over the kind of distance that separated Oroga's sun from Earth's.

There was a quiet whisper of sound behind Eschteef; Eschteef spun around. As it did, it saw an ankle disappearing under the rear curtains of the stall. The ankle moved with human slowness.

'So,' Eschteef said, stooping to grasp the ankle and pull the human back into the stall, 'we have a thief here, keh?'

Hrotisft signaled alarm; Eschteef quelled it with a mental hiss. There was no need for help. Eschteef could handle the situation by itself.

The human, a middle-aged, terrified male, squeaked some gibberish in its own language. Eschteef could understand the language that most humans seemed to use-but there was no need for the effort, not now.

This was not a business situation, and there was no trace of empathy with this human, no cherat.

'But I will not be cruel; that is not my way.' Eschteef emptied the human's tunic of the stolen sc.r.a.ps of silver by the simple expedient of holding the creature upside down and shaking it. Then it turned the human right side up. 'I am not a cruel person at all. So I will kill you quickly, before I begin to eat you.'

Eschteef grasped the human's hair and pulled the head back, baring the neck for its bite.

It felt no remorse as it ended the thief's life, and then began to dine.

The thief was, after all, not of the schtann.

CHAPTER TWO:.

The Theft.

I tucked the corners of the blanket under Marie's feet, then-pa.s.sed my hand over the glowplate set into the wall, dimming it to a vague glimmer. Marie buried herself deeper in the blankets, her chest rising and falling slowly. She always slept well, if lightly. The sleep of the relatively innocent, I guess...

I turned; One-Hand had already retrieved a bottle from his winechest; he tucked it under his stump to free his hand, and then picked up the gameboard.

He tossed it to the middle of the carpet. "Let's play chess."

I shook my head. "I don't feel like a game." A wonderful piece of equipment, the gameboard-Carlos had stolen it out of Elwere long ago, even before me-but I wasn't in the mood to play. "Some other time."

I didn't bother keeping my voice low; Marie could sleep through loud talk, as long as it was a familiar voice, though she would wake at the merest touch or any strange sound."You're too keyed up to sleep. A game will be good for you. Sit." One-Hand seated himself tailor-fashion. "Board on. Standard chess."

As I seated myself across from him, the board came alive, casting his face into wicked shadow as the squares flickered from white to black.

The chessmen shimmered into being, then milled around the middle of the board. The knights squared off and ran through the Grand Salute. With raised arms and scowls, the queens and bishops harangued each other, while the rooks just stood still, looking bored. The p.a.w.ns took tentative punches at each other; the two kings stood with their arms crossed over their chests, looking up at us, waiting for us to choose sides.

"White," he said.

The board stopped flickering. The chessmen sorted themselves out, the white pieces taking their places on his side of the board, the black ones on mine. One-Hand thumbed the winebottle open, took a long drink, then offered me the bottle.

"No thanks, Carlos." That was a familiar opening gambit, no matter what the game. "When was the last time I let you get me drunk?"

"p.a.w.n to king four." One-Hand p.r.o.nounced the words slowly, carefully; the holographic image of a rough-clad serf responded, shuffling forward two squares. "It has been a while. But it was pleasant, as I recall."

"For you." b.a.s.t.a.r.d. "p.a.w.n to queen bishop four," I said.

"You're in the mood for a Sicilian, eh? Very well-knight to king bishop three."

"p.a.w.n to queen three. Looks like a Sicilian, no?" I preferred the Sicilian to the other common king's p.a.w.n openings; One-Hand knew the Ruy Lopez, the Stern Wall, and the Giuoco Piano too well.