Still, I don't think I'd want to let Hernando Esquela totally off the hook; he even made the Elweries' Code Duello boring.

Which surprised me. Put it down to a deprived childhood; I never thought that rituals often resulting in sudden, violent death could be made dull.

The only bright spot in the whole book was the posthumous epilogue. Seemed that Esquela had returned to Oroga to do a follow-up study; he'd managed to offend an Elwerie and ended up skewered on a dueling sword.

I often fantasized taking the cube out of the reader and grinding it under my heel instead of replacing it in the library. But Carlos said that Death and Decadence Among the Elwereans was a must-read, if I ever was going to work Elwere. Pa.s.sing isn't just a matter of wearing the right tunic and carrying the right pouch; the internal disguise is just as important.

"No matter what you say about Elwere, this book is slow," I said. "And about as useful as-"

"It will be useful, so keep at it." He shrugged. Carlos One-Hand couldn't have cared less whether or not the book bored me. "The work is necessary. You'll study it, or else." Carlos didn't bother to raise his hand; he knew that I knew what "or else" meant.

"I'm going to take a break." Ignoring his glare, I rose and walked over to the corner of the room. Marie sat there, playing slapjack with the gameboard. She gestured over her half of the phantom pack of cards; an image of a card flipped over, landing square on the thin stack in the middle of the board. It was the three of diamonds.

"My flip," the board announced.

A ghostly hand reached out and flipped over the queen of clubs, snickering mechanically as Marie reached out a hand, then drew it back.

She gestured; another one of her cards flipped. Eight of hearts.

The board flipped over the jack of spades, then barely beat her little hand's snaking strike.

"I win," the board said, taking the stack of cards in the center. "Your flip."

I seated myself opposite the board from her. "How about some checkers? Or Go?"

"I'm even worse at go than you are. Checkers." She glared down at the board. "But give me a minute, please? I want to win first. At least once."

I glanced at the readout above the amber indicator light and smiled; there was no way she could win, not with the board's electronic reflexes set to play slightly faster than was humanly possible. Still, it was good training for hand-eye coordination.

Carlos selected a muslin bag from the pile and dumped its contents on the carpet. "Look, you two, I've brought some more treats home." He tossed each of us a plastic pouch of beef. "Dinner."

Wordlessly, I caught my pouch, snapping my blade into my palm to slice it open while Marie rummagedin a cabinet for a knife.

He glared at me, but didn't say anything. Surprising; I wasn't supposed to use the blade for anything except lifting and self-defense. I wondered how much he'd let me rattle the bars of my cage before reminding me that it was a cage.

With two fingers, I slid out a cube of meat, letting it grow almost too hot to hold before popping it into my mouth. It was good beef, hot and juicy.

"Nice," I said. I guestured at Marie to open her bag.

She shook her head. "I want to finish first."

Carlos dipped into the pile on the carpet and picked up a plexi bottle. "Vitamins-got a good buy on C.

And there's some new clothes."

"Mmm." I took a closer look at the pile. A segren spun-gla.s.s tunic-no doubt cut to exactly the size I was supposed to be, after I was sufficiently fattened up-a white-and-gold-painted bone full-face casque, an Elwerean pouch, a silver smallsword in a black leather sheath...

It was starting to look as though Carlos thought I was ready to take on Elwere. A lot he knew.

But how?

Getting in as a laborer or a buzh wouldn't have been hard, but Elwere was well protected against any thieving or mischief by either. Clamped into a worker's harness, it would be hard to get around unnoticed; computer security systems aren't easily distracted. Getting in as a worker wouldn't be the problem; lifting anything after getting in that way seemed impossible.

Getting into Elwere as an Elwerie was just the opposite. Once inside the city, I could blend in with the crowd; there wouldn't be a problem filling a pouch with valuables. The problem would be getting inside in the first place; I couldn't pa.s.s their fingerprint, blood, and retina checks. How had Carlos done it?

I didn't bother asking; he wouldn't have answered. Besides, there was something else that worried me more. "Carlos?"

"Yes?"

"How much did Benno give you for the brooch?"

"That would be telling." He smiled knowingly, as though to say that I wasn't the only one with a cache in the tunnels. "Enough so that this isn't a problem."

For probably the thousandth time, I tried to work out how much he had gotten.

Depending on how well he had haggled, Carlos had already brought home at least five, maybe six thousand pesos' worth of stuff since the lift. And in the twenty days since the lift, he hadn't stopped, going out almost every day to shop, always coming home with his knapsack full.

He wouldn't spend more than half of what he'd gotten for the brooch, not without stopping to worry about the expense. That just wasn't possible, not for any of us. We had all lived on the edge of starvation far too often to squander that kind of money. A part of it, sure-whenever you do a nice lift, you always splurge a little of the proceeds. But not a lot; never more than half.

So... figuring his expenditures as conservatively as possible, Carlos had gotten a dead minimum of tenthousand pesos for the brooch.

That didn't sound right. Figure that the diamonds alone were worth sixty, seventy thousand pesos, wholesale. Cut-and to be on the safe side, Benno would be sure to cut the stones-they'd be worth about twenty-five percent less. Benno would pay, say, between ten and twenty percent of the wholesale price of the merchandise. Exchangers aren't known for their generosity. Probably six, perhaps seven thousand was the limit of what Benno the Exchanger would pay for something as hot as van Ingstrand's brooch.

Unless Benno was getting soft in his old age. Which seemed manifestly unlikely.

Carlos toed me in the side. "Get back to work."

I turned the reader back on, but the thought stayed with me. "Carlos?"

"Yes." He wiped beef juices from his chin, then washed down another mouthful with a swig from the winebottle.

"Who did you really sell it to?" Making a loose accusation is an old trick, but sometimes it works.

It didn't, this time. "I don't know what you're talking about-oh. The brooch, again. I sold it to Benno.

Just as I told you."

"Benno doesn't pay this well. He wouldn't have given you even ten thousand pesos for it, and you've spent close to that already." Well, I wasn't restricted to my best guess as to what Carlos had really spent, not when I was trying to anger him into being honest.

But he didn't argue with me. He just shrugged. "Get back to your studying, or I'll send you out to work."

I stood. "I'm leaving. Now."

Marie looked up at me, her eyes wide. "But where?"

"I don't know. But I'm beginning to think that Carlos hawked the brooch in the markets. I don't want to be around here when old Amos shows up to take it out in skin."

Carlos backhanded me to the floor. "You're being stupid." He kicked me in the head, sending sparks jumping behind my eyes. "I never tolerate stupidity. Go ahead; leave. Your father still has a reward out for you; I'll let him know who you are, help him find you. Elwereans don't want to be reminded of their little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. It's embarra.s.sing; they don't like to admit to being with lower women."

I rubbed the side of my head. "How? You're going to let him know that you took his little b.a.s.t.a.r.d out of Elwere? You'd dare to do that directly? Or will you really use Benno this time?"

"If I have to for once, I-" A thin smile spread across his lined face. "Very nice, little David. Very clever." He nodded. "Agreed: I didn't sell the brooch to Benno. I used Elren Mac Cormier, instead. She pays better. Much better."

And Elren's mouth leaks like a sieve. That was the word in Lower City. For something taken off an offworlder, go to Elren Mac Cormier-for something hot, don't.

But maybe not this time; maybe, for once, Elren wouldn't let the whole world know about her prize.

"Very clever," he repeated. "And cleverness should be rewarded." He picked up a switch.I snapped my blade into the palm of my hand.

One flick of the switch, and it fell from my stinging fingers.

"Cleverness should be rewarded," he said, testing the switch against his stump. "At length."

INTERLUDE TWO:.

Van Ingstrand and the Guard With a deep sigh, Amos van Ingstrand straightened himself and stretched broadly. As he did, he reached up, past the overhead mirror, and turned up the exhaust fan to clear the room of the stench.

The fan hummed loudly. He sighed again. Things had gone much too quickly with the second of the bodyguards that had let the boy get away with his brooch. The first one had lasted for days...

Patting Owen's b.l.o.o.d.y remains, he shook his head. "Too much, Mikos, too much. Terminal shock...

You must be careful with the open face. I know you like working on the trigeminal nerve, but... just be more conservative next time, more reserved."

Mikos shrugged. "Sorry, sir. I thought he could take it. The first one handled it just fine. d.a.m.n."

The ferret-faced little man gave the wide-eyed corpse a token slap, then gathered his tools in his arms, laying them gently in the washer. "Maybe we should use more valda next time?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. He poured in a measured cupful of detergent, then closed the washer and punched the start b.u.t.ton with his elbow, Careful not to drip blood on the machine's gleaming exterior. "Or a bit of amphetamine, perhaps? It might keep the next one going longer," Mikos said, as he walked over to his sink and began washing himself.

"The trouble with valda oil is that it conceals shock; it doesn't prevent it. And while I do enjoy opening up the face for the subject to see," van Ingstrand said, tapping at the overhead mirror, "too much valda oil, and what do we have?" He shrugged. "Clumsy surgery, not art."

"It would be pointless, at that."

"So, you must be more careful next time." Van Ingstrand smiled, taking some of the sting out of his words. "We must be more careful next time." With one last regretful glance at the body now pointlessly strapped to the operating table, he shrugged out of his blood-spattered robes and his sandals, then padded naked over to the sink, turned the creaking faucet, picked up a fresh cake of white soap, and began to wash himself in the tepid water.

He enjoyed the way the foam worked itself into a pink lather. Amos van Ingstrand was always careful to wash himself thoroughly after a session; it was important to get all of the blood off, to avoid itching later on.

By the time he had finished cleaning himself, Mikos was standing behind him, a fresh robe ready. With a smile of consolation, he helped van Ingstrand into the robe.

A good man, Mikos. One who understood his position, and the realities of van Ingstrand's hobby. After a.s.sisting in a failed session, any of van Ingstrand's other men would either be shaking in his sandals or forcing himself not to, fearing van Ingstrand's anger.

Not Mikos. Mikos was an aficionado, like van Ingstrand himself. An artist, in his own little way. Mikos knew that van Ingstrand understood that taking a subject to the edge of pain might push the subject overthe edge, and into death. It wasn't always avoidable. In the long run, of course, it wasn't avoidable. But it shouldn't have happened this quickly.

"We'll have to be careful when we find the boy who stole my brooch," van Ingstrand said, still uncomfortable at the absence of its weight from the right side of his chest. "I'll want him to last a good long time." He walked to the door and thumbed the annunciator mounted on the wall.

"Sir," the metallic voice said.

"We are finished in here. Have the body removed, and put the tools back in their place as soon as the wash cycle is finished."

"Yes, sir."

Mikos frowned at that.

"What is it?" van Ingstrand said. "Please."

The other's face wrinkled. "I'd... really rather I put away my own equipment from now on. There's a scratch on my tickler, and I know that I didn't put it there. I don't mean to accuse anyone, but..."

"Very well." But Mikos was still frowning, still upset at how easily Owen had died. Mikos understood how angry van Ingstrand had been, and felt guilty at not restraining himself, giving van Ingstrand less time with Owen than he should have had.

A bit more consolation was called for. "I'll help you," van Ingstrand said.

Mikos opened his mouth as though to protest, then closed it, accepting the gesture as intended. "Thank you. It will take a few more minutes for the cycle to complete itself."

"I know. What are your plans for this evening?" van Ingstrand asked, just to make conversation.

Mikos shrugged. "I didn't think that I'd be free tonight."

"Neither did I." Van Ingstrand thought about it for a moment. Well, there were the payment records to update, and the money shipment to Eurobank to count and seal. Those were tasks that he didn't leave to his clerks, no matter how much they feared him.

But those could wait for a few days. And there was little other business he could do at night. It might be better to decide on some diversion, instead of working.

Normally, he'd be tempted to hire a woman for the evening, but an unsuccessful session in the bas.e.m.e.nt took the spice from that idea. "Perhaps a screening. I haven't have a good screening for a long time."

"Holos?" Mikos brightened. "I like holos."

Van Ingstrand nodded. "I received a new shipment from Earth just last year, but I haven't had the chance to look at much of it. Metro Goldwyn Warner has that new process. Have you heard about it?"

"No-new process?"

"Yes. They take cla.s.sic flat films, then run them through a computer which..." His hands gestured aimlessly. He wasn't really sure of the process. "It reanimates them, as holos. I've only seen a few of them, but I can't tell the difference between these and real holos.""Really." Mikos was impressed. "Did they do that with Birth of a Nation} Or Animus} That would be so nice."

"Yes. I have those. But I think I'd like to screen the Star Wars series. That would be fun in holo, no?"

"I've always liked it in flat. Those four films are cla.s.sics."

"Then that's what we'll do." He thumbed the annunciator again. "Screening tonight-we'll start an hour before sundown. The Star Wars films. In sequence, please."

"Of course, sir."

"And I won't want to be interrupted."

"No interruptions, sir." "Unless someone locates the boy who stole my brooch." "Yes, sir."

Amos van Ingstrand rubbed his hands together. That would be worth interrupting the screening for.

CHAPTER FOUR:.