I made my way to the bar and ordered. At first I didn't notice, but the patrons were a surprisingly mixed bag. In place of the tall, pale, and blond aristocratic types I had grown used to, these were tall, short, fat, thin, pale, dark, brunette, redheaded-in short, just what you'd expect in the taverns of Thrusia. My heart skipped at the idea and a thought struck me: Perhaps I had crossed back, taken another mystical carriage ride back across the edge of reality, back to Stavis. Then I tasted the beer: the same straw-colored ditchwater as before. I was still here.

As if to emphasize the point, I turned and found myself gazing across the room to the foot of a narrow staircase made of plain wooden boards. I took a sip of my "beer," left the rest of it on the bar, and walked to and up the stairs quite calmly, almost as if I knew what I was doing. Room four was the second from the head of the stairs on the right. I knocked, and, when no one answered, pushed the door open.

A candle was burning inside. There was a rough-looking bed with an uneven mattress stuffed with straw, a deal table and chair, and a large water pitcher and bowl. On the table was a bottle of beer and two earthenware goblets. Nothing else. I walked in, closed the door behind me, and sat on the bed. Drawing a knife from my boot, I stared at the door to a large closet and spoke aloud. "All right, let's get on with it. I'm in no mood for games."

The door swung open. "Nor am I, Will."

It was Lisha.

She stood there, small and still, smiling slightly. I stared at her, my mouth open. Then, without thinking, I threw my arms around her and squeezed her hard. This was the last thing I had expected and suddenly it seemed that I had never been happier to see anyone.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?" I exclaimed.

"Waiting for you, obviously."

"You sent the letter?"

"Of course."

"Why?"

"First," she said, "tell me how you got to Phasdreille and which of the party you have seen."

I still had my hands fixed to her shoulders, and now-perhaps at the mention of the others-it was like I remembered who she was, and I felt awkward and overfamiliar. I let her go and took a step back, gesturing vaguely and looking shamefaced.

"It's good to see you," she said.

I nodded and looked at the floor.

She poured me a gla.s.s of the beer (better than that in the city, but not by much) and I told my tale-all of it: Sorrail, the fight in the cave, the loss of Orgos and Mithos, our failed rescue attempt, meeting Garnet in the city, and everything that had happened since. After I had finished, she sat in silence for a long time, her narrow eyes almost closed with thought. She was, as ever, small and girlish. Her skin was dark, brown as leather, and her hair was black and glossy as the feathers of a raven. Sitting there so small in the candlelight of this unfamiliar room I was reminded of when I had first met the much-touted party leader and how bewildered and disappointed I had been. That seemed like a very long time ago.

"But you have had no news of Mithos and Orgos since your encounter in the forest?"

I shook my head.

"You think they are? ..."

"I don't know," I answered, quickly.

"And there has been no other attempt to rescue them since you reached Phasdreille?"

"Not that I know of," I answered, "though I wouldn't be surprised to learn they weren't telling me everything. I'm not the most popular person in the city."

There was another long silence between us, then she sipped her beer and I shifted in my seat.

"So you also met the amba.s.sador," she said. "Strange. I came here in similar circ.u.mstances and around the same time, but I arrived alone. I made my way toward the White City, though I did not get that far. Pa.s.sing through a village near the forest on the east bank of the river, I found that I was being followed. Soon there was a growing crowd behind me, whispering and pointing. I made for an inn but they overtook me as I went in and let me know that I was not welcome."

"What?" I exclaimed. "Why not?"

"It seems they thought I was some kind of goblin half-breed."

Jaws often drop on the stage, but rarely have I been so gobsmacked in reality. This was one of those rare occasions. I just sat there and Lisha said nothing. It didn't take long for the pieces to fall into place. I looked at her, so small and dark, with her black hair and her narrow, eastern eyes, and I was suddenly embarra.s.sed.

"How could they think that you were like that filth just because you don't, you know, look the same as them?"

She shrugged fractionally and smiled her tiny, knowing smile.

"You haven't come across the goblins, though, Lisha," I said, trying to sound conciliatory. "I mean, I'm not saying that it's understandable that they took you for one, but the people round here have pretty good reason to hate them."

"Perhaps," she said, regarding me thoughtfully.

"I mean it's terrible that they misjudged you, but if you knew these things, you'd see why they are so paranoid. It's more misreading than malice, you know?"

She sat quite still and said nothing for a long time. Then she sighed and said, "I don't know, Will. This place just doesn't feel right to me. I've had to skulk around the countryside wrapped up like a leper so that no one would challenge me on the a.s.sumption that I'm some kind of demon. Out here, where the people are a little more mixed, I can just about get by, but even here I have to stay in my room and pay double the usual rate to keep the innkeeper happy. I can't get anywhere near the city. That's why I had to bring you to me, without making myself visible.

"I heard of your presence in the city but I did not want to risk drawing attention to myself," she said. "Apart from the danger such exposure might put me in, it could also jeopardize the kind of reception you have been getting. I chose a way that would reach you but wouldn't attract attention if the letter should ... go astray. You were the obvious target because I doubted Garnet and Renthrette would roll with something so underhanded. I a.s.sume they've adjusted to the court rather better than you have?"

"Yes," I said. "Odd, really. I've always prided myself on being flexible, on being able to play any role I was given, while they've always seemed rigid, unbending, and intolerant of whatever seemed suspicious. I guess the palace doesn't seem suspicious to them."

"And you? Are you suspicious?"

"No," I said, quickly and without much thought. "I don't think so. There are strange things about the whole city, but I suppose you'd find that everywhere."

"I suppose," agreed Lisha, noncommittally.

"What are you thinking?" I pressed. "You think something is wrong?"

"Probably nothing. I'm just not sure of a few things. I told you that I have word from the city via some of the few people who will talk to me."

"Does that include the girl who picked me up?"

"Rose? Yes. She doesn't know anything about me, but she likes to talk, and I have learned much from her. She ... has contact with some of the courtiers from time to time."

"You mean ..."

"Outside the city, people are not so wealthy as in it. Much of what is made or grown out here goes into Phasdreille, and many of the laborers struggle to make ends meet. Rose, like many others, has found a way to bring in some more money. That way she can keep her family, and her children, respectably."

"Ironic."

"Irony is a luxury many cannot afford," she answered. I dropped my eyes a little, but she smiled. "Come now, Will. Before you came here, your hide was a good deal tougher. I suggest you thicken it again, if you can. It may yet prove invaluable. But that wasn't my point. Rose and others like her told me of the arrival of people they called Outsiders. When you first reached the city, you created something of a stir. It seems that these Outsiders have been expected for some time. And though their interest in you has strangely dwindled lately, your first appearance prompted a good deal of excitement and some anxiety. Your names were on everyone's lips for a day or so, and then, quite suddenly, you were forgotten. Garnet is now a horseman of the fair folk. Renthrette is a court lady often seen in the company of the much esteemed Sorrail. Will Hawthorne has vanished from sight and, it seems, from memory. Rose spoke of you several times when you first came to Phasdreille, but when I sent her to get you, she appeared to have no recollection of you. It is, as you say, odd."

"I guess I'm kind of forgettable." I shrugged.

"But that's the thing," she said. "You're not. You should stand out, because you're not like them. You don't look like them and you certainly don't think like them, so why have people stopped talking about you?"

"Maybe I'm just the wrong kind of different," I said.

She looked at me sharply, and then nodded, as if I had said something shrewd or profound. "There's also this attempt on your life," she continued. "I don't know, Will. It's all very strange. It sounds like two separate ent.i.ties-one goblin, the other human-want you dead. The cloaked figure only intervened when it seemed that the goblins might spare you. Why do two groups who hate each other both both want you dead? And then there's the Orgos apparition in the forest. Do you have any ideas?" want you dead? And then there's the Orgos apparition in the forest. Do you have any ideas?"

"Not really," I confessed. "The goblin said, 'I have no faith in prophecy, Mr. Hawthorne.' Could our arrival have been foretold somehow? It might explain why there was such interest in us at first. Then when it turned out that we either weren't what was prophesied or that the prophecy was b.o.l.l.o.c.ks, or whatever-then they lost interest in us? I don't ordinarily believe in such things, of course. ..." Could our arrival have been foretold somehow? It might explain why there was such interest in us at first. Then when it turned out that we either weren't what was prophesied or that the prophecy was b.o.l.l.o.c.ks, or whatever-then they lost interest in us? I don't ordinarily believe in such things, of course. ..."

"Of course." Lisha smiled dryly.

"But this place is crawling with things I didn't believe in, so I'm sort of at sea in a leaky kettle. Maybe there was was some kind of prophecy that seemed to refer to us." some kind of prophecy that seemed to refer to us."

"And then it became apparent that you weren't the prophesied Outsiders after all," Lisha suggested.

"That's possible," I mused. "But maybe a few fringe groups still think we're worth killing just in case. The a.s.sa.s.sins' Convention, which I seem to have walked in on, took place some time after after we fell from grace in the eyes of the king." we fell from grace in the eyes of the king."

"We need to find out more about this prophecy, if it exists," said Lisha, rising and starting to pace the room. "I wish we could get Garnet and Renthrette out of there. I worry that ..."

"What?" I asked, since her voice had trailed off into nothing.

"I don't know," she said, unsure of herself. "It's just a feeling, an uneasiness. I don't like the idea of them getting too ... involved involved with the court in Phasdreille." with the court in Phasdreille."

"If you say the word," I answered with a dry and knowing grin, "they'll jump back into line like their tails are on fire and you have the only bucket of water in the world."

"I don't know, Will," she said, "but I hope so."

She sat down again and stared at the tabletop as if her mind was miles away.

"I wish Mithos and Orgos were here," I said suddenly. It was the first time I had said it, and I was rather surprised by it. It was as if my private anxiety had been skulking through the jungle of my head for days, always a few feet from the path I was on, and had chosen this moment to ambush me.

"I think they are still alive," she said, looking at me in that compa.s.sionate but penetrating fashion of hers which always made me feel like she'd walked in on me as I was getting out of the bath.

"Based on what?" I demanded. I hadn't intended to sound hostile, but I did not want to be patronized by groundless hopes.

"I just feel it," she said. "Or rather, I do not feel they have died."

"Why would you?"

"I don't know. Perhaps I wouldn't," she said. "But we have been together a long time and I think their pa.s.sing might register in me somehow."

Her eyes held mine throughout this curious speech. I hesitated only a second.

"That is the stuff of stories, Lisha," I said. "Brothers, friends, twins, parents, and daughters all die daily, and their loved ones are none the wiser till some grim-faced messenger arrives at the door. I'd love to think we were all connected by some sort of spiritual bond, some connection, but I have seen no evidence for it, and plenty to the contrary. I don't believe it."

"You are right not to," she said. "I don't believe it either. I merely hope that it might be true. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but I feel it nonetheless."

I shrugged, unconvinced, and began feeling depressed as a result. She smiled a little, as if this endeared me to her or reminded her of something she liked in me. Though she was the one talking fancifully and I was the cynical realist, she managed to make me feel, as usual, like a child. I smiled again and she clasped my hand impulsively.

"I am glad you got here," she said. "I needed to hear a voice of skepticism in this curious place. But now you must go back. I cannot come with you, and I feel that some of our answers still lie in the city. I will move in what limited way I can and gather information from the few safe sources available to me, but I have no wish to be hounded to earth and executed as a goblin spy."

"Where should I begin?"

"With the prophecy, I suppose, though how you will go about that without putting yourself in danger, I do not know. Beware of trying to sour the city for Garnet and Renthrette too quickly. They may turn against you."

"Again."

"Quite. In fact," she added, "now that I think of it, it might be better if you don't tell them I'm here."

"You want me to lie to them?" I said, pleased by the idea.

"No," she insisted. "I just want you to keep what you know of my presence to yourself. For now."

I grinned. One day I would get some real mileage out of this, her trusting me over them. Still, it was unlike her to mislead her friends.

"I just think it might be for the best," she added. "For them, I mean. We'll tell them soon."

"We don't need to," I said.

She ignored that.

"Be careful, and bring me word through Rose," she said. "I will send her to the bridgehead gate two days from now and every day thereafter. If I can, I will come in the coach; otherwise, you should give her any letters for me that you have. I think she can be trusted, and I do not think she can read. Leave no writings in your quarters as long as you are in the palace. I hear the general practice of being a courtier involves a good deal of spying just to see who is on the way up and who on the way down and out. I have no doubt that servants are paid to bring stray letters to their masters. Don't get caught up in the factions of court life, Will. There are too many daggers in such places, and you can't protect yourself from all angles."

"It's a good thing we know who the enemy is," I remarked.

"Indeed," she said.

I spent the night on the floor of Lisha's room and left as close to first light as I could manage. I journeyed back to Phasdreille by means of the same carriage in which I had left, but Rose, alas, did not make the return trip with me. I arrived at about nine o'clock, pa.s.sing the barbican sentries with a nod which they returned with the smiles of men who thought they knew what I'd been up to all night, and made straight for the palace and my room.

My sword had come back from the smith, but instead of the notched blade having been reforged, they had just cut the end off and then ground down what remained. It was now less a short sword than long knife. I was irritated enough to have a word with the nearest guard, who pointed me to the armory next door. I marched in like I owned the place, slammed the sword down on the counter, and asked what the h.e.l.l that that was supposed to be. was supposed to be.

"It's a fine sword," said the duty officer.

"It was was a fine sword," I said, "before you idiots chopped three inches off the end. Now it's a bread knife. Can't you make it like it was?" a fine sword," I said, "before you idiots chopped three inches off the end. Now it's a bread knife. Can't you make it like it was?"

"Longer, you mean?" said the officer, blankly. "How?"

"I don't know; I'm not the smith. Melt it down, add more steel, and beat it out again," I suggested. "Isn't that how these things work?"

The officer looked confused, but he went back into the forge. When he didn't come back after a couple of minutes, I went in after him. I noticed two things right away. The first was that, though the smithy was large, with several furnaces and anvils set up, there was only one person working, and all the other hearths were cold. In fact, they looked like they hadn't been used for ages. The second thing I noticed was the way that the smith in his leather ap.r.o.n studied the sword with the same blank look the duty officer had given me. These people were clueless.

"I could weld a setting for some diamonds to the hilt," said the smith, sauntering over, "or I can give you a new one."

"Oh," I said, taken aback and rather pleased. "Fine. Yes. I'll take a new one."

Since I seemed to be the only person in the city who didn't go about with a wheelbarrow full of diamonds, it seemed the smart choice.

He turned to a door and opened it. Briefly I saw beyond him and noticed rack upon rack of swords and other weapons. He drew one out, seemingly at random, and brought it to me.

It was, if anything, finer than the one I had broken, with a filigree patterning in the steel where it had been folded and reforged many times. I swashed it about in a professional sort of way, which seemed to satisfy the smith.

"I'll take it," I said.

So I was feeling pretty good about myself as I made for the library. Things had gone without a hitch thus far. I was beginning to feel as smooth as a greased otter when I got to the side door of the library and found it closed and guarded. I paused in the long morning shadows of the colonnade that ran along the sides of the square and considered my next move, while trying to look like I was out on a morning stroll. Not that anyone round here ever went on strolls. It was all lolling about spouting poetry or charging into battle. A good stroll would probably do them good.