*

"You should have let me kill her."

"No, Vos."

"Merciful gods, milord, you know what she was."

Ammas was frowning, sitting at his consulting table, stripped to the waist. He had been laundering his robes. From the navel up his chest was fairly well built, a bit of age sagging his belly and arms, but more noteworthy was a network of marks and scars nearly as intricate as Barthim's tattoos. The bandaged bite on his shoulder was only the newest thread in a rich tapestry. A tattoo adorned his right shoulder: a splendid three-masted sailing vessel on a sea of flame, its mainmast topped with a jeweled crown. Below the tattoo was an especially nasty and discolored scar, a mark that looked as though a razor had been repeatedly grazed over the skin. Both these marks were quite old. The cursewright had received the news from Fathoms Gate with a growing expression of unease.

Carala, dressed in a dark blue robe suitable to a merchant's wife, sat on a footstool nearby, her hands clasped together, her eyes fixed on the temple's crumbled mosaic floor. The clocks had not even struck eleven and their plans were in tatters. Casimir and Barthim had decided they were better off distracted with something else, and were busily tending the pudding boiling away over the temple's fire. The smell was quite lovely, at least.

"Yes, I know what she was. You think anyone else in Fathoms Gate did? They would have seen a madman murdering a street dancer. Or two of them, if I were mad enough to join in with you."

Before Vos could retort, Ammas spoke up, one hand digging through his hair, frustration stamped on his face. "Lord Marhollow is right, Vos. I have no doubt she had the Swiftfoot token on her arm, or somewhere on her body. But no one saw it. And no one saw her change except Denisius himself. Fathoms Gate isn't Adder's Hill, or even the Old Godsway. The city guard would have been on you in minutes, and assuming you survived that, we'd be up to our necks in an investigation right now. We'd be cleared, but this deal I've made with Thalia would have been for nothing." Ammas bent over the table, head in his hands -- not despairing, but thinking.

"She threatened Casimir specifically?" Carala asked quietly, hoping not to catch the boy's attention. Fortunately he and Barthim seemed engrossed with their cooking.

"Everyone. Even Vos." Denisius swallowed hard and looked at his manservant, who still appeared more sour than frightened. "I think she -- they -- know you killed Tacen."

"They must be in each other's heads," Carala whispered. Unlike Vos, terror was clearly visible in her eyes. "They'll be in mine soon. I won't be able to hide from them, no matter where I go."

"Nonsense," Ammas spat, rising up from the table, pacing toward the fire, staring into the cheerily bubbling water where a pair of puddings roiled. Carala grimaced as she saw the cursewright's back: a lattice of scars like knife wounds covered one shoulder; the other was a mass of old burns. "No blood sickness creates a mental link among its victims. There is a perfectly mundane explanation. These creatures have a connection to someone close to the Throne."

"The key," Carala gasped. Ammas turned around, peering at her closely. "Tacen had a key to the Maathinhold. I still have no idea how he laid hands on something like that. I thought he had stolen it."

"Perhaps he did," Ammas nodded. "But that seems less likely."

"Thray," Vos muttered.

"It's possible." Ammas strode past the fire to his bedroom chapel, gathering up a shirt and tugging it over his head. He was still adjusting its collar when he returned to the small knot of people gathered by the table. "But even Varallo Thray must answer to others, and not just the Emperor. Any number of people who would have been informed about the events in the Maathinhold might have acted on that information. It's not something that concerns us, not now. What concerns us is getting out of this city unnoticed."

"And alive, I hope?" Denius's lips curled into a rather sickly smile.

Carala frowned. "It was only one of them, after all. Surely there are other ways out of Munazyr. Vilais isn't too far overland, is it?"

"Three weeks without horse or carriage," Ammas said softly. "I'd hoped be there and back by then, allowing for how long it might take to treat you. There are issues of time to be considered."

Carala nodded, her gaze dropping to her feet. The soft gray boots she had borrowed from Rashmi were very nice, but did little to lift her spirits. Three weeks certainly meant at least one more irresistible transformation.

"But in the end time is not the point. We must assume every gate to this city is being watched."

"She did say there were many of them," Denisius muttered.

"Yes." Ammas frowned, studying the mosaic saints. "Barthim?" he called out. "Are you afraid of close spaces?"

"You are not getting me into a berth with you on the ship, Ammas."

Ammas scowled. "I can't let anyone except you and Vos leave here, Denisius. All of us have been threatened directly. You owe us nothing, and I can't demand help of you. But if you are still committed to helping Carala, then I would ask one more thing of you to help us survive this."

"Name it," Denisius said at once. Carala smiled, and Ammas was none too displeased himself.

"You and Vos go back out. Go to Butcherstreet Market. I'd have Casimir guide you, but I need to keep him close."

"Let me take them, Ammas."

"You've been threatened too, Barthim. Don't make the mistake of thinking you can take on all of these creatures at once."

"You could at least let me be trying."

"Maybe another time. Now, Denisius." Ammas drew closer to the young nobleman, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I need you to buy provisions for an overland journey, three weeks, suitable for all six of us. We can eat frugally, but don't skimp. No horses, no sledges. Tell them you'll be carrying it on your backs, or that you already have a teamster hired."

"I knew the day would come when I was your pack mule, Ammas."

Ignoring Barthim, Ammas continued. "Vos, argue with him. Put on a show. Tell him you don't need so much food for two people, that you can get by on much less. And Denisius -- snap at him. Be lazy. Be greedy. Be frightened. Tell him you'll buy as much food as you like, especially if you have to flee back to your father. Play the noble fool."

"I'm not sure much playing is needed, Ammas," Denisius said with a rueful grin. "But I don't understand what you have in mind."

"You will. While you're out, find one of the messenger companies on Butcherstreet. There are a few good ones, but any of them will do. Send a message to Marhollow. I'm sure you're due for one anyway. But also send a message to Captain-Commander Thalia at Titansgrave. Tell her everything about this dancer -- her appearance, how she threatened you, the name she mentioned -- Jossel, and that Barthim killed him. Schedule the message to be delivered tonight, and be discreet about it. Look for the Swiftfoot mark. If you see it on anyone, go to another messenger company. If these wolves are desperate enough to attack you in broad daylight on Butcherstreet, this is all a waste of time anyway."

"Where should we have the provisions sent?" Vos asked. "Brightmoon Bay? Fathoms Gate certainly isn't safe."

"Have them sent here." Vos looked puzzled. "I'm sure we're being watched, but they won't dare attack before nightfall. Let them think you're using the temple as a staging ground for your departure. Maybe even trying to convince Carala to come with you. Hopefully if they believe you're fleeing the city they'll lose interest in watching you. But you must hurry. You must be back here by dusk. I've placed new wards on the second floor, and will strengthen them while you're out. Once you're inside, they won't be able to get through to any of us. But if you're on the streets when night falls . . . . " Ammas did not elaborate, but then he didn't really need to. "Let them think we're planning for a siege. Let them think we're planning to wait them out."

Now Denisius looked bewildered. "Isn't that what we're doing?"

Ammas grinned. "Not in the least. Go."

Confused, but desperate to help, Denisius nodded to Vos, and the two of them departed once more for the midday haze of Munazyr's streets.