They spread out, mostly sitting with their backs to the wall, unpacking some of the fresher meats and fruits Denisius and Vos had purchased on Butcherstreet. Ammas filled a battered traveling kettle and built a tiny fire, inspecting the charms on his hat as he waited for the seretto tea to boil then steep. Vos pulled from his boot a weathered pack of cards, which immediately drew both Barthim's and Casimir's interest. Soon all the men except Ammas were deep in a game of Whistling Jack.

"Can we deal you in?" Denisius asked with a smile.

"He is still owing me for our last game," Barthim replied, tipping Ammas a wink.

"You're just afraid you'd lose. It's not chess."

"Indeed, Ammas, which is why you merely might be losing gracefully instead of actually embarrassing yourself."

"I think I'll let you make the tea from now on."

Barthim laughed and turned back to the game. Ammas chuckled and sat by the lip of stone, minding the kettle and keeping an eye out for anyone who might wander along, though he really didn't expect anyone too threatening. Carala sat beside him, her gaze shifting from the kettle to the seemingly endless pool, from the carven sentinels along the walls to Ammas. "You could really smell him, then?" Ammas asked quietly.

"I could." Her voice was even softer. It occurred to Ammas that he could probably speak barely above a whisper and she would hear him. As if to confirm this, Carala said, "And his voice. Not the words, but he was speaking to someone we can't see."

"Yes, only the truly desperate would venture down here alone. I imagine their guild home is not connected to the cisterns, or else our friends across the way are operating in some part of the city where the wells are inaccessible. Adder's Hill, perhaps." He smiled at her reassuringly. "They no more want to be seen than we do. Barthim?" His voice rose a bit. "How many criminal guilds are there now?"

"Nine. No -- I am mistaken. Eight. Redfingers absorbed or killed the Serpent's Kiss last Yearsend. Give me three cards, Deni, you have dealt me a disgrace."

"Is that what that commotion up on Adder's Hill was about?"

"Oh yes, Ammas. Josah Redhand sliced off Tobar's eyelids and split his tongue so he is looking 'more like a snake,' is how he was putting it. After that most of the Serpent's Kiss joined the cause or fled across the Straits to the Wicked Cliffs. Great gods, Deni, this is actually worse."

"I shuffled it just as much as Vos does."

"No wonder he is always winning. We must get Ammas in on this."

"Whistle past the grave." Casimir was laughing.

"You see, Deni? Now I am losing to Ammas's apprentice. Humiliations unending."

Ammas and Carala caught each other's eye and had to look away, stifling laughter. Once the fit had passed, she regarded Ammas more seriously. "Is it really helpful? The -- senses I have?"

Ammas did not answer for a time, gazing into the fathomless black water. When steam rose from the kettle and the scent of seretto began to fill the air, he spoke, pouring himself a cup. "There have been times, places, when people suffering a blood sickness were regarded quite differently than today. The Sultan's shock troops are only one example. To the extinct tribes of the forest, it was considered a blessing of the woodland gods. And there are even stories of cursewrights and afflicted such as yourself working together."

Carala stared at him. When he offered tea, she nodded, accepting a cup and sipping it expressionessly. "Working together how?"

"They are only stories. I believe them to be myths."

"I would hear these myths, Ammas."

Ammas regarded her over the lip of his cup. "Later. When we have a chance to speak alone, at least. Preferably when we meet with my old mentor. She is far more conversant with these stories than I am, and less likely to tell you something that would mislead you." Carala did not look especially pleased with this, but she accepted it readily enough. "How are you feeling? We have a long way to go yet before we see daylight, and I had intended to take you on a less strenuous journey after more time for you to recuperate."

Carala cradled the chipped cup in both hands, considering. "Better than I expected, truly. I felt anxious ever since you woke me this morning, but really -- not sickened. Perhaps I am simply excited to be going on a journey." Her eyes gleamed a moment as she smiled at Ammas, but she quickly looked down, sipping at the steaming tea. "This is better than how they brew it at the Palace," she murmured.

"Cinnamon," Ammas confided, leaning forward. The other four were engrossed in their card game, with Casimir accumulating a large stack of coppers. Based on the sour expression on Vos's face and Barthim's frown of concentration, Ammas didn't think they were letting him win. "Usually I dissolve a stick in the morning pot. For traveling," he held up a little phial from his belt, "always carry a little of the powdered stuff."

Carala smiled, feeling as if she were being let in on a greater secret than any scrap of cursewright lore Ammas had shared with her so far. "Wonderful. I will have to remember that." Her eyes wandered the grand vault, the only sound the murmured conversation of their card-playing companions and the rush of water being summoned to wells and pumps around the city. "Do you know what these statues are supposed to be?"

Ammas sipped his tea, smiling strangely. "I'm not sure you'd want to know."

Carala blinked. "Why not? I am as capable as anyone else here." Her eyes glittered, and Ammas fancied he could catch a glimpse of the wolf within them. "In fact I think I have seen more than -- than some of them." Her eyes darted ever so briefly to Denisius, who had finally won a hand.

Ammas noted this, that odd smile fading from his lips. "It has nothing to do with what you can or can't handle. It is because your name is Deyn." Seeing Carala's confusion, Ammas indicated the nearest of the huge sculptures with his teacup: a face nearly ten feet high, scowling in eternal stone. "These are the Emperors and Empresses of the House of Munaz, as many as had reigned when this cistern was completed. Visit all seven cisterns and you can see them all, though Kyrantine's face is repeated at each of them."

"Why should that matter?" Carala asked stiffly. But deep down she felt a superstitious dread. The House of Deyn had not supplanted the House of Munaz peacefully, and centuries later there were still lingering resentments, especially in the city that bore the extinct House of Munaz's name.

"I suppose it doesn't. But according to local legend, these stone faces were placed to guard the waters. If you didn't belong here, the faces would challenge you, ask questions only those faithful to the House of Munaz could know. Those who couldn't answer would be cast into the darkest depths of the cistern, never to be found again." Ammas smiled crookedly. "I would imagine the faces of the Munaz Emperors might not be overjoyed to have a Deyn princess in their midst."

Carala looked for a jest in Ammas's face. There was none there. "Then why do they not challenge us? Or me, especially?" Her gaze wandered over the faces. Where once they had seemed blank and empty, she now felt a subtle menace, bland stares that had become leers, stony eyes that now seemed full of loathing for her.

Ammas studied the nearest face. "It's a good question. The likeliest explanation is that it is untrue. The Munaz ruled centuries ago; plenty of time for myths to spring up. Another may be that it was true, but when the Munaz fell from power, the enchantment faded year by year until none was left. Or perhaps the enchantment ceased when the Malachite Throne was removed to Talinara."

Carala looked at him wonderingly. "What difference would that make?"

The cursewright stared at her, surprised. "Surely you don't believe the Malachite Throne to be simply a glorious chair, Carala? Enchantments are laid on it. Deep and ancient spells, binding its occupant to certain actions in exchange for being given rulership over one of the mightiest nations in the world. The most important is the Ninefold Vow, for supposedly it is the powers of those nine faiths that approve of the Emperor's rule -- it is what makes those realms anointed. There are others. No one really knows them all, except the Emperor himself, and the priests of the Graces who coronate him. Or her." Ammas winked, polishing off his tea.

Denisius and Casimir had split the pot between them, leaving Vos at a loss for words and Barthim shaking his head. "Beginner's luck," Vos muttered at last, stretching to his feet with a satisfied crackle of his back.

"This is nonsense," Barthim replied. "Cass has been playing for the last five months." He grinned and clapped Casimir on the back, scattering his stacks of coins.

"I was talking about Lord Marhollow," Vos grumbled, and Barthim laughed so deeply that the sounds echoed off the water, off the vaulted ceiling, off the glowering faces of the long dead Emperors of the House of Munaz.