"It might be. Everything we've heard tells me the Prefect isn't going to be any help." In fact he thought going to the Prefect might well do far more harm than good, and if there were Imperial soldiers here, he'd like to have them on his side when the Swiftfoot wolves finally broke their silence. How he'd convince them to work with a traitor to the Throne he hadn't yet quite figured out. "Let's head back to the warehouse and see what we can learn. Carala and I will have to hang back, but if you can find out what they know about the wolves -- "

"Excellent." Denisius smiled, scratching at a spot on his upper arm. Ammas realized he was sporting a fresh bandage.

"You weren't meddling with Casimir's dagger again, were you?" Whatever he was feeling toward the man after what had happened with Carala, Ammas couldn't help a touch of exasperation in his voice.

"Hm? Oh!" Denisius blushed, looking down at the bandage self-consciously. "Er, no. If you must know -- well -- Barthim took us to the Hethraeum last night -- and -- well -- " Sheepishly he peeled back the bandage, revealing a small Hethmar tattoo, gleaming with fresh ink.

Ammas shook his head, looking at Barthim in mingled wonder and irritation. "You just -- never stop, do you?"

Barthim grinned and bowed, totally unabashed. "Good Denisius earned it with his wolf-slaying. I am sorry you did not, dear Carala, but even a just execution is not being fair combat."

"No apology necessary," Carala said, bemused.

Ammas made sure his dagger was easily accessible. Carala, having affected the guise of a Q'Sivari woman, tugged a veil across her lower face. "Just don't let it interfere with your swordplay, Lord Marhollow. I'm afraid we may need it before the day is done." With that, they set off toward Hangman's Harbor, where the Swiftfoot warehouse stood.

Hangman's Harbor dominated Gallowsport in a way Brightmoon Bay did not dominate Munazyr. Brightmoon Bay was but one element that comprised its home; Hangman's Harbor was Gallowsport, or at least the greater portion of it. There was no vantage in the city where it was not visible. The city's major thoroughfares, nearly two dozen in all, threaded along the various districts from Gallowsport's outer walls or the bluffs on its western edge down toward the water in a more or less straight path. Between these grander streets were thick warrens of twisting alleys, shadowy commons, and ramshackle structures where the darker aspects of the city's livelihood were practiced. The main streets tended to be both of a higher class and safer, and so was where the more respectable homes and businesses could be found, with those located on the bluffs themselves almost as free of criminal influence as Talinara's best districts. At the center of the bluffs, looming over Gallowsport like a glowering city guardsman at his watchtower, stood the circular shape of the Grand Curia. Rowancroft Street was not only one of the main thoroughfares, but the most direct route between the Grand Curia and the harbor, and so Ammas and his companions' journey to the Swiftfoot warehouse was a straightforward one.

The trip from Mourthia House to the water's edge was uneventful, but their progress slowed upon reaching the harbor. Throngs of laborers, travelers, huckstering street sellers, scowling tradesmen, and sailors coming ashore or headed to their vessels packed the streets that lined the docks. Neither Ammas nor any of his companions stood out, not even Carala or Casimir. A knot of Q'Sivari women, robed and veiled as Carala was, exclaimed over her, pointing to her, some of them offering friendly waves. They chattered in the mysterious Q'Sivari tongue, perhaps wondering at the pallid shade of what could be seen of her face. As for Casimir, not only was a child a common sight by the harbor, he was also far from the youngest. Ammas warned them to be mindful of the children, because most of them were almost certainly pickpockets.

"You see, Cass?" Barthim grinned, clapping the boy on the back and making him stumble a little. "I told you Laurette would have you pilfering if you were staying at the Lioness much longer. I am sure you are already better at it than some of these fine urchins."

Ammas offered Casimir a wink, who seemed grateful for it. It hadn't escaped the cursewright's notice that Casimir was also not the only armed youngster roaming the harbor. But his apprentice seemed less alarmed by these junior-most members of the gangs and criminal guilds that infested the city than he was by the bodies swaying from the wooden arches that lined the water's edge, ranging in stages of decomposition from almost fresh to nearly skeletal. Only when the bodies decayed to the point they actually began to fall apart would the Curia headsmen cut them down.

The arches stood on great stone piers that rose from the lip of the harbor, flanking the stairways and ramps that descended to the shipyards and docks. Though the piers were high enough to keep the odor of decay from choking the harbor (except on days where the air was very still, which were rare), the stench was not entirely absent, and Carala was grateful for the veil which shielded her mouth and nose. A memory from Ammas's youth struck him, raising a bitter smile to his lips: just as had been true when he lived here as a boy, he could easily tell a Gallowsport native from a fresh arrival by whether or not they craned their necks to look up at the unfortunates dangling from the hundreds of gallows that gave the city its name.

Despite these grim ornaments, Hangman's Harbor was among the busiest ports in the whole of the Anointed Realms, and the crowds only began to thin once they got within a few dozen yards of the Swiftfoot warehouse. At once they saw why this was so: light barricades, not much more than wooden sawhorses, had been set up in a rough half-circle around the warehouse's tall loading doors. A pair of armored figures stood within this ring, their alertness and the set of their bodies immediately telling Ammas that Vos and Denisius were right. These were no city guards, but members of some Imperial cohort. Nor did they look like fresh-faced recruits, though as Vos had indicated he could make out neither livery nor emblems of rank.

The size and splendor of the warehouse struck Ammas as unlikely. Varallo Thray had described Swiftfoot Carting as "modest," but this was one of the grandest and largest warehouses on the harbor. Built of hewn stone, its sloping roof constructed from slate, it could easily serve as a fortress rather than a warehouse. As with the Vilais office, what few windows adorned the building were little more than narrow slits. Its overall shape was a rambling one, and Ammas could imagine a whole labyrinth of rooms and passages in the place. His eyes narrowed as he studied the building's contours. In his pocket his fingers toyed restlessly with the Swiftfoot ring, just as his eyes alighted on a swaying wooden sign that bore the same emblem.

"Well," Denisius said bracingly. "How shall we handle this, Ammas? I suppose Barthim and Cass should hang back with you two?"

"That seems best," Ammas agreed. "Though I don't know how we ought to address these soldiers. You're working on the Emperor's behalf, so they should accord you some respect. But you can't let them know you've actually found Carala."

"Or that I'm working with a cursewright?"

"That too," Ammas replied drily, "or a Mourthia."

Vos was scanning the men, who were looking right back at him, though in a casual manner that suggested they didn't think he or his fellow swordsman would put up too much of a fight, if it came to it. "Might be best to ask for their commander. If we know who the Throne sent down here to look into this, it could tell us what they know about Swiftfoot, or at least how seriously they're taking it."

Denisius nodded to this, and the two of them headed toward the soldiers, hands raised in peaceful greeting. Ammas and Carala withdrew to the shadow of an adjoining building, huddled close together, while Barthim and Casimir found a distraction in the form of a dice game being played right against one of the gallows piers, a dozen or so bettors watching on enthusiastically.

"Can you make out what they're saying?" Ammas murmured to Carala as Denisius showed his Imperial writ to the soldiers. To Ammas's delighted surprise, they actually looked impressed.

Carala shook her head. "There is too much noise here, I'm afraid. But look -- it seems to have worked."

One of the soldiers saluted Denisius and jogged toward the warehouse, emerging about five minutes later with a tall, well built man in elaborate dark gray armor, trimmed with gold and Imperial crimson, his breast shining with campaign medals and a commander's medallion to match the rank braid on his right shoulder. This commander seemed to recognize Denisius, hailing him with a polite smile and immediately engaging him in conversation, one hand resting casually on the hilt of a truly magnificent blade. As he studied this man's jet black hair, pale, handsome features, and the set of a mouth that was quite familiar to him, Ammas's jaw fell open.

Carala was already similarly amazed, her eyes huge above the veil. "Silenio?" she gasped.