TOWERS

To my critical eye the pair of stone towers looked more alike to pipes on end than fangs, but then these weren't innocent pipes, even if made of granite. The Two Towers were the twin hearts of the Old City Citadel on Old Island. They were used for jails now, but the gray walls still bore sound and narrow firing slots about the circumference of the towers even today. Die Hards could still hold out in them long after the Citadel walls and the central Keep had been breached.

Fangs they were called, so Fangs they were. We were aiming at the one called the North Fang.

Good solid stonework it looked to me. The first few hundred courses were roughly fitted together, and cemented in to boot. A circular wall also surrounded each tower at a distance of forty-five paces. Good enough room for cavalry or large Demons to patrol, if need be. The Demons you could be sure they had. No spoor of dogs, however. However, the walls weren't more than six meters high, with a wooden parapet walkway circling the inside. It gave the four pacing guards a view over the length of it, as well as a look at the traffic below. At night a large hungry Guardian Demon no doubt circled around and around between the wall and the tower itself. There was but one gate through the wall itself.

Samantha Wildman trundled herself forward at a good pace, and her overloaded helper had to shuffle energetically to keep up.

The overloaded helper was me. When Sam had mentioned her plans to journey to the North Fang, Sevein and I had blandly suggested taking a hand-cart from the stable and joining her. With Naomi helping her mother, it had actually been a pleasant jaunt. If you happened to be able to see her, the little girl skipping along in our wake was Emilia. Naomi was absently holding her transparent hand.

Emilia's dead. She's the ghost of a child who sacrificed herself a thousand years ago in order to prompt the Gods into saving her city. Most people couldn't see her or hear her. I could only see a sort of vague outline in the bright sunlight such as blessed today. Inside a building I could see her more clearly. Samantha Wildman couldn't see her the least bit. Yet somehow many people reacted to her as if she were just another ordinary female child. Emilia did that, somehow.

At any rate Inn mistress Wildman bustled up to the tower entrance, followed by her volunteer helpers and giggling girls. Because we were entering a world of men, Sevein had taken the precaution of a little smear of ashes and wet soap applied to one side of her chin. Suddenly she obviously had something, maybe contagious.

I mostly carried the fruit, wine and bread, the others the rest. My 'Mistress' carried blankets and heavy skins of ale. I smiled sort of vacantly and tried not to look like a spy.

Jails in Tar-Trigon and everywhere else I'd ever heard of allowed the prisoners to purchase goods and food for themselves, and very often a little silver paid out could get one a larger cell with a window and a blanket. The poor just suffered. It was already known in Tar-Trigon that those who didn't fear being associated with a criminal were allowed to succor those inside.

"What do you want?" the Jailor at the gate through the walls asked. He judged the group of us, noted the hampers and bags, and added a "Mistress" on the end.

Behind him was another heavy door to let actually into the tower. There was only the one door into this tower, as there was but the one door into the other Fang. The gate was hung by heavy brass fittings; thick, old, and bracing, and it swung open without difficulty. I've seen such doors sometimes so badly kept up that someone needed to lift one edge with a long pry bar so that it would swing to. This one didn't even creak.

"We come with foods and needing things for Master Phlox, who I understand is lodged in this establishment," Sam pattered.

Having proper business to be here, we were let through the first gate and allowed to apply at the Tower door itself. Once there we were met with more suspicions. Behind this Jailor was the squad room for the jail. And the next floor up as well. Common gossip said they made attempts to cook the food sometimes on the next floor up. Today, in any case, we stood aside while a greengrocer brought in bags of food. Rather, two of his workers shouldered the bags whilst he growled at them to work faster. Typical. All three went out of sight upstairs.

Next, by means of yokes, three collared City Slaves brought out covered buckets of ordure the other way. The Guards and Jailors kept well clear of the weary slave workers. Likely all their slops and garbage went out the same way, as did the occasional corpse.

Sometimes the poor didn't suffer for long.

Following them at a safe distance were a whore who'd been servicing one of the wealthier inmates, and a sutler that had been selling goods to similar inmates. He stopped on his way out the door to sell a steel needle and cotton thread kit to one of the Jailors.

We were the customary type of visitors to these precincts. Those with the coin had their meals brought in. Likewise those with loving relatives ate thanks to those who might provide what was necessary. Otherwise a prisoner might do very badly regarding food, as in much else. In winter they might freeze, there being no way to heat the cells. Therefore blankets, however verminous, were life savers. I thought of that and tried not to feel my burdens too heavily.

We had no idea what sort of a life Phlox, the Nomurean, was living inside. Odds were good, however, that it was not the type of life he wished to live.

Mister Phlox had all unknowingly hired us, meaning Sevein and myself, to retrieve the bejeweled reliced bones of a revered Nomurean child from a local rich man. He then proposed to return them to the Temple in his own city. Sevein and I would perform the stealing, and he would do the returning. The gilded bones in question were those of long-dead Emilia, which I suppose explained why I had acquired my little ghost.

We had succeeded in our theft, but the Sathridin, the City Council of Tar-Trigon had promptly thrown our Mister Phlox into the Tower until such time as the precious relics were returned to the 'proper' owner. If you were a philosopher or a lawyer, you might argue who was the proper owner. The merchant who had possessed them or the city they had been stolen from.

Getting Phlox out of Jail might be difficult and take much time. In the meantime Sevein and I had decided to alleviate the misery Phlox was undoubtedly feeling. And also study the Jail with an eye to breaking Mister Phlox out, if breaking out looked to be necessary to save his life.

Thus far the notion of a break-out looked bad.

The only way inside was through the first two floors, and they were littered with Jail staff.

At first this aforementioned staff didn't allow us in any further than the anteroom to the first floor ward room, from where I could already see another massive-appearing door across the circular room. One might expect more such doors ahead. All of which would have to be traversed before Phlox was reached, wherever Phlox languished.

Reaching Phlox was the reason we were here.

A multitude of arguments took place between Sam and the Gaoler. First being a curiosity as to who we were. Samantha repeated her words stating she was here to feed and otherwise provision Master Phlox during his stay in the City Jail, this Tower in particular.

Meanwhile Naomi and Emilia, my little girl ghost, wandered about the room, poking their noses into things not her business. These two girls teased each other into nosing about enough so that the Jailers growled at them. Both at Naomi and the transparent one.

"I own the 'Voyager' Inn, WestBank, up by the Tessor Temple, north of the Old Maze," Sam added. "We're the one suffered some damage from that Fire Salamander these eight nights past. We're rebuilding now, and we're already got the Common Room reopened and the kitchens working.

Sam didn't mention she'd already repaired her stable and rebuilt her ground floor so that she had a larger commons room in which to serve food and drink. She'd also added on larger private quarters and four rooms to rent custom. A neighboring building was even now being demolished to the ground. It had been sacrificed to allow the expansion of the 'Voyager' Inn.

Sevein and I now lived in one of the new accommodations.

"The food here is all from my own place. The two ladies are helping me today, from the goodness of their hearts, and the bounty of my table. We're here, like I said, to feed Mister Phlox and give him a few comforts."

"Just leave 'em here, missy, and we'll make sure they get to Master Phlox," one Jailor ventured.

"I'd just bet!" Mistress Wildman commented. "If I can't say for a fact that I saw Master Phlox receive what's due him, I don't get my bonus and I don't get no other business." She could have more honesty said she thought the Jailors would steal all her bounty otherwise, but that would not be politic.

The Jailors own ornately uniformed master was suddenly in front of Sam and me, giving us a flinty eye. Only the one eye. He also wore a black leather eyepatch, very striking coupled with his colorful clothes. Crimson tunic and claret pantaloons.

This one was no lazy keeper of men, but an officer still. Fine satin vest, puffed lace at his cuffs, colorful good quality pantaloons, white stockings and silver-buckled shoes.

This one had been in his share of scuffles past, and his body showed it. His left arm was gone in a pinned-up sleeve. He also lacked his right eye and ear, and his scalp showed massive scars to the side. Whatever else you'd call his other obvious souvenirs, they weren't the result of some drunken brawl. He was a soldier, probably lucky to land a post like this which allowed him still to be a master of men.

The second he appeared on the scene the jailors lost a great deal of their sloth and indolence.

He seemed more efficient than blow-hard, more strict than lazy. I instantly felt like pulling him aside, if this had been a friendly encounter in a tap room, and swapping veterans tales with him. He was the paradigm of a dozen officers I'd enjoyed in my more warlike past.

As it was, I cast down my eyes and tried to be both beneath his notice and just another female.

"Kapitan Missere Riker, Madam, at your service. What brings you to this wretched pesthole?"

Once talked to by Sam, he immediately set the guards present to carefully sorting through the largesse Sam intended to present Phlox, and also by the way delaying things. He wanted a bribe for allowing Sam and us to bring all this bounty to one of his charges. Fair enough, a little bribery was expected in all the jails I had ever heard of.

Sam went to one side and negotiated with the Chief Jailor in a loud enough voice we all knew the fees involved. A normal enough business dealing. A little silver was the thing Riker wanted, until Sam offered one of her glazed clay pot bowls of meat pie as part of the bribe. She promised that every time she came by, or one of her help, she'd bring him one of her meat pies, still warm from her hearth.

"And if the object in question tastes as harsh and bitter as the insulting fees you have offered me thus far?" he smiled.

"Then we'll have to renegotiate, won't we?"

Eventually, with more than a few new City brass coins in pocket, the Chief Jailor set out for his quarters with his new warm and crusty prize, while we three women began the many steps ahead of us in our long climb to the top of this prison.

The newest prisoners very often go to the top because all the other cells lack a vacancy. Or in this case, because it was thought by someone in the Sathridin that it would be safer to house their new involuntary guest highest of all.

Quite a while later my arms and buttocks and shins were aching from the climb. Sevein looked unfazed, and I envied her youth. Our escort had fairly skipped up the innumerable worn wooden steps, forcing me to re-evaluate my opinion of how slothful the jailors were.

Along the way we discovered our escort wanted his own bribe, but Sam said he'd have to do something to earn it first.

Then we were in front of a locked cell door. This door creaked miserably when it was opened, but it swung easily for all the noise. To one side outside the cell I saw a thin flight of ladder rungs up to the roof, and presumed there was a trapdoor leading out onto the roof there. Probably heavily barred.

There were five other cells on the top floor, one obviously tiny one with the door closed, all the others open and unlocked. Phlox evidently had the largest cell of the group.

Nonetheless Poor Phlox was woefully unhappy, but as a possible person of substance no one had dared beat or cut him. A prisoner today, when he was well to do, might be backed by his own cutthroats on some night in an alley far from the jail or Night Watch. Revenge might be very personal and very painful if a jailor transgressed against the rich or powerful. There were also other ways for the wealthy or important to make their displeasure known, even if today one might be a prisoner.

Being on the top floor, Phlox also had a cell of extreme coldness even on this warm day, but at least it was of no inconsiderable size, as cells went, and had an actual bed of sorts. The bed was nothing more than a mattress of soiled linen, with unknown lumpy contents, but it was a bed still. Phlox might place such added bedding as he could obtain on top or instead of. He had his own drafty window, but it had several bars mortised in, and was too thin an opening for even a child to escape. I carefully noted the view from the window, so I could tell from outside just which narrow slit this was. Emilia and Naomi busied themselves about the cell, looking into corners and being curious. Emilia disappeared through the closed door to investigate elsewhere.

The Priest from Nomurea was immediately asking if he was going to be freed.

"No," the jailor returned. "These people here are come to provide you with comforts more proper to a man of your standing, but you will remain here until the Sathridin decides otherwise." As I said, Phlox's exact status was uncertain and the guards were polite rather than brutal or surly with Master Phlox.

Phlox took the opportunity to complain of the brazen nature and numbers of the mice in this place. Some of the mice he complained of were mine. Running from pockets sewn into my tunic, and onto the straw and rush littered floor. They were my little furry spies, my eyes into places where I was not wanted. It would be no difficulty for them to eventually make their way down the stairs and out the doors tomorrow. Mice get everywhere.

Nonetheless, things could have been worse. Phlox didn't recognize any of us women; of course, never having to his knowledge previously met us. But he talked non-stop even as he greedily dug his big wooden spoon into one of Mistress Wildman's better meat pies.

He had no money, the Sathridin seizing all of his coin and worth when they jailed him. They thought, rightly, that Master Phlox meant to purchase the stolen bones from whoever the actual thieves were. They had no proof, but as none were needed under City Laws, therefore, here he sat.

Four nice thick warm blankets now gave him a luxurious place to lie, and something to warm him besides. A good trio of skins of ale gave him something to drink, and he had from us a tiny purse of brass coins with a little silver mixed in, to pay for those small comforts needed. We even had a small pottery jug of brandy to warm his throat. It had taken some doing to haul all this up all those stairs. Fortunately Sam and Sevein were strong.

As we were women, he took no note of the work involved. Phlox held an opened container of ale so that Emilia might drink from it, and never noticed what he was doing.

For myself, I wondered anew about ghosts who could eat and drink and weigh heavily in my arms if I carried her. She weighted just about what a set of child's bones covered in gold might weigh. Yet she was a little bit pudgy, and I didn't want her to get fat. I motioned her away from master Phlox's food and drink.

Yet Master Phlox was quite thankful to Sam and me, giving each of us a bit of brass from his new purse.

"From what source comes this sincerely appreciated bounty, good Mistress?" With his belly filled and a little time to relax and fondle his bit of coin, he became much more expansive.

"It comes from the Man In The Iron Collar," Sam explained.

Phlox had never met that individual, but knew of him.

Years ago a rich man in Nomurea had disagreed in public with the elders and priests of his particular temple and faith. He was promptly branded a heretic, and was cast out by the leaders. Not literally, not in his faith. Yet he was termed a heretic and a recusant. He was told to wear a heavy iron collar in public until such time as he would publicly recant his religious apostasy. Whatever it had been.

Instead he left Nomurea and journeyed upriver to Tar-Trigon. Once here he had flourished, but had stubbornly retained his iron collar. He wore not the original heavy chafing item, but something more appropriate to a wealthy man of taste. He now wore a delicate filigree of iron about his neck, bedded on a circlet of silk, much gilded and engraved (not to mention adorned with a few dozen minor gems).

His badge of shame was now an ornament proudly displayed. It was a sign of his present standing that he would no longer admit to remembering exactly what it was he argued with his temple about. The difference was not important enough to remember, he avowed. He also failed thus to distress any other local league of the faithful in some local temple that might accidentally share such views, or something near them.

His name was Datalore, but all knew him as the man with iron on his neck and gold in his smile. He had dental plates cunningly crafted to give him a mouthful of good teeth, made of gold. Not pure gold, of course, that would be far too soft. No, his teeth were a jewelers gold mixed with other metals to strengthen them. A good Wizard had also aided their construction so that they would be a perfect fit, however heavy they might be.

Datalore was a silk merchant and banker, with a residence in the New Island's north side. Sevein and I had put him on our list of those worth stealing from.

Under some unknown person's prompting and a bit of our own gold, Datalore had ostentatiously become a fellow Nomurean willing to do a few small favors for a fellow citizen far from home. In public he was doing a charitable thing, nothing more.

In private Sevein commented that Master Datalore must have ties to the Tar-Trigon Thieves Guild for our Master Thief Emil to have worked this small favor for us so swiftly and so easily.

Mind you, Master Datalore was no noble being, nor was he eliminated from our possible burglarizing of his residence because he had performed (for payment in gold) this small favor for us. Neither, however, was he put in the forefront of those we wished to steal from.

As Sam and I made ready to leave, Master Phlox gratefully kissed Innkeeper Wildman's knuckles for her, and even smiled at her companion, me. Sam promised she herself would be back tomorrow, or some assistant who might be sent. Phlox absently patted my little ghost on her head, and the Guard noticed nothing strange in the gesture. Sam said a tailor named Garak might be by today yet, and Phlox would be outfitted with a padded tunic better suited for this drafty place than the thinner and more ornate silk and cotton item he presently wore.

Sam said that if Master Datalore was willing, a bootmaker would be by to fit him with more sturdy, comfortable, and warmer footware. Sam Wildman thought the 'socks' he wished altogether too grand, but would find some for him.

Phlox gratefully kissed Sam's knuckles once more.

Looking up I again observed that the thick wooden beams over his head, it appears, were the very top of the tower. In times of war, alert guards paced overhead. In these more settled times, only pigeons walked above.

The guard earned a silver piece by bringing down the waste bucket stinking up one small curved corner of Phlox's cell. At the bottom of the tower he earned another few pieces of brass by taking back up all those narrow stairs an empty bucket to replace it.

Far too much money for a small deed, but it was a bribe, and it made that particular guard happy. Sam had been instructed by the factor of Datalore to make all pleased to see her and to remember her with fondness.

On the way out all three of us women had to fend off a number of hands belonging to Jailors and Guards.

We were females and shouldn't complain so much, was their point of view. My view was that there were limits to how happy I was willing for the guards to be in my wake.

Before leaving I watched one guard idly run his fingers through Emilia's non-existent hair. A most peculiar ghost.

Do ghosts get fat?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sevein and myself circled the North Fang until I was sure which window was Phlox's.

"Eight stories," she noted. "Not even Bela Oxmyx could throw a grapnel all the way up there."

"Who?" I asked.

"Strong man I knew, back in the White Company. Before I knew you. And besides we'd have to throw it from somewhere outside the wall, probably."

I made a sidelong glance at my lover and she leered back.

"Yes," she continued to smile. "He was. Sort of. But that was a long time ago. And I seem to remember an ex-sailor you told me about, once. A very good friend?"

"There are no nearby buildings with roofs for us to stand on, either," I quickly went on. Sevein politely didn't continue her line of inquiry.

We continued our saunter, noting the existence of a vacant little livery and coach house. The place had the useless air most unoccupied buildings did. This close to the jail and on the Old Island (which was still the City Citadel) it had failed to become home to a few two-legged street gleanings.

Sevein agreed that the Tower was almost exactly in line north from the Livery.

There were at least eight prosperous or official appearing gentlemanly persons in sight, all sitting astride horses. We could see a carriage with its top folded down, parked at the far end of a curving street. Obviously there had been and still was custom here enough to keep a livery open. Businesses do fail.

No residents now but mice. I sat down against the wall and called a few of the present inhabitants to me.

Sevein casually joined me, immediately cutting thin slivers off a sausage from her food bag. I opened my canteen for us, and held my other hand to the ground so that my new spies might join me.

They came, just the five little red mice I called for, and they were soon nestled in my tunic's side pocket, where I kept the little bit of grain. I closed my eyes and felt for their minds and wills, gathering them into the embrace of my command.

In seconds they had left my pocket and returned to the vacant building. We both got up and continued on our way to our place of employment. Tomorrow I would come back by and investigate the innards of this large space. Tonight we three were guards. Sevein, myself and Emilia.

There was a light rain upon us just as we entered what we considered OUR warehouse. Not much brass for guarding it at night, but we did a good job, and we told ourselves it wasn't a very demanding a job.

We'd grown accustomed to playing a large variety of lover's games here. The rain tonight meant we'd probably do them inside. Fair enough.

We had also accustomed ourselves to doing sentry-go-and-off. One of us stood awake, the other caught up on her needed sleep. Being both conspirators and thieves took much of our time and energy. I'm getting too old for this.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The rain slacked off sometime past midnight, and we repaired to the roof, which was our usual abode. Bars and Imps downstairs would warn us if anyone took a direct route to whatever succulent prizes might be inside. We normally stayed on the roof, as we believed any thieves would attempt entry through the ceiling. Thus far we'd spoiled two such topside forays, and scared off a few more (or thus we thought).

We'd built a lean-to up there, someplace to shelter, nothing fancy or permanent. Kept a blanket there to comfort any love-making or sleeping we did, but otherwise stayed alert and continually prowling. Sometimes together, side by side, more often circling in opposite directions. We'd done a lot of sentry-go in the White Company and such mercenary armies.

Tonight we were almost robbed again.

This time we were alerted by the sudden demise of our Imps. Not that they screamed, or anything so overt and definite. They simply ceased to exist, at least on this plane. Someone had used a good, sharp and brutal spell which threw the Imps elsewhither. We felt their sudden painful passing from this plane in our very bones. The deaths of Imps and Demons and such nither beings gave bones to vibrate for a quarter kilometer and more. At the same time we caught a momentary green flash reflected off the walls of our next-door river warehouse.

"Someone just sent our Warder Imps back to Hell," Sevein whispered in my ear.

"Did you catch that green flash?" I added. "Someone probably just ripped away our door. Sent it away, ripped it off its hinges, or something equally dramatic."

"Wizards?" Sevein questioned.

"Probably just someone with a little ambition and the money to buy a few bottled spells of no great complexity," I whispered.

"Where are they?" she asked.

"There's a two-wheeled cart, there, under the eaves there," I pointed out. "Probably to haul away some unknown loot of some bulk. Do you see any of the scoundrels?"

"No. They've probably already entered, and are searching for some specific booty. This is no smash-and-grab. Probably went in through the door to the city-side. Let's slide down the outside and take them from the rear," Sevein suggested.

"Hold," I said. We crouched, looking over, waiting.

"What are we waiting for?" she asked.

"For me to understand what's different, what's strange here," I replied. I gazed down the pave both ways, looking for what should be there but wasn't.

"Guards," I finally said.

Sevein looked carefully, her night vision better than mine. Granted the City's little blue Wizardlight at the end of space between warehouses wasn't very much, still we should be able to see a nervous ruffian or three standing around. We should be able to see the two-wheeled cart come forward to the door so that it could pick up whatever it was that was being stolen.

"It's an ambush," I softly said. "They know there are guards somewhere on the premises. We have to know by now that the building has been broken into, or so they presume. We should be nosing about down there by now or very soon, looking for the ones who are breaking in."

"The thieves are not just lurking about or hiding," Sevein added. "Something else."

"Charms," I continued. "Spells. There are probably at least two good ambushers with loaded and cocked arbalest crossbows waiting for us. Standing there in plain sight but for the fact they're cloaked in some invisibility spell. Standing still, because such spells don't withstand movement or travel worth a damn. Standing stock still, and they're waiting for the warehouse guards to rush down to the break-in site and become dead guards. Each of us with a deadly crossbow quarrel in our bodies to prevent us from interfering with their plundering."

"Where do you think?" Sevein asked.

"Either side of the doorway, out a bit in the space in front of it. Waiting for us. The other thieves are somewhere behind that cart, probably."

"Go after the other villains and the cart." A good suggestion.

We rapelled down the far end of the building, against the docks, and went all the way down to the river. We'd already noted there was a series of pilings there, at the wharf itself.

We lowered ourselves to the ground and crawled to the dock area for the next warehouse. The wooden pilings behind us hid us to a certain extent in the night, and we carefully kept low, breaking sign of movement. In minutes we were streaking up the far side of the warehouse next to ours.

There's something termed an 'encounter' battle by the Princes of men and Generals. It's what happens when one Army is engaged in some maneuver or march on an enemy, and suddenly there they are. At the same time you've been performing this devilish and tricky move, the enemy has been doing the same.

So there you are, and there they are. Neither of you are prepared for a battle right then, but there is no way you can avoid one. In one such battle, my mercenary group was part of an army and was immediately committed, all disorganized. The final toll had been horrific. Ill-met the fighting had begun before anyone had a plan. It was a frantic killing match, nothing more. A contest to see which army bled out first.

That is what happened now. Sevein and I had been whispering plans to each other, for we were still wishing to avoid a pitched battle with an unknown number of opponents. Scaring them away was uppermost in our minds. Yell, chase, watch them flee, and going back to our warehouse for the rest of the night.

Tomorrow night they might be back for another try at whatever treasure had excited their interest, but tomorrow was another day. We would deal with that when it arrived.

No doubt they had become distinctly uneasy over the lack of response from our side. The warehouse guards had failed to come running forth as planned, to be shot down by the crossbowmen. They had waited, for far too long, and the leader of these thieves had sent a party of six around the warehouse they sheltered by. Someone to forestall the very sort of flank attack we were presently engaged in.

We were running, we had blades in hand, and directly at the corner behind the thieves' cart, there appeared these six armed bandits similarly with steel edges already drawn. They were upon us, running was not possible, and we could not leave them at our backs now.

These were probably gutter-leavings, and not trained warriors. Certainly not able to seriously threaten us in any leisured one-on-one confrontation. However, it was night; they were armed, and probably had drawn blood before in other situations. We were as surprised and shocked as were they themselves. They did not hesitate to attempt to kill us. They had to, and we could not flee without being cut down from behind.

The lighting was terrible, we weren't expecting them, and they out-numbered us. We'd been surprised before, though. We bored straight in, trying for quick kills. We needed to reduce the odds and to spread confusion in their ranks. We did not even know exactly how many desperate men we faced.

Sevein brought her Labrys up and down in her first rush, doing some unknown fearful damage to the first thief she faced. He fell to the side with a heart-rending scream. At the same time I batted my own chosen target with my sweeping straight sword and gutted him with my left-hand long knife, dancing aside even as he began to realize he was going to die.

Most sword action is like that. Your foe is dead in the first few seconds, or you are.

To my side Sevein continued to swing her large Labrys around and brought it down into the join of neck and shoulder of the man suddenly facing her. It continued through his upper chest, slicing a few ribs in its trajectory. The Labrys is a heavy and fearful weapon, especially in the hands of muscular wielders such as Sevein. She had been using the weapon for decades.

Sevein was now committed to bringing her fighting ax around again, and did so, already looking for her next foe.

A dim figure sought to stab me with an overhand knife blow, but was blocked by my sword flat. He parried again, and then made to gut me with his blade. I moved suddenly inward, my sword point guiding my way, my left hand blade pushing his arm to the side.

My sword lodged in his spine and I left it in him, letting him crumple around it while I looked to the next thief. I drew my second knife, waiting for the next man to make a move.

The man in front of me faltered now, suddenly seeing his comrade's fall and two still screaming with the pain. Another stood in front of Sevein, a woman I think, backpedaling before the shocking menace of Sevein and her Labrys.

The man in front of me suddenly turned, jumped back and away, obviously wanting nothing further to do with this carnage. The smaller figure hesitated, and then she turned to flee as well. Their boot steps echoed down the ways, the only sound to be heard other than my panting.

Sevein cautiously glided forward, looking carefully around the corner. At the far end a trio of figures was yelled at by the two other thieves as they pelted non-stop past a cart drawn by a pair of horses. I recovered my sword and followed Sevein cautiously towards the three ruffians left in front of us. They promptly turned and disappeared into the night. We came up to the cart now. We looked through and around the slattern sides of the cart and its driver's seat. Sevein and I were both panting.

"There's still…" I began, but Sevein replied before I was finished.

"The ambushers, I know, I remember," she said.

Nothing suddenly became form. Two crossbows clattered to the pave blocks between our warehouse and the next, seeming to come out of thin air. At the same moment two figures were seen racing pell-mell away from us. They decided not to contest us, not when they didn't have such an advantage, at least.

We didn't chase them. They'd left their quarrels in their crossbows, rather than attempting to kill us. For that courtesy, they could go unmolested. Not that they had been likely to hit us, the distance being much more than a hundred meters and it being night. Still, there is always chance.

We had a problem, however. Four of them. The thieves we'd downed were dead or dying, and we had a number of choices. Leave them be to die in pain and suffering, those still alive. Or to aid them in their way.

We also had the choice of one of us running to find the Night Watch and perhaps acquiring a Wizard somehow. Leaving one of us alone to guard our warehouse. If promptly arriving, a Wizard might be able to save a life or two.

Then, with the wounds more or less magically healed, they'd tie the unlucky thief to the Throne of Sublime Delight, in the Sathridin Council Square. There their skins would be removed a centimeter at a time until they died.

We returned to the thieves, our duty clear in our minds. We turned them all over, and I presumed the bearded one with his belly opened by my knife at least accepted his fate. Sevein bent to lightly prick open the carotid arteries of the two still living, with her ever-present small razor-sharp pointed belt knife. In a few minutes they had bled out, and were beyond the reach of the City Justice, or pain, or anything else.

Emilia went to each of them and closed their eyes. She held out her hand to me and I dropped eight good-sized brass coins there. She capably placed the Ferryman's Fees on their eyelids, then stood back and buried her face in my tunic. Whatever happened after this moment, the dead had their coins firmly in their grasp as they waited for the Ferryman.

They would be taken across the Final River now, and would leave no ghosts behind. Many of us would never receive such a grace. During my wars, many whose names I knew never had such a grace.

In the morning the City Slaves would take the bodies, keeping Tar-trigon fit to live in. They would steal the coins over their eyes, the boots on their feet, such clothes as were salvageable, and the coin in their purses, and any pitiful jewelry they had on them.

Sevein and I gathered up their knives. Weapons were legitimate spoils. As were the cart and horses, which were promptly tethered alongside the warehouse entrance. Sevein promised the placid workhorses crunchy apples in the morning. As if understanding her, both exhibited enough spirit to nuzzle Sevein as she patted them and ran her fingers through their manes.

We retrieved the two good Issaurian cranking crossbows, and threw them in the back. They were booty as well, and were worth a good golden coin each. The cart was probably stolen, but we'd possess it until recovered by whoever owned it. In the morning, after we were relieved, the cart would carry us home to Sam's 'Voyager' Inn. It would go inside her stable, and we would contemplate our future moves.

The entry door of our warehouse had been blown off its hinges by the initial spell, and lay meters towards the main office. Day shift would have to see to its repair. Emilia held my hand as we re-entered the warehouse. Sevein left her hand on my other shoulder. I needed the comfort.

Damn! Damn! Damn! I'm getting too old for this.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sevein, serving as driver of the previous night's prize, drove Sam to the jail Tower that day. Sevein (and the cart) stayed out by the First Gate, while I sauntered over to the defunct livery and carriage house. Sevein eventually carried another blanket, candelabra and a few dozen tallow candles, bed linens, and a padded chair to the Tower doorway. Others took her burden upstairs. All this assortment of goods was just to make Master Phlox more comfortable. He would be living in better style than many in this City of Tar-Trigon.

As I slid down against the wall of the livery to gather in my rodent spies, I watched two eager Guardsmen come out to the cart to gather up a small table due to go up to the top floor.

In the future the Jailors would look forward to Mistress Wildman's visits, I was sure. A little coin does wondrous things to a Jailor's disposition.

On our placid way back to the 'Voyager' Inn, I hired an urchin to prompt Master Emil, the coppersmith, to come to 'Voyager' Inn for business dealings. In the event, he sent Tom Pare', who was his journeyman and fellow Thieves Guild member.

After dealing with him, we barely had time to reach the Temple of Gogorol, the Green Frog God of Needful Rains. That was the simply built dark-hued wooden Temple where Belanna danced for her God. Belanna, the small beautiful dark woman who danced nude for her God and the audience of the Faithful and those otherwise inclined. There were always a number of males present who came solely for the nude dancing. They were appreciative of the subtlety of her movements, her grace, the evocative music and the delightful figure so well displayed. They had their dreams, but Sevein and I had possessed the body a few delightful times.

Which reminded me, Sevein and I were due to enjoy the licentious shaving of 'our' barber soon. Belanna enjoyed our neat quims, as we did hers. Sevein enjoyed going to Neelix's bath house and getting clean, of course. We were becoming dreadfully spoilt by our weekly cleansings in Neelix's bathhouse. However, we especially enjoyed watching Jean-Luc, the barber, drool. He almost drooled over me as well. Did drool, actually. But only a little bit he was probably unaware of. Whilst he carefully removed the stubble from our groins.

The shaving always affected us so that we had to make a little pleasant love in the giant sit-in bath-tub afterwards. Our shavings were as exciting to ourselves as well as they were to Jean-Luc. The last time we had went, after our successful burglary of Chakay's residence, we had felt ready for Belanna and her sensuous ways. Belanna had shared her luxurious bed with us, as well as her three splendid antique instruments of love. All of dark wood, lovingly carved and polished, and made for the use of a woman.

Belanna might have to retain her hymen, for religious reasons, but Sevein and I had lost ours decades ago.

The wondrously debauched woman had exhausted us.

Today we stood with the others inside the temple, and suffered the prayers and admonitions to lead a proper life. Which to the usual rural follower meant getting the seeds in the ground and harvesting the crops before winter. Locally it also meant the flooding of the rice paddies and the draining before harvest.

We two sinners simply enjoyed watching Belanna cavort nude during her frenzied twice-daily worship of Gogorol, the Frog God. She was the High Priestess here, in her simple temple, and she communed often with her living God. Mighty the Frog God might not have been, but he could bring or deny the rains throughout the entire upper Tar River basin. That made Belanna an important person, if not exactly EXTREMELY important.

To me she was the teasing fount of much fevered loving. From what Sevein said to me, she considered Belanna an exceptionally skilled lover of women, and a momentary enrichment to our own emotional bond, but nothing to drive either of us to insanity.

Belanna was a present joy. Not a life-long mate.

Even as we wended our ways into the back rooms of the Temple, I realized that saddened me, for some reason.

Belanna soon bustled back in a characteristic flurry, and settled us upon two couches in her rear atrium while she worked on her needful things as High Priestess. Grapes were in season and we had a few, along with some local too-sweet unwatered wine.

I never realized I fell asleep.

The afternoon light was waning when she finally woke us. She knew we had work as night guards, and woke us so that we might go there. Belanna had taken pity on us and covered our recumbent forms and left us to our needed sleep. It was only for a few hours, and it seemed to but little refresh me at the time. However, it was needed and welcome. We kissed Belanna good-bye, and my parting words to her were of promise.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Next week, a Tuesday, we received a surprising visitor and a few expected ones.

Mistress Sam had just returned from a visit to the Prison Tower, and this time Naomi had not journeyed with her. Perhaps a Jail was not a proper place to take a young child in the eyes of some, but I personally saw nothing wrong in it. The child saw first hand that misbehavior might result in pain and even death, but that was a lesson taught daily throughout Tar-Trigon.

We had left Mistress Wildman to take the cart herself, to the Jail Tower. Over the past few days she had discovered she was capable of surmounting the difficulties of a cart and horse. She had obtained a double rail tongue for the cart, and now one horse took her in considerably improved comfort throughout the city.

To a large extent she had also come to dispense with the services of either greengrocer or butcher. Perhaps once the enlarged 'Voyager' was active, and she had to cope with vastly enlarged duties, she'd go back to buying large quantities from such merchants. For today Naomi had stayed with myself and Emilia, enjoying a rare spate of leisure and play.

We carefully did not involve Naomi or Sam in our burglaries. We went to great lengths to confirm Sam in her knowledge that we were a pair of female housekarl's, swords for hire, and nothing more. We also did many things about the Inn for Sam, so that our helping her when she serviced her new contract to comfort Master Phlox told her nothing. We gleefully accepted the occasional loaf of bread, or drink of ale as a reward. Sevein doted on Naomi, and I - well, I had my little ghost.

Mistress Samantha trusted us. Sevein, especially.

The other day Sam had purchased a simple magic toy for Naomi, at Sevein's urging. Now both girls played with it whenever the time availed itself.

Unknown Wizards had discovered the compass and magnetic north pole many centuries before, and invented this little toy as well.

Naomi had strung a cord between two points she could reach, and carefully aligned with the North Pole. She had a few wheels which rode the cord, connected to a small wicker basket which swayed satisfyingly beneath the cord. The two girls placed leaves and such in the tiny basket, and let the gondola go forth along the cord. One set of wheels took it sailing in the direction of the North Pole. The other pair would sail just as gaily in the opposite direction.

Naomi would send her precious cargo along the cord in one direction, and then both girls would scurry to the terminus of the cord. She'd replace the one set of wheels with the other set, and it would obediently journey back to whence it came.

Daring spies and brave warriors had used such lines to surmount high walls, according to legend, but none I'd ever heard of ever succeeded. One touch of iron and the magic failed, and Fortress Wizards had a large lexicon of spells to disarm that particular magic.

The play was essentially mindless, but Naomi and Emilia enjoyed it. Sevein had shown a surprising skill in the making of two tiny straw figures, much like those used in a pain and avoidance curse, as dolls for Naomi and my little ghost to play with. The two dolls traveled endlessly back and forth across the stable courtyard.

Personally I watched their play with wonder and confusion. I could barely see my girlish ghost, but many seemed to accept her (or it) as a normal child. My ghost kept cadging nibbles and sips from the guests in the Commons room, and that worried me. I didn't want a fat little ghost on my hands. And what of the future when she would have to fend for herself?

I realized what I had just thought, and sat in some confusion for a space of two or three minutes. Tom Pare had to nudge me a few times to get me back on track regarding our plans and needs.

Naomi bounced into her Mother's arms and we continued our casual conversation with Tom Pare and Harold Kim. To outsiders the pair of males were suitors for our female charms. Which they indeed were. They were also our co-conspirators in theft. In this case they received detailed instructions of things needing to be built, to be measured, to be obtained, and to be constructed and serviced.

We four sat upon a hefty bench, newly constructed and still smelling of resin and paint. It was laid against the inner wall of the Inn's stable courtyard, very much out in the public view as we conversed. Innocence personified; four people enjoying the sun's warmth and each other's converse.

To my surprise a horseman reigned up in the courtyard, sliding off his horse with a practiced twist. It was Jail Commander Kapitan Riker, from the City Tower Jail where master Phlox languished. For a man with one arm he unhorsed quite smoothly and with little apparent difficulty.

After he had seen to his horse's care inside the Inn's livery, and tying up the horse in a shaded place within, he strode directly to Sevein and me, and our two male companions. Personally, I thought the better of the Kaptain for seeing to his horse's comfort first, before going in for dinner and drink.

"Good afternoon," he courteously commented. "You've come out to North Fang with Mistress Wildman thrice now. And your names are?"

Sevein and I gave ours, and he continued his surprising line of questioning. He asked if we were hired to work here, and we replied that we merely rented a room in this Inn. Though we considered the good Mistress Wildman a friend. Times had been hard on her of late, and we considered our small aids a tiny help. I think he disbelieved us, and thought our friendship bought by a few brass coins or service.

He also questioned us on our employ. We admitted to be newly arrived in the City since Spring, just as we admitted to being Free Swords. We mentioned Master Tuvok and his warehouse, and our work there as night guards. And no, there had been no successful theft of the building since we took jobs there. The pay was not much, but we were given our pay faithfully, and our needs were simple. Food, clothing and a roof.

This line of questioning was indeed alarming me, though I hoped my outward air of calm was convincing. Sevein managed to mostly ignore the Kapitan and myself, whispering smiling words with Mister Kim the Apprentice. Apprentice Coppersmith and Apprentice Thief.

Tom Pare on my other side was looking slightly peeved at the Kapitan, but he had long past since learned enough to keep his peace when confronted by inquisitive officers and bureaucrats. Anywhere in the world officers and officials were always accustomed to being nosy and being given answers; at least they were everywhere I had ever been. It was the way things were.

Riker's queries began to veer then, and I suddenly realized his object of curiosity was not ourselves, but Mistress Sam Wildman.

Kapitan Riker asked about the 'Voyager' Inn itself, how long had she been sole owner, her child Naomi, and the damage the Fire Salamander did to it. He could see for himself the progress apace in rebuilding 'Voyager' and the Brewery kitty-corner from this establishment. Without being direct about it he was also curious whence cometh this horde of wagons and carpenters, and the money to pay for the reconstruction.

We pretended personal ignorance of the details, but opinioned that Mistress Wildman seemed untroubled by the expense, and noted that her relations with the brewer were close enough that a covered bridge was being built from the Brewery to the newly enlarged Inn. Brewery and Inn were now to be intimately connected. That betold prosperity, I ventured a guess.

We volunteered no information about Mistress Wildman's difficulties with Chakay, the High Priest of the Temple of the Sun. Riker had noted the rumors, however.

"I've met High Priest Chakay a number of times," Riker said. He looked like he'd just sucked on a lemon.

The rumor he didn't mention was the one where her long-lost son now watched over her and protected her. A son, possibly a Prince now, or so rumor had it. Suitably mysterious, unknown, and rich. I'd heard three dozen names bruited about as a possible candidate for her lost baby now grown.

Kapitan Riker was interested in courting Mistress Wildman, the Widow. It was an interesting bonus that the object of his attentions seemed to be reasonably prosperous. Prosperous enough so that she could expand into the new remains of a neighboring structure and attach herself directly to the product of a large competent Brewery.

Prosperity always seemed to make a woman more attractive.

He had enough manners that he eventually thanked me courteously for answering his questions, nodded to my companions, and strode into the Inn Commons for a meal, a drink, and a courtship.

I failed to add that unless Naomi accepted him, his prospects of success were meager. Emilia followed him inside, possibly in curiosity, possibly to play with Naomi. It was good that Naomi had someone her own age to play with, as unremitting labor somehow seemed to me to not be a child's natural state.

Kapitan Riker spent nearly two hours in the Inn, and Naomi seemed guardedly willing for him to be about. Sam came out to watch him ride back to North Fang Jail, though she did not wave a good-bye to him. We observed that Riker was one of those crippled veterans who had discovered how to mount a steed one handed. Samantha was quite aware that she was being newly courted, she was.

Tom Pare and Harry Kim were gone by then, so that we could turn to each other and gently laugh. Grant you, Riker was not well placed, nor wealthy, nor noble, nor physically whole. But as a male he could be another bulwark against the High Priest Chakay.

It was a mystery, what would become of Mistress Sam, or ourselves. But then all of life was that.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next day Naomi and Emilia came out into the yard, and in unison pulled on my tunic. Mistress Samantha and Naomi were recently returned from a trip to the North Tower Prison, and Sam had again accepted our assistance. Sevein was in the stable feeding apples to 'our' draft horses. She enjoyed their anticipation of her visits and their constant nuzzling of herself, my lover, in response. She usually spent a few minutes at a time currying them, and combing out the tangles in their manes and tails. She said they'd put on weight and health since their change of ownership. They were still aged and sway-backed to my view, but I accepted her judgment.

The Stable now enjoyed another employee, a gangling youth named Jhaake. Dark skinned and rather awkward, but Sevein was bothering to show him proper care of horses. She had a low opinion of the pair at present enjoying their jobs with less work to do than before the fire.

At any rate, I rose and went inside, in time for a most interesting sight.

In the course of clothing ourselves, Sevein and myself had met a good tailor with a ready tongue and a high opinion of his native wit. Garak was a man of surpassing ugliness, but he had been lately employed by Mistress Sam to re-clothe the unfortunate Phlox. Garak was uncomfortably standing by a table next to the bar, trying hard not to glare at one of the other two people sitting at that simple table.

Those two were Mistress Wildman and the brewer, a commanding dark-skinned man with a shaved head who was called Sisko by all about. Jhaake was his eldest son, and he himself was a widower.

A red rose already rode in the swell of Sam's ample bosom, and Garak held another in one hand, and a pot of Bakla's in the other. I imagined I could smell the heavily honied nutty pastry from all the way across the Commons.

In front of Sam was another pot, full of twisted dark date sticks, a sweet known well to me. Sam allowed Emilia to steal one of her newly bestowed date sticks. I glared at my ghost as she scurried past me, enroute to the ever-journeying gondola.

Garak made the best face on the situation that he could, and seated himself at the table with Sam and Sisko. Sam accepted the rose from Garak the tailor and placed it in the divide of her breasts as well. Both Roses looked inviting in the cleft between her swelling breasts. It suddenly struck me that Mistress Wildman was a desirable woman.

I was admiring this scene when Kapitan Riker entered from the stable doorway behind me.

He was almost to the table before he surmised the reason for these two males to be here with Mistress Wildman.

Fortunately the sound of their voices was lost to me, what with the incessant sounds of rebuilding overhead.

Naomi and Emilia were back, and decided to play by that table, and incidentally, make pests of themselves. Sam quickly sent her child to do work in the kitchen.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The harried and long-legged person in the long robe passed me thrice before he suddenly stopped and leaned forward; gazing hard at me.

We were standing in the space in front of the once-vacant Livery alongside the North Fang jail. There were two wagons off-loading heavy beams and planks of wood, and eight workers attempting to do the work of twelve. They had the assistance of a simple swinging crane established on the crown beam of the once-defunct building.

The Livery was being refurbished, rebuilt, and would obviously soon be open once more for business.

"You worship Gogorol, don't you?" the man said. "I've seen you at the temple before this, a number of times."

I admitted to attending services there.

He embraced me, folding me to his chest and hugging me tightly. His voice rose in what I think were gladsome cries. I could see Sevein on the cart observing this encounter. I shall be the subject of numerous japes regarding this, I knew.

"The Great God of Needful Rains has smiled upon one of his flock," he told me. "Last week I was another supplicant in His Temple, another poor creature seeking solace and direction."

He waved expansively at the rebuilding stable behind him. "Today I am rebuilding this place of business, all for a most generous fee!"

A small woman with the straight black hair of one of the Barbarian Mountain tribes padded past, with three children loosely in tow.

"This is one of our fellow worshippers at the Frog God's Temple," the skinny man told her.

"Do not delude yourself," the wife said to me. "Last week my husband was seeking work as carpenter or laborer in any workplace to be had. Last week I did not know where our next meal was coming from.

"This week we are busily creating a sturdier Livery Stable, and my husband is not a worker on the site, he commands the work being done!

"This week we know the endless bounty and loving joy of Gogorol. Were it not for the Temple and one of its rich and mighty believers, we should still be hoping for a lowly job of any type. Now we have this, and well before the Winter colds came. Is not Gogorol good?"

I had to agree with them as to the charity and love of Gogorol.

The woman pointedly continued the conversation, allowing a glare or two to be fastened upon her husband.

"I had always known we were sinners, and we were slothful, especially on Festival Days, apart from Spring Planting and Harvest Days. But Gogorol, ever merciful, has forgiven my husband his words and deeds, his bouts of disbelief, and his lying with that harlot scullery girl Leeta on who he cast many covetous eyes, though he claims he but gazed upon her teasing and whorish body, and never touched her in that particular way, though Gogorol knows the truth of the matter. Gogorol forgives."

I wondered if wives ever forgave.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was nearing the twenty-second hour when most of the assembly arrived.

Posing as simple workmen, the Artificers had been the first to arrive.

The wagons of the workmen had brought their needful things, and used the waning light to begin siting their weapon. Most wore simple light cloths across the lower half of their faces now, in order to confuse memories of just exactly who was involved in this endeavor.

Two carefully cowled Engineers had once more stood in the open door of the loft and shot the sun, shot angles, mumbled again over their painstaking math.

A man, who might have been Harry Kim in a concealing robe, carefully presented each Engineer with a clinking bag as they left the premises.

First to be put down was the frame, fitting neatly into the scribed lines on the sturdy new boards at the entrance to the hayloft. By that time the doors had been closed, hiding the next stage from prying eyes.

On the frame long beams to brace and anchor the weapon were laid, and strapped down and doweled. All ex-veterans of many wars, the workmen were accustomed to their work. Even though long years might lie between the present now, and the time when they had fought with these weapons, perhaps constantly.

A wagon carefully brought in the new rope, and other items, and departed into the drawing sun.

Finally a last wagon drew up behind the Livery, and its passengers scurried inside. That wagon soon left as well. Both Sevein and I wore obscuring charcoal smears and other marks on our faces, as well as concealing gauze about our lower faces. We hoped our new clothes and binding clothes successfully hid the sex of our bodies.

We also each held a small pebble in our mouths. One which was guaranteed to change our voices for a few needful hours. We were men, for this night's work.

Back at a warehouse on the River, four replacement guards stood sentry-go over Master Tuvok's goods. Two pair unknown to each other. Two might conspire to rob the warehouse they protected. Four was more improbable, because the one pair would be rewarded for turning in their compatriots if a plot developed.

It's a world full of untrustworthy people. What else can I say?

They thought the two regular guards were busy with lovers somewhere else. Indeed we were. We were lovers to each other and we were certainly busy.

Both Sevein and I had fought with a Ballista many times before. A few times we had helped run the cranks that gave the torque and tension to the wrappings of gristle of the machine. Also we had seen first hand some of the mayhem when an arrow longer than I was tall slammed into a horse and rider. Through the horse and rider, more often than not.

It looked like any other; a giant crossbow.

The last Engineer was carefully re-sighting the angles in the last lights of the day. So as not to lose any of the power, the team of muscular men who would crank the bow waited patiently for their moment. The length of rope needed had also been carefully estimated a half dozen times or more.

Math was not a subject I was strong in, and Magic was considerably the more exciting and profitable study. Nonetheless I was slightly in awe of men such as these who used pure logic instead of arcane arts to reach their goals.

We did not see the face of the Engineer, who might be an officer in the City's defenders. He did not see ours. Everyone carefully kept their faces obscured. The purpose of our actions had to be the Tower, the Jail, opposite. Whatever the action resulting, it would be illegal, and none wanted to be remembered as a member of the enterprise.

It was an uneasy three hours before our force was committed. No one spoke, no one had small gossip to share, or opinions. We had a job to perform, and the gold paid out had been partially a warning for all to keep silence in the future.

We were, after all, all Thieves in good standing in the Guild.

Someone with a Time Gift indicated softly when it was the time. We opened the loft doors into the damp night air, and saw very little at all. The walls surrounding the North Tower were illuminated by a few brands, enmagicked to last the night. Not much was illuminated.

The crew of muscular men now bent to their task. The torqueing of the sinew was surprisingly loud, but it did not seem to excite the interest of any guards.

The tying of the system of pullies was inspected once more, as was the meter-wide grapnel in its temporary cradle. Sevein again inspected the wheels and dull black cloth and leather harness that I was dressed in. The ropes themselves were made of dark-pigmented rope coupled with silk for sturdiness with ease of hold.

Out of the darkness a man and woman arguing came to us. The sound grew louder, and in time we could make out a woman beating a man with helm and shield. She was using a frying pan, and the noise was piercing.

The Ballista fired.

It sailed into the night, a pair of men carefully watching the spinning drum as the cordage played out.

It seemed to pause, and perhaps we heard a distant clanging as the grapnel caught. The men desperately rewound the drum with their crank, quickly bringing it taut.

It held. The grapnel was lodged somewhere on the top of the North Tower.

A series of ratchets cranked the cordage taut, and then even more taut. The gondola was fitted to the frame, the frame was fitted to the two large wheels, and the two large wheels were already eager to ride the line towards the magnetic North Pole. I was quickly in the gondola, and the workmen attached the cord and pulley arrangement to the frame holding wheels overhead and gondola below.

My breath was taken away by the speed with which my vehicle whisked up along the cordage. My goal was the top of the Tower, where my Magic cutting thread would free master Phlox.

Halfway up the dizzying slope, the conveyance began to slow, and eventually to glide to a stop. We had not known if the Towers were protected against such a simple thing as my magicked wheels, but it obviously was.

I yanked on the pulled cords, and awaited the rest of my journey.

The laborers down below soon had me speeding up the cord to my goal, their sweat propelling me faster than I was perhaps ready to experience. Nonetheless, when it jerked to a sudden stop, my gloved hands had already clasped the rope. I climbed out the gondola, my hands pulling me the meter or so to the edge of the Tower top. I laid one hand on the edge of a Finial, then the other, and quickly threw a leg over the edge.

I stood upon the worn timbers above the jail.

With the release of its cunning little ratchet brake, I sent the gondola and its charmed wheels falling back down the rope to the open door of the Livery. I jerked on the rope until answering jerks came to me. In less than ten minutes Sevein had a hand on the Finial edge and I was helping pull her over to me.

At the cover to the entrance, she released her oily greasy Golems from her canteens, letting them lubricate the hasp, the hinges, and the bolt underneath the lid covering the ladder to this roof. I carefully brought out the cutting wire that had cost us a full small bag of gold. It was purchased from a Wizard in the employ of the Duke of Windfield, an oft-time jealous neighbor of the Free City of Tar-Trigon. A Wizard far far away.

Sevein and I grasped one of the holding rings each, and carefully eased the dangerous wire underneath the overlapping lip of the trapdoor. With the lip, rains did not pour down into the tower. The lip also prevented enemies on the roof from easily entering the Tower from the top.

Once tension was established, we sawed back and forth for what must have been an hour. It seemed easily that long, and every muscle in me was complaining at the end of it. Foremost being my index finger's abused flesh.

Suddenly both Sevein and I staggered back as the sturdy iron lip shuddered and skittered to the side, having been completely sawn through.

Now Sevein's helpful Golems took one of the holding rings down into the space between lid and entry-box. The water (and oil) Golems took the ring down, round the bolt, and back up to Sevein's hand (or finger).

It was the work of a minute to saw through the bolt.

Sevein lifted back the hinge lid, and peered down into the dimness of the top floor.

We quickly dropped down the rungs of the aged and complaining ladder to the floor. We hurried to Phlox's locked cell door. Then Sevein once more called her Golems to thread the cutting wire around the lock and back to her waiting finger. It took us less than a minute to thus free Master Phlox.

The Golems used the last of their oil to lubricate the hinges to Master Phlox's cell door. We did not need loud hinges at this moment.

Once awakened, Phlox understood the need for quiet, and kept his questions for a more opportune moment. Our faces were smudged and our gauze masks were back about our jaws, but he still might have recognized us from my previous visits with Mistress Wildman. If so he kept quiet of it.

Sevein peered at the now-two locked cells on this floor, but no cry was made from them. Hopefully the unwilling tenants were asleep in their cramped despair. If they were not, they might at most state two individuals have rescued Master Phlox. Little more. Which occurrence would be large writ by morning, I was sure. The jailors would be surprised and angry both.

Master Phlox ventured to touch the cutting wire, but I warned him off. It went into my little canister inside my pouch, and there it would stay. For now.

In a minute the three of us were on the roof, and the entrance lid was once more being let down into its proper place. Phlox looked about him, his eyes so large that even I could see their whites.

"No Magic Flying Carpet?" he plaintively whispered.

He was praying constantly as Sevein and I eased his corpulent form into the limited encompass of the wicker gondola.

"Is all this really necessary?" he asked, with more than a hint of terror and self-pity to his few words.

"We can leave you for the Skin Remover," I replied. "It usually takes at least four days for the guest sitting in the Throne of Sublime Delight to die. Screaming and crying all the while. They leave the eyelids and tear ducts untouched."

Phlox firmly seated himself in the fragile gondola and closed his eyes. With a few jerks on the cordage, the team down-rope began to pulley the first rider in.

Phlox disappeared into the night. Sevein and I waited, occasionally peering between the battlement edges to observe the placid movements of the Wall Guards down below. Between that circling wall and the tower itself we could occasionally see glimpses of the Guardian Demons patrolling the space between. They were nothing more than a shimmering, somehow malevolent.

The gondola was returned and Sevein was off in it before even making sure of her sitting.

There were no sounds beyond a wind rising up, no alarms, no cries of anger in the night. Emilia held my hand tightly.

Then with a creak the gondola was back to me.

Gripping the rope securely I eased my complaining body into the suddenly tiny wicker construct, and gulped as I swung crazily back and forth. I released the brake, gave a tug, and was suddenly plummeting down the guiding rope to the ground. With a small cry of distress Emilia burrowed into my tunic and breasts, hiding her face from the nauseating passage livery-ward.

I could not really remember the near-fall downwards, it had occurred so swiftly.

Suddenly I was in the loft, and that wood-smelling space was full of bustle and purpose. Guided by Sevein, Phlox was even now being guided into the capable hands of professional Master Thieves who would dispatch him onward.

No one had requested from myself any advice as to how one might secretly pass Master Phlox out of the city, and thus on his way to safety. Others, more skilled at smuggling than us had taken that task in hand.

We left through the rear, leaving the clean-up and confusion to others. They were being well paid for their labors, and Sevein and I had to presume in the skills of others.

Perhaps I heard a scurrying in the night, but I resolutely did not look in that direction. At least Emilia did not complain of our pace or slow us. She was a good trooper, her little legs scurrying to keep up with us.

In a truly wondrous silence behind us, the Ballista crew was wrenching the cordage sideways, towards a large tree growing out of the meager soil of Old Island. The tree was an easy twenty meters from the side of the livery fencing. They used mechanical devices only. No magic.

With more pullies and tools the rope was kept taut and both winched and passed on to the targeted tree. We did not stay to observe their cunning engineering, but I am sure it was both quietly enacted and wondrously achieved. During my wars I had been a great admirer of Engineers, and trusted their art more than I did Wizardry.

Skillfully woven Wizardry could disappear in the pass of a countering hand. A giant Trebouchet flinging boulders the size of three horses into a wall was more difficult to counter.

Once the rope was coaxed to the tree, it would be tied off, and left there. The end was cut, and the cordage on the drum in the livery was to be rewound. It would appear to have always been tied to that tree.

The Ballista would be disassembled, though many innocent pieces of its metal and wooden construction would be left about the livery. The floor of the loft had been rebuilt in order for it to take the strains of such a giant Ballista operating.

In less than an hour, the floorboards of the loft were bare but for dirt and smears. The loft door was barred, the livery tidied up into its previous confusions and clutter, and the sturdy Ballista men and others had vanished into the night. With them went the parts of the Ballista whose purpose could not be hidden.

The Thieves Guild now owned a giant Ballista. One should never throw away something useful, even if you knew not when it might be useful again.

In the morning the Guards would discover a rope leading from a tree to a grapnel atop their Jail Tower. In the morning they would think the villains releasing master Phlox had slid down the rope they plainly could see tied to the tree.

They would probably eventually realize the means by which so much iron had been cut in two, and wonder how the villains had been brought to the top of the North Fang. They would wonder which skilled Wizard had created the cutting wire and it's protecting handling rings.

Magic. It had to be. Everything awe-inspiring was magic.

Expensive magic. Who could spend that amount of coin but a Prince or a Master Wizard himself? The cutting wires were devilishly hard to conjure into being, and surely only a deeply shrouded Magic Carpet or other levitation could have placed the villains and their grapnel upon the roof.

We were hopeful that no shred of suspicion would entail to the proud owner of the livery stable. Though it might prove impossible to determine who exactly WAS the owner of the rebuilt Livery Stable.

If the Sathridin did not burn the livery for their unproven and unfounded suspicions alone, the repaired property would pass on to someone else. It was, after all, just a building.

For a little silver a mermaid had held a small raft for us along the river bank, and we were easily guided across by the creature. Once in the City itself, we ascended to the roofs and quickly made our way to the warehouse of Master Tuvok. We would send our stand-in sentries home, and peacefully await the morning and the arrival of Tuvok's Factorium and Accountant, and the start of another day.

It might rain yet.

Once at the warehouse, one of us might gain a little sleep during what remained of the night. We'll flip MY coin for who stands sentry while the other sleeps.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sevein gave me a hand in unloading the day's new comforts for Master Phlox. Naomi and Emilia were making the work more fraught with distress, as usual. The horse, however, was calm and happy. The placid horse had already been given an apple by my dearest blond-haired woman.

We had on the ground a small lacquered wooden Secretary. A desk with drawers and places for quill; with inkwell and two candelabra firmly bolted to the top and back. As well as a large quantity of tallow candles. We had to chase Naomi and Emilia off the writing surface a dozen times in as many minutes.

Mistress Wildman had already been let inside the tower with her hampers of comforts and food, and Kapitan Riker's pot of meat pie.

I asked the Wall Guard about the large number of agitated citizens clustered to one side of the rebuilt livery stable. He said there had been an escape, and drew our attention to the rope reaching from the top of the tower to a tree opposite.

"Been buzzing about like indignant wasps," the guard added. "All of the guards on the wall are being closely questioned by someone I think is from the Sathridin. Some rich bravo he is, to be sure. Even though the rope was already discovered before my stint of duty began, we're all being asworn by some Wizard they have.

"Tell the truth or else, they'll ask before they open your mind and will. Believe me I will answer truthfully, not that it's likely to give them much aid. Not my fault, none of my doing, and let that Wizard go find the evil doers, I say."

"If I ventured over in my curiosity to look at that rope?" I asked.

"You might find yourself gazing deep into the eyes of a Wizard, and waking up an hour later as a guest of the City jail. Unless you feel you lead a life free from all mortal sins I'd stay away, if I was you."

"Thanks for the advice," was my reply, nodding a thanks to him.

Naturally he failed to lend a hand in emptying the cart.

I debated warning Naomi and Emilia to stay away from the cluster of well-clad Citizens by the tree, then thought better of it. If warned, they might make a bee-line straight to it.

Sam bustled out the door at that point, carrying everything back but the Kapitan's clay pot of meat pie. She told us to re-load the cart and go back to the Inn.

"Master Phlox has escaped," she revealed. "At some time in the night he slid down the rope over there, the one tied to the tree, and made his way elsewhere."

Seven expressed her shock and I shook my head.

"How bizarre!" I added. "I thought his friend, Master Datalore, was going to return him to freedom at some time soon, and he knew this."

"Evidently not," Sam gossiped. "Kapitan Riker first asked me my whereabouts last night, and that of yours, and then expressed much regret that so prestigious a prisoner had so brazenly escaped his care."

"We were guarding our Warehouse for Master Tuvok," Sevein replied. "Though I admit that I would have enjoyed watching someone give the jailors a black eye. Were any slain?"

"No, it was all an act of stealth and Wizardry. They opened doors and locks and such things and spirited master Phlox away in the night. A good thing for master Phlox, if a bad thing for the Sathridin."

"How so?" I asked.

"The writ arrived this morning even as news of the escape was going out. Master Phlox was to be seated on the Throne of Sublime Delight and undergo the Peeling, this morning, this very morning. He was, after all, a thief, I suppose, and due such Justice.

"I would never go watch the Peeling, though some I know relish watching some villain meet his end in that manner.

"If one were to ask me, I'd say altogether too much screaming and piteous crying. I do not appreciate pain and suffering, even in someone else."

"I thought Master Datalore would protect him in the councils of the Sathridin?" Sevein prompted.

"I wouldn't know the truth of that," Sam continued. "I just know that I heard six different rumors from six different sets of lips, inside there."

With some dismay she added; "No more easy coin for a simple task, I think. No more coin in the hands of the jailors, and a few already expressed their regret at the passing of my visits. She suddenly grinned.

"Kapitan Riker vowed he would enjoy visiting me again, though."

"He said he admires not only my meat pot pie, but thinks me a fine example of a woman." Sam actually flounced her skirts at the thought.

"Do you think him a reasonable sort of man, do you think? I know the pair of you do not fancy men in some respects, but do you think he's a fair enough figure for a male? Though I should not perhaps venture that guess I voiced about you two having no use for men, as I see you two always playing covey with those two young men, the blond and that Chan bravo.

"That Chan, Kim his name? He appears a sturdy sort, much too young for me, but sturdy." She awaited our comment, but as we gave none, she sighed and took the time to scold the two girls.

Sevein and I stated firmly our lack of expertise in judging men, or lack of any desire to judge Kapitan Riker.

It took us longer to reload the cart than it had to unload it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Much was as it had been.

The grapes were fresh, the unwatered wine was too sweet, and both Sevein and I were lying at our ease on comfortable couches in Belanna's rear atrium. Overhead the open sky was fair and warm, and our groins itched a little. Jean-Luc had shaved us that morning, and our clean fresh skins felt quite eager to be oiled and rubbed by the skilled High Priestess of the Temple of the Green Frog Rain God, Gogorol.

This time we did not lapse into sleep, however.

I told Emilia to leave the grapes alone, as she had eaten quite sufficient. Therefore she had another tidbit of white crusty bread dipped in olive oil. After that she crawled upon me, and lay down with her head nestled between my breasts.

She was going to get fat if she didn't watch out.

My little ghost worked herself into me much as a cat might, and in time I felt sleep battering at my eyelids. It had indeed been a hard night.

Belanna entered dressed in a deep blue satin robe, a bottle of oils in each hand. She smiled at the two of us, and Sevein.

"You'll have to await your turn," she said to me, getting straight to the point. She went to Sevein and began to disrobe my lover. In a few minutes Sevein was seated on the edge of the couch, and Belanna was rubbing aromatic oils into her naked body, paying especial attention to each terrible scar upon that noble body.

Emilia wriggled to gain a better view of the erotic proceedings as Sevein began to make pitiful little cries. As Sevein spun into her first coming, I felt like putting my hand over Emilia's ghostly eyes to spare her the sight of such wonderful use of tongue and finger by the now naked and glistening Belanna.

Yet Emilia was over a thousand years old, and she was a ghost. She could not get fat, I think, nor could she be bent into someone's notion of depraved sexuality. She gently lapsed back into napping as Belanna used one of her antique wooden objects in Seven's willing flesh. Both women eyed me often as they sported and enjoyed.

In time it was my turn, and Emilia was firmly deposited onto another couch around the circumference of her little pool. After that it was - it was everyone's turn.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Belanna had discovered the lure of roofs since meeting us. We four were seated on a ledge, gazing down at the passer-by below in the unevenly paved ways behind the Rain God Temple.

"A rumor has come to me that the Sathridin are closely questioning the banker Datalore concerning the recent escape from Jail of Master Phlox."

"Pity about that," Sevein commented. "Master Datalore has passed in status from City Council's spy in the circles of the Thieves Guild to suspect himself."

"No sooner had he expressed concern that Master Phlox was unskinned," I added, "than the Nomurean was gone from the Jail."

The Thieves Guild had more ears in the City Council meetings than those of the two-faced Master Datalore. Master Coppersmith and Thief Emil had been quite bitter in his words concerning banker Datalore. On the other hand, Sevein and I always expected treachery from a banker.

It had been surprising to discover from the lips of none other than Kapitan Riker (as told by Mistress Wildman, when talking of the Great Escape) that Phlox had been scheduled that very morning to sit in the Throne of Sublime Delight.

In open council, Master Datalore had reminded the Sathridin that Phlox was a thief, and yet he was unskinned. The result was the prompt decision to bring at least this villain to City justice, such as it was.

His proof of Phlox's thievery was the fact he himself had been paid by an unknown person in the Thieves Guild to provide comforts to Master Phlox.

Evidently his voice sounded one song in the streets; it spoke a different saga, something vastly different, in the closed meetings of the City Council.

To my mind Master Datalore was now due to be visited by the Master Burglar at large in the City. Such inept duplicity deserved its own reward.

"The much abused Phlox is far gone from the City, I hear," Belanna answered.

She fed another grape to Sevein, then one to me, and one to Emilia when the child tugged at her dress.

"Rumor has it that a great treasure had been given to Master Phlox in his flight from Tar-Trigon. A group of ancient child's bones, thickly gilded with much gold and covered with gems and engravings. Relics, which were once the property of Nomurea, and were now being returned to that place."

"This I also had heard," Sevein said. "Do you think the Nomureans will deliver the reward probably contracted upon for those relics?"

"We shall perhaps find out, some day," I guessed.

I loved her feeding me grapes one by one.

Belanna ran her hands across Emilia's ghostly mane. "Yet the child remains," she added. "The bones go, but she herself remains. I think she has found a home meant for her."

"And some day?" I asked.

"Some day the ghost will have satisfied whatever she is lacking, and she will disappear one day - like a ghost."

I hoped the day was not soon to hand.

"What of the rebuilt Livery adjacent to the North Fang?" Belanna asked.

"Sevein and I have no use for the building," I stated, "though we are sure it would made a splendid livelihood for some deserving family. It shall find an owner, I am sure. There are dry living quarters in its back, I understand."

"Interesting," Belanna said. "We have a deserving family amongst our worshippers who are well-acquainted in working a stable."

"Indeed?" Sevein prompted. She fed Emilia a grape.

"A poor victim of the deeds of larger men, those self-important Citizens of our Free City who view lesser men as chaff to be thrown at the winds."

"It is ever thus," I prompted, knowing a tale was going to be given us.

Emilia snuck onto Belanna's lap, enjoying the High Priestess's young body and the comfort of her touchings, not to mention the sun in the skies

"He is one Galt by name, and he was the Stable master for Chakay in his residence on New Island." Emilia appeared to be napping.

"Galt and his family were witness to the great fires which struck Chakay's Holding. He states he saved the horses from the Stable's torching, though he admits his helpers gave some assistance.

"He says he saw with his own eyes six of the Enemy Warriors let loose into the compound, and but barely avoided their blood-thirsty rampage and swordplay.

"With only a word or two of continued prompting, he told me in great detail of the chaos reigning on the night of that notorious burglary on new Island. The now famous one, the one which struck into the heart of High Priest Chakay's compound, with the loss of most of the main house in the fires.

"Rumor has made out that the Fire Salamander had returned, but Galt swore he had seen no such with his own eyes. Just bottles sailing through the sky, and fires everywhere." She shook her head at her next words.

"The master of his Master's Stable swore again and again his innocence in the matter, in the aftermath. Chakay's Factors questioned all his servants and slaves intensely in their search for spies. Many were dismissed and shown the gate.

"Galt was found to be a worshipper of Gogorol, not the Sun God, and despite his protestations of innocence, he was dismissed from a job he had held well for eleven years. A Wizard questioned him and then released him, but still Galt was thrown from Chakay's employ.

"Now he seeks work, and he is near despair, despite the small charities the Temple of Gogorol can provide him."

It developed that Chakay's Factors had been especially keen to discover how twelve or eighteen sturdy enemy swordsmen had entered the grounds, despite all the wardings and Demons gathered within to protect it.

Belanna gossiped on; "Evidently most of the buildings suffered severe damage, and the Main House was almost leveled."

It struck me for the first time that possibly our means of entry was still unknown.

Sevein and I had come in through the inner house jakes, and abandoned our by-now filthy encompassing suits in Chakay's own privy.

"If the fire damage was as bad as intimated, perhaps our by then disgusting suits had burned, and thus disappeared all sign of how we'd gotten inside. Which probably increased the confusion in Chakay's mind. Any Wizard able to slip through all his defenses and leave no trace of the passage was a Wizard of awesome power.

One could hope Chakay was spending many unsure hours wondering who such a Wizard was (if not Trelayne), and who hired him, and why.

Actually he probably thought he knew almost to a certainty that the Wizard was who had done such wrong.

Certainly his lack of gold left behind in the fire's ashes must have told him he had been cripplingly burglarized. A strong fire might have damaged his hordes of coins, but not destroyed them. No coins in the remains had pointedly told him what the object of the fires probably had been. And all Wizards were notoriously greedy.

Dozens and dozens of heavy bags of golden coins had disappeared, almost a hundred bags of coin. He had to be absolutely convinced a mighty Wizard had singled him out for theft. The Wizard had most probably been Trelayne, the Squire of Gothos, of this he was undoubtedly convinced of.

Yet he was now impotent. The gold was gone, Trelayne was gone, and how could he say why Trelayne had singled him out? That Chakay had hired Trelayne to torch Sam Wildman's 'Voyager' Inn with a Fire Salamander and he had gained Trelayne's attention thereby? Not likely.

First off, one did not willingly gain a Wizard's anger with such accusations. Secondly, fingers might be pointed in his direction if details of Chakay's malicious arson were widely known for a fact. After all, the entire City might have burned if the fire had gotten out of control.

It was little to be wondered at that Chakay had begun searching for traitors in his own household.

At any event, it was a pleasing thought that one victim of Chakay might be salvaged. One had to wonder at the thoughts of the staff remaining, or the worries of anyone newly seeking employ with the High Priest of the Sun God.

Yes. I'll talk with Sevein about it, but I doubt she would be against such a gift to a poor man. Of what use to us was a Livery?

Eventually, a month or two from now, he who had been the one-time Stable master for Chakay would be master of his own Livery. He would probably celebrate his good fortune with earnest prayers at Belanna's Temple of Gogorol.

Maybe Sevein and I would attend the prayerful celebration. We always enjoyed a good celebration.

It would be an excuse to again visit High Priestess Belanna. Watch her dance nude. Be exhausted by her licentious manners.

Belanna, the High Priestess, perhaps would combine the Ceremony of the Draining of the Rice Fields with a celebration of Galt's quite unexpected good fortune. The Harvest celebrations.

Galt's entire family would be there, as guests of signal honor.

Next week the first of the many actual harvests would begin, and all of Gogorol's faithful would probably be working to bring in the year's bounty. No time for celebration from then on until Harvest Night, the ending of their labor and the happiness of completion of another growing season.

Sevein rose to her feet, accepting the cotton bag of grapes Belanna gave her. "Until then," she said, "we have needful work to be done at our warehouse. She held out a hand to me, and I held one out to Emilia.

We would begin thinking of Master Datalore and his gold this very night. There was no hurry, after all.

----------------END

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