Then he noticed the mallets.

Made of wood and banded like the balls, they were smaller than the battle mauls he was accustomed to carrying, but they were hefty wooden mallets, nonetheless. Kynan watched with mounting interest as the players began a baffling game which involved hitting the wooden balls through the wire hoops. None of them knew the first thing about using a mallet, but clearly, despite a smallish size, they would prove formidable weapons in the hands of a trained soldier. Now if he only had a proper mallet like that ...

He counted the number of players: five. Then he spotted a wooden cart on which a sixth ball and mallet rested, forgotten. None of the players paid it the slightest attention. Perhaps God had not entirely abandoned him after all? If I cannot escape hell, he thought, staring intently at that mallet, perhaps I will at least be permitted a way to restore my honor. He maneuvered his trash cart around the players, sweeping up dust and bits of paper as he went, pausing to clean up the occasional splatter of bird shit, and worked his way around to the abandoned mallet. None of the players or spectators-many of whom carried odd sticks with tautly stretched shades to protect their heads from non-existent sunshine-paid him the slightest attention.

Good.

It took half a heartbeat to lift the mallet from its resting place and slip it into his wheeled bin. Only after he had made good his escape did Kynan allow himself a long, shuddering breath. Satan's minions had not noticed the theft. If the Evil One had noticed, either he didn't care or thought it amusing to allow his latest victim a chance at vengeance. Kynan touched the hidden mallet handle with trembling fingertips. At last, he breathed silently, eyes closed, l am a man again. Soon, the knave who had laughed at him would rue the day his betters had failed to teach him manners.

If a man must die in hell, it were best to die with a weapon in hand, striking down an enemy.

Fortunately for Kit's peace of mind, Margo's injuries healed quickly and cleanly. He made certain the leg would hold the strain of a lethal encounter by sparring with her in the gym while Sven evaluated `her performance.

"You're favoring it," Sven pointed out. "Does it hurt?"

"No," she admitted. "Not really. I've just grown used to babying it."

The admission brought a scowl to Sven's lips. Kit wisely stepped aside while Sven Bailey really put her through her paces. By the time he'd finished with her, she was a limp mass of sweat and aching muscles.

"You're out of shape," Sven told her brusquely. "More practice."

Margo just nodded, too tired to protest.

"How about that dinner at the Delight?" Kit asked. "We, uh, were interrupted last time we tried."

A wan smile came and went. "Sure. No disgruntled soldiers this time?"

"We'll do our best to avoid them," Kit smiled.

The Welsh bowman had certainly avoided Kit. From what he'd heard, Kynan was busy trying to master the modern technology involved in living on a time terminal while taking on odd jobs to keep body and soul together.

"Just let me shower first," Margo said with a grimace. "I stink."

Kit laughed and headed for the showers himself.

Shortly they were back on the Commons, heading for the Delight. Urbs Romae was nearly deserted, as the major gates opening this week were in other parts of the station. A line had formed, of course, in front of the Epicurean Delight, but when Arley saw Kit and Margo standing outside, he waved them in.

"Hello, don't stand out there, your table's ready. Rachel tells me you're healing well, young lady."

Margo smiled ruefully. "Sven Bailey just proved that."

Arley laughed. "You look tired and hungry. Would you like a menu or the House Specialty?"

"A menu!" Margo said hastily.

Kit grinned "Still upset about those eels?"

Margo managed to affect a wounded dignity despite her youth and state of fatigue.

Arley winked. "I think you'll enjoy the Specialty tonight. Trust me."

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" Margo asked as she settled into the chair Arley held for her. "All right, l'll try it, whatever it is."

"Kit?"

"Same for me."

The Delight's owner rubbed his hands. "Good. I'll send out a bottle of something appropriate."

The wine, when it arrived, was a clear red. "Well, at least it won't be eels," Kit remarked as the waiter poured

"Thank God."

"I thought you liked that dinner." He put on his best lecture expression and said, "Ab uno disce omnes, Margo..

Margo just looked at him.

Kit frowned. "Margo, didn't you understand that?"

"uh, no?"

His frown deepened. "Just how well are you doing with your Latin?"

Her face took on a familiar, panic-stricken look.

Oh-oh.

"I am studying!" she said desperately. As though to prove it, she rattled off, "Abeunt studia in mores!"

"Quoting Ovid now, eh?" Kit said sourly. "Take that advice to heart. Study harder. Studies do turn into habits, but only if you keep up with them."

He made a mental note to check how often she'd actually been to the language lab. She should've been able to translate something as simple as "From one, learn to judge all" by now.

She tightened her lips. "I will. I am. I'm trying. Isn't there any easier way to learn all those words and those awful endings that keep changing?"

"Unfortunately, no. Brian's already installed the best language-learning programs available. But learning languages takes work. Constant, hard work."

She sighed, then tried a winning smile that didn't fool him in the slightest. "I learned an interesting thing from Sven today. There was this guy named Musashi,

a Japanese guy from the same time period as the Edo gate. He was so good at dueling, he stopped fighting with real knives. Just used a wooden practice sword whenever he was challenged. Isn't that amazing? I wonder if Sven's good enough to do that?"

"Probably," Kit said dryly. "I thought you were studying American history, not Japanese?"

"I am," she said hastily, "but Sven was telling me, you know, during our lesson today. I used to be scared of him, but he's really interesting if you can get him to. talk."

Clever little minx. Why does she keep changing the subject?

"Hmm, yes, I rather imagine Francis Marion was much the same."

Again, Margo drew an utter blank.

Kit unfolded his napkin with a little snap- "Just what period of American history did you say you were reading? It was the Revolution, wasn't it?'

Margo's whole face colored. "Well, yes, I did. I was. I am. I mean-"

"Spill it, Margo. You're not studying. Are you?"

"I study until I'm sick of studying! I learned more in one week in London than I've learned the whole time I've been stuck in that library!"

"Margo-".

"No! Don't say it! All I hear from you is 'Margo, study this, Margo, do that, Margo, pay attention, Margo, that was barely adequate'!"

He thought she might well burst into tears. "I'm only worried about you, Margo," he said quietly. "You have years of studying ahead of you before you can hope to-"

"Years?" Her lips quivered. "But I don't have--" She halted. Her chin came up defiantly. "I don't need years. I'm learning a lot and what I don't know, I can fake."

Kit rocked back. Fake it? "You can't be serious.

Her eyes flashed. "Why not? I got along just fine in London, except for not knowing that pistol, and I've fixed that problem. Just ask Ann if I haven't. I can shoot anything she hands me. Even that laser-guided blowgun she made me learn to use! Sven said my job is to avoid being seen, anyway, and I'm good at sneaking around in the dark!"

Kit held onto his temper. "Margo, you can't fake languages.

"No ... but I can fake being a deaf mute, which is just as good! I've worked so hard, dammit! I deserve a chance to prove myself."