"I'll second that," said Micum. "Come on, Sir Alec. We've got work to do."

A dank wind whipped up from the harbor as Alec and Micum rode up to the prison near the southern wall of the city. The main tower was a squat, ugly structure ringed by a bailey wall. Dismounting in the outer yard, Alec wrinkled his nose at the dismal stench of urine and burning tallow that hung over the place.

"It's hard to believe I woke up at Watermead this morning," he whispered, clutching the little bundle he'd thrown together.

"More like yesterday morning now," sighed Micum.

"What if they don't let us in?"

"Just be as persuasive as possible and have some gold ready, throw back your cloak so they can see you're a gentleman."

Following Micum's advice, Alec pounded at the gate.

A bearded face appeared at the door grille.

"What's your business at this hour?"

"A man was brought in tonight," said Alec. "His name is Lord Seregil. He's my protector and I've brought some clothing and blankets for him. May I see him, please, just for a moment?"

"That dark-haired blade?"

"Yes, that's him."

"It's damned late, you know."

"Inconvenience has its price." Alec held up a gold half sester. "We'd be very grateful."

Micum stepped closer behind him. "They haven't given an order against visitors, have they?"

The guard eyed Alec's coin, then turned to confer with someone else. The gate soon swung open.

"I suppose there's no harm in the lad going up," the guard said, taking the coin and leading them into the warder's room. "But just him and only for a minute. You can wait here by the fire if you like, sir, while he goes. And I'll have a look through that bundle first."

Satisfied with the contents of the parcel and a second coin, the chief warder turned Alec over to another guard, who led him into the depths of the chilly edifice.

The walls seemed to press in around Alec as he followed the warder up flight after drafty flight of stone stairs. His time in Asengai's dungeon had left him with an indelible hatred of such places.

Stopping at one of the low cell doors, the guard peered through the tiny grille. "Visitor, your lordship!"

A muffled reply came from within.

"You'll have to speak to him through here," the warder told Alec. "Don't pass nothing through, not even your hand. I'll see to it that he gets this package."

Taking Alec's bundle, he moved off far enough to give them a modicum of privacy.

The grille was set deep in the thick wooden door. Light from the nearest lantern in the corridor slanted through the bars, illuminating a crescent of profile and one glittering eye.

"Are you all right?" Alec whispered anxiously.

"So far," Seregil replied. "It's damn cold, though."

"I brought a blanket, and some fresh clothes."

"Thanks. Any news?"

Leaning as close as he dared, Alec quickly told him the details of their conference at the Cockerel.

"Nysander thinks finding evidence against your forger may be our only chance. Micum and I'll have to do it, I guess, but we're not certain how. God, I wish all this hadn't happened!"

"I know how you feel. Is the guard still well away?"

"Yes."

"Then pay attention." Seregil cautiously reached the fingers of one hand through the bars, signing something about Micum.

It was too quick. Alec shook his head. "I can hardly hear you. What did you say?"

"I said it's a dead end. Nothing to be gained,"

Seregil said, raising his voice for the guard's benefit as he signed again, more slowly this time.

His fingers were somewhat hampered by the bars, but Alec got Tell Micum silver fish.

"I don't understand!" Alec whispered, convinced he must have gotten the nonsensical message wrong.

"I won't leave you here to rot!"

"Don't fret," Seregil replied, locking eyes with him. "There's a lucky moon tomorrow night. Fortify yourself with prayers to the Lightbearer and all will be well. In the meantime, I entrust you to the care of Micum Cavish. Heed his wisdom; he's a man of many parts."

"Sorry, young sir, that's all the time I can give you," the guard called.

"Damn!" muttered Alec, still convinced he'd misinterpreted a crucial message. Pretending to brush back

a stray strand of hair, he signed Silver fish?

To his surprise, Seregil nodded emphatically.

"Come along, sir!"

Alec held Seregil's gaze a moment longer, heart pounding painfully in his chest. What he could see of Seregil's mouth tilted up suddenly in the old reassuring grin.

"Why the long face?" Seregil whispered. "You're not alone in this, you know. Everything's going to be fine!"

But Alec felt anything but fine as he followed the guard back down the stairs. Much as he wanted to believe Seregil's brave assurances, he thought he'd heard a hollow note in his friend's voice.

They were in a bad spot, and a good deal of it was up to him to solve. The consequences of failure were too awful to bear thinking about.

His face must have given something of this away, for the guard said kindly, "There now, sir, perhaps it'll all come right in the end. He seems a good enough fellow."

Sensing a potential ally, Alec managed to work up a few tears by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs. In fact, they came with surprising ease.

As soon as they were out of sight of the prison Alec passed on Seregil's strange message. For a moment Micum looked disconcertingly blank.

"Silver fish?" Stroking the corners of his mustache, he shook his head. Then suddenly he broke into a broad grin. "By the Flame, he must have meant silverfish, like the insect!"

"That means something to you?" Alec asked, still doubtful.

"Oh, yes! In fact, our sneaky friend has given us our whole plan of attack. I'll explain when we get home-home being Wheel Street tonight."

Runcer met them at the door. "The guests have departed, Sir Alec, and I have laid a fire in your chamber. Will you be requiring anything else tonight?"

"No, thank you," Alec replied, feeling a bit confused. The elderly servant's manner conveyed the impression that he had served Alec all his life.

He was hovering in a manner that suggested he expected further orders. "Well, I think I can manage. You should go to bed, ah—"

"Runcer," Micum whispered behind him.

"Runcer, yes. Go to bed. It's late. Thank you."

Runcer's wrinkled face betrayed nothing but respectful attention as he bowed good night.

Retreating hastily upstairs, Alec found his new bedchamber brightly illuminated.

"He's refurbished it," Micum remarked dryly, looking the place over. "It's very-Mycenian."

"Is that what you'd call it?"

The cabinets, chests, chairs, and tall, carved bedstead were all brightly painted with garish fruit and game motifs. The bed hangings, though faded, were richly embroidered with a pattern of pomegranates and wheat. The overall effect was rather overwhelming, even to Alec's untutored eye. The only familiar oh jects in the room were his sword and bow, which lay across the bed.

"I supposed I'll get used to it," he sighed, drawing a chair up to the fire. "Now tell me about the silverfish."

"Old Silverfish was a name we gave to a slippery customer Nysander had us track down a few years back," explained Micum. "He was another blackmailer and, like his namesake, he had a talent for disappearing into the woodwork. Seregil had a hell of a time finding his cache. He finally did, though, and I never saw a prettier bit of coggery."

"How did he do it?"

"We'll get to that. What else did he tell you?"

"To depend on you, and that there'd be a lucky moon tomorrow night when I should pray to Illior. I think he means we do the burglary then."

"Right. We'll pay a daylight visit to Master Alben's shop, look the place over, then do the real work after dark."