"You were right. A band of silvery white metal has been set into the pin."

The white substance cut easily as lead.

Extracting a tiny sliver, he handed it down to Alec on the tip of his blade. "Put it on the floor and light it."

Alec set the sliver gingerly on the floor and, standing well back, held the torch to it. It burst at once into a brief, sputtering blaze of light that left black burns on the stone.

Alec let out a low whistle. "Bilairy's Balls, I think we found what we're looking for."

"There must be enough iron in the center of the pin to strengthen it, but this stuff burns right through it."

"Is it magic?"

Seregil cut away another small sample of the white substance.

"Maybe. I've never seen anything like it, but Nysander might know."

Seregil placed the shavings carefully in the little ceramic jar he'd carried the firechip in, then handed it down to Alec.

"I sure made a mess of that corner," Alec said, casting a worried look at the blackened stonework.

"True." Seregil climbed down to join him.

"Our saboteurs are bound to come checking sooner or later and even if they don't, there are the

Scavengers to consider. We'd better get Nysander down here, or Thero."

Alec's sight slowly returned to normal as they cleaned up the site as best they could and started back.

"What about the locks?" he asked, reaching the first of the gated barriers.

"Best leave 'em as we found 'em," Seregil replied. "I'll scout ahead to the next one. You catch up."

The lock was rusty; swearing softly under his breath, Alec ground a pick against the wards until something dropped into place.

Seregil was out of sight beyond a bend in the tunnel by then. Anxious to leave the rats and echoing dampness behind, Alec hurried after him.

He'd just caught sight of him ahead near the intersection of channels when Seregil suddenly collapsed sideways into the water with a startled grunt. The torch he'd been carrying hung precariously over the edge and by its light Alec saw two ragged, hooded figures jump out from the side tunnel, cudgels raised as they reached for Seregil's floating form.

Without stopping to think, Alec let out a yell, drew his sword, and charged.

The gaterunners were caught by surprise, but the one closest to Alec got a long club up in time to block the first downward slash. Alec jumped back a pace and braced, ready to fight.

The narrowness of the walkway kept the fight to a one against one affair, but it also severely restricted the range of Alec's swings. His opponents were more accustomed to such conditions. The second quickly jumped across the channel to outflank him from behind. Alec did the same, keeping his face toward them. He couldn't see Seregil anywhere.

The current must have swept him back the way we came, he thought, and for a sickening instant he pictured the dog's carcass and its attendant rats trapped against the lower bars of a grate. The gaterunners didn't allow him time to dwell on the image, however. The one on his side of the channel was advancing, cudgel at the ready. From the corner of his eye, Alec saw the other reaching into his tattered tunic for something, presumably a knife or dart.

Suddenly, however, the runner slumped against the wall with a high— pitched wail, clutching at a throwing knife protruding from his shoulder.

"Hammil!" the one facing Alec cried out, and he realized it was a woman.

"Let's not anyone be stupid," said a familiar voice from the shadows downstream.

Alec and the woman both turned in time to see Seregil step into sight on the far side. He was wetter than ever but held a second dagger at the ready as he walked slowly toward the wounded runner.

The boy scuttled weakly back, still clutching his arm.

"We don't mean any harm here," Seregil said calmly, motioning for Alec to back slowly away.

The woman pushed her hood back, showing a harsh, deeply lined face. "Get away from my boy," she growled, shaking her club threateningly in Alec's direction.

"You started this. What do you want?" asked Seregil, stopping a few paces from the boy, dagger in hand.

"Nothin'," the woman replied. "You's just strangers is all, and strangers is getting to be a hazard down here. We've lost friends to strangers down here lately."

Seregil sheathed his knife. Bending over the fallen boy, he examined the wound, then pulled the small throwing blade out. "It's not too bad a cut," he told the woman over his shoulder. "You're lucky my aim was off."

"I'm alright, Ma," the young gaterunner gasped, cringing away from Seregil. By the dying light of the torch, Alec saw that he was younger than himself. He could also make out a thin ribbon of blood running down Seregil's right cheek.

"You all right?" Seregil called over.

"Yes. Are you?"

Seregil nodded, then stepped over the wounded boy and addressed his mother again. "I'll leave yours if you'll leave mine," he told her, holding his hands out palm up.

Without a word, she sprang across, grabbed the boy up, and hurried him away into the shadows.

Alec crossed over and reached to inspect the cut on Seregil's scalp. "That's quite a lump she raised."

"Serves me right," he muttered through chattering teeth. "Illior's Fingers! Jumped by a pair of gaterunners. If the cold water hadn't brought me around I'd have drowned."

"I'm glad you didn't kill him. He couldn't have been more than twelve."

Seregil braced one arm against the wall and let out a long sigh. "Me, too. It's strange for them to have attacked in the first place. Runners are usually a pretty elusive lot. They steal and spy, but they generally avoid a fight."

Frowning, Alec pulled off his face rag and pressed it to the cut on Seregil's head. "Are you sure you're all right? You're looking kind of shaky."

Seregil closed his eyes for a moment, resting one hand on Alec's shoulder. Then, taking the cloth from him, he held it himself and continued on down the tunnel. "Come on, let's get out of here. I've had all the swimming I care for tonight."

They reached the upper entrance behind the mulberry bushes without incident, but the combined effects of cold and the blow were beginning to take their toll on Seregil.

"You go for Nysander," he said, shivering even with his dry cloak pulled tightly around him. "I'd better stay and make sure no one tumbles to our little adventure in the meantime."

To his surprise, Alec balked.

"No, you go," he stated flatly. "Your head is still bleeding and I can hear your teeth chattering from here."

"I'll survive," Seregil retorted. "I don't want you here alone. What if someone does show up?"

"All the more reason for you to hurry," Alec said stubbornly. "I'll stay out of sight—they'll never know I'm here. You're the one needs looking after. Go on!"

Seregil could tell by the set of Alec's jaw that his mind was made up. Cutting a small strip from the hem of his cloak, he handed it to Alec. "Hang on to this. Nysander can use it to find you. And keep out of sight no matter what, understand? No heroics."

"No heroics."

Seregil let out a defeated sigh. "If I'm not back soon, you get back to the Oreska, understand?"

"All right, yes! Will you just go? I don't want to be here all night." Pulling up his hood, Alec melted back into the shadows.

The pounding in Seregil's head worsened as he dashed through the darkened streets toward the Oreska, but he managed to ignore the pain by worrying about Alec instead. Despite his faith in the boy's quick wits, he couldn't seem to shake off visions of Alec being caught unawares by the Watch or stealthy spies returning to check their handiwork.

Arriving at the Oreska filthy, wet, and bloody, he argued his way past the watchman and hurried up the twisting stairs to Nysander's tower.