Thero opened the door and recoiled, covering his nose with one full sleeve. "By the Four!" he gagged, blocking the doorway. "You smell like you just crawled out of the sewers."

"Very observant of you. Get out of my way."

"You're not coming in here like that. Go down to the baths first."

"I don't have time for this, Thero. Now move or I'll move you."

The two glared at each other, years of mutual dislike laid open between them without the gloss of banter or social nicety. Either could have done the other considerable harm if it came to open confrontation, and they both knew it.

"Alec's alone out there, and we need Nysander's help," hissed Seregil.

With a last disgusted look, Thero stepped aside and let him through to the workroom. "He's not here."

"Where is he?"

"Out for his nightly walk, I imagine," Thero replied stiffly. "Or perhaps you've forgotten about those?"

"Then summon him!" Seregil paused, took a deep breath, and said through clenched teeth, "If you please."

Thero conjured a message sphere with a casual wave of his hand. Balancing the tiny light over his palm, he said to it, "Nysander, Seregil needs you right away. He's in the workroom." The light shot away through the floor. He waved Seregil to a wooden bench near one of the tables, but remained standing himself.

The young wizard was immaculate as ever, Seregil noted sourly, his robe spotless beneath his leather apron, his curly black hair and beard neatly trimmed, blunt-fingered hands unsullied. The thought that he'd inhabited that angular frame himself, if briefly, still made him cringe inwardly. That Thero had had the use of his body didn't bear thinking about.

"You're bleeding," Thero said at last, stepping reluctantly toward him. "I'd better have a look."

Seregil drew back from his touch. "It's just a scratch."

"You have a lump the size of an egg over your ear and fresh blood on your cheek," Thero snapped.

"What do you think Nysander would say if I let you sit there like that?"

Wethis, the young servant, brought clean water and dressings and Thero set about cleaning the wound.

Nysander returned just as he was finishing. "What an unprecedented tableau," the wizard exclaimed, hurrying in between the stacks of manuscripts. He was dressed in a threadbare surcoat and trousers. Seregil noted with a twinge of pride how kind and unwizardly his old friend looked in comparison to his stiff assistant.

"By the Light, Seregil, what an appalling stench! When you have finished there, Thero, please go and find him a clean robe."

Folding the bloodied towel next to the basin, Thero disappeared down the back stairway to their quarters.

Nysander smiled, examining his assistant's handiwork.

"He does surprise me sometimes. But where is Alec?"

"Take this." Seregil pulled out another scrap of cloth he'd cut from his cloak and pressed it into Nysander's hand. "We found what we were looking for, sabotage in the tunnels, but made one hell of a mess doing it. I need you to fix it up for us. Alec's waiting by the entrance, so we'd better hurry."

Nysander shook his head. "Yes, of course, but I see no reason to drag you out again. You are still chilled to the bone, and a translocation would not be the best thing for you after such a knock on the head."

Seregil rose to protest and was very surprised to feel the floor lurch beneath his feet in a decidedly unpleasant manner.

"There now, you see?" Nysander chided, pressing him back down on the bench. "You go downstairs and sit by the fire. Alec can show me whatever it is I need to see."

"I can't just sit here," Seregil insisted again, though his head was still spinning. "We ran into one pair of gaterunners down there already tonight. There could be others, or worse."

Nysander raised a shaggy eyebrow at him. "Are you suggesting that Alec would not be safe in my company?"

Seregil sank his head in his hands as Thero reappeared with clean garments over his arm.

"I leave Seregil in your able care," Nysander told him. "I suggest a cup of hot wine and, by all or any means necessary, a bath." Clasping the scrap of woolen cloth Seregil had given him, he traced a series of designs on the air and disappeared into the wide black aperture that opened briefly beside him.

When Nysander opened his eyes again, he was in a small deserted square.

"There you are," whispered Alec, crawling out from behind a clump of leafless bushes. "Is Seregil all right?"

"Yes, just a bit dizzy. He says you have something to show me."

"Something we need fixed," the boy replied with a familiar grin. "Follow me."

This was the first time he'd actually seen Alec at work, and he was impressed with his quickness and efficiency.

"My, but Seregil has been busy with you!" Nysander remarked as Alec let him through the second gate.

"Ruint me for honest work, he 'as," Alec replied, making a passable stab at a dockman's accent. "It's not far now."

Reaching the damaged grate, Nysander climbed up to inspect the damaged stone and ironwork, then moved across to see the intact corner.

"I see," he murmured to himself, peering closely at the remaining pin. "Most ingenious. And ingenious of you to have discovered it. Yes, I am quite satisfied.

Well done."

"Can you fix it?"

"Can I fix it?" Nysander snorted, climbing down again. Grasping the bars with both hands, he closed his eyes and listened to the voice of the cold iron.

Letting his own energy pass into it through his hands, he visualized the metal, felt it stir under his hands.

Standing beside him, Alec felt a powerful ripple pass through the rank air. There were no flashes of light or magical signs, just the brief scrape and whine of metal. For a moment it seemed to Alec that the metal came alive, like a plant, growing and moving as it healed.

Looking up, he saw that the damaged corner now looked as it had before. "Illior's Light!" he gasped, hardly able to believe his eyes.

Nysander laughed. "I hope you did not expect me to come down here with a hammer and anvil." Opening his hand, he showed Alec a long iron pin. It was scored along its length where it had been driven through the flange and blackened from forging, except where the white metallic substance showed through near one end.

Without a word Alec scaled the left side of the grate to find a solid pin in its place.

"That's amazing," he exclaimed, tapping the iron with his knife blade.

Nysander shrugged. "It is only magic."

Seregil grudgingly accepted the willow bark infusion Thero prepared, then went down to the baths. As soon as he was clean and dressed, however, he returned to the workroom and refused to be moved, despite Thero's obvious desire that he wait elsewhere.

Anxious and impatient, Seregil prowled the crowded room, fiddling with bits of delicate apparatus.

"Give me that!" Thero snapped, snatching away a cluster of fluid-filled glass spheres. "Drop that and we'll be up to our eyes in swamp sprites. If you won't go downstairs then for Illior's sake, sit down."

"I know what it is." Scowling, Seregil climbed the stairway to the catwalk overhead and stared out through the thick glass panes of the dome, watching the movement of lights below.

By the time Nysander and Alec materialized neatly in the center of the room, it would have been difficult to say which of the two looked more relieved.

"There you are!" Seregil exclaimed, bounding down.

"Any trouble?"

"No, everything looks as good as new," Alec told him, grinning.

"Shall I fetch fresh clothing?" Thero inquired, wrinkling his nose again.

"Yes, in a moment," said Nysander. "First, however, I must congratulate our two able spies on a most valuable find." He shook the iron pin from his sleeve. "I will keep this for now. Seregil, Alec tells me you took a sample of this curious white material?"