And he knew nothing at all of the visit of Jabez Pendragon Cawdor to Krysty Wroth. Not a hint of the young man's hideously violent chilling.

The sec men hadn't bothered to leave Ryan any lamps lit in his prison room. Despite the discomfort of his binding and the imminence of his departure from life, Ryan still managed some sleep, dozing until the links of the chain around his neck jerked him awake.

But something else had disturbed him. He lay still, eye open, straining to listen. It had been a creaking noise, like a piece of wood being slowly split in two. There was silence, and then another, sharper sound. In the blackness, Ryan could make out a narrow strip of golden light shining in the middle of the shelves.

Where he knew the secret door was hidden!

A figure moved against the thin rectangle of pale yellow, then the door closed and the chamber was in total blackness. Ryan tried to wriggle into a position where he might at least try a kick at whoever had entered the chamber.

"Come on," he whispered. "Come on, you bastard! Come on."

His hearing was better than most, and he strained to listen to the pounding stillness. Bare feet moved with an infinite caution on the cold, dusty stones of the room. And the ragged breathing sounded like that of a man at the farthest edge of exhaustion, only a knife blade from collapse. The steps hesitated again, and then stopped about five paces from him.

"Ryan."

The touch of a moth's feathery wing brushed at his hearing — Krysty's voice, seeming to come from a great distance, from somewhere in the deeps of the ville.

"Lover?" he said. "What is it?"

"The power of... of the Earth Mother came... to... to me. Was as though Gaia herself took possession of..."

The words faded away.

"What is it? What happened? Fireblast! If only I was free I could... Krysty, tell me what's happened. Tell me."

She came closer, and he finally felt her hand on his arm. "Ryan. Oh, but... I've killed Jabez Cawdor."

Since he already anticipated death within the next few hours, Ryan wasn't too shaken by her words. The murder of his brother's only child didn't make a whole lot of difference. The Trader used to say that a man could only get himself chilled once.

"How? No, make that why?"

"Came in to rape me. He was the most evil... evil bastard I ever met, Ryan. So I took him. Wasted him."

"Had it coming, lover," he said.

Then she broke down, lying across him, hanging on as if she were drowning, her tears wetting through his clothes. The girl's whole body was shaken by sobbing, the sound muffled as she pressed her face to his chest. Despite being bound and helpless, Ryan tried to comfort his woman, muttering softly and kissing the side of her neck. He could feel that her long, sentient hair was coiled tightly at the back of her head in a defensive bundle.

"Tell me 'bout it."

Krysty fought for self-control, sitting back on her heels, trying to steady her breathing. "Chilled him. But... that isn't all. The power was worse than I ever knew."

"How d'you mean? Worse?"

Her voice was so quiet that Ryan could barely hear it, but he eventually made out what she was saying. And the flesh crawled on his nape at the horror of it. She hadn't just killed the young man. She'd slipped into a blind frenzy and ripped his body apart.

Ryan tried to speak and found that his voice had gone, choked in a fearful dryness. He'd seen Krysty use her power before, and witnessed the awesome strength at such times. But to rend a corpse limb from limb... He swallowed hard and found words again.

"Don't ever get angry with me, lover," he whispered.

He felt her relax a little, the hair loosening at her neck. She even managed a muffled giggle at his weak joke. "Try not to, Ryan. If we live that long. What can we do?"

"Nobody outside in the passage heard?"

"No. I'm good at it, lover."

"I know. Are there bars on your window?"

"Some. You can lean out, but I doubt you could escape that way."

"They fear magic in the Shens. Always talk of shamans and wizards. I know that Harvey was always terrified of such things. You could sink the... the body in the moat and say you fell into a deep sleep and babble about demons and spirits possessing Jabez. The door's locked?"

"Yes. On the inside. And there's some old shrouds and some chunks of iron in a chest. I could weight the bits."

"Do it. At least it might take the blame away from you. Who knows, lover? Can you do it? You're not too weak?"

"I can try. By Gaia! What I want most is to sleep for a month. With you, Ryan."

"Don't forget. He came in and was babbling some sort of shit that sounded bad. You blacked out, and when you came around Jabez was gone. Just a lot of blood on the floor."

"I'll try, lover. Will Harvey and his bitch-wife fall for it?"

Ryan smiled in the darkness. "If they don't, things can't be worse for us. And if they do... Who knows, Krysty? Who knows?"

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Harvey Cawdor looked like a man in the last stages of some dreadful ague. His whole body quivered and shook, his chins flapping from side to side like enormous dewlaps. His face was as pale as parchment, and a thread of spittle trailed from one corner of his thick lips. Sweat glistened on his pallid forehead and trickled over the pudgy acres of his cheeks.

"Just blood?" he asked brokenly. It was the twentieth time he'd repeated the question since Ryan and his three friends had been dragged from their rooms just after dawn, and hustled into the main hall of the mansion. Harvey sat in his wide-armed oak chair, wearing a loose cloak of aquamarine, lined with sleek black fur. His straggly hair was uncombed, and his fingers were ring-less.

Rachel sat next to him, face blank, hollowed eyes locked onto Ryan's single good eye. Her fingers played with the silver catch on her scuffed leather purse. She wore a black robe with a tiny gold star-cluster brooch on her breast. Rachel had said nothing since the news of the bizarre disappearance of her only child.

"Only blood? How can that be? How can a grown man vanish and leave just a lake of dried blood?"

"He raised demons, Baron Cawdor," Krysty answered quietly. She'd recovered something of her normal strength, but she was still pale and shifted nervously from foot to foot as though she feared she might fall.

"You told us that," Rachel spit, finally stirring from her lethargy. "The door was locked from within. The window barred so that no human could leave. No body floats in the moat. I cannot... can't... she's a witch, that flame-haired gaudy whore! Killed my little boy. Butchered him and made his body disappear like fucking smoke. Ah..."

Harvey looked at the sergeant of the sec men, who stood at the side of Ryan Cawdor. "The chimney in the room. Was it searched?"

"There was no chimney in that room, Lord," replied the guard.

Baron Cawdor fell silent. Ryan looked around him, his memory conjuring up long-dead faces and times, mostly not worth remembering: banquets with a whole pig being roasted on a spit by a red-faced lad; jugs of beer being hefted by muscular women from the kitchens of the ville; the unforgettable taste of overripe venison with sweet potatoes and crimson berries; music floating down from the gallery that ran around three sides of the vaulted room.

In the stillness he could hear the faint sound of the baron's hunting dogs, howling beneath the central keep of the house. And the keening noise of the ferocious boars that his brother bred for his own sport.

Jak Lauren was on the end of the row, his white hair tangled and greasy, his red eyes darting around the room. He caught Ryan's glance and flashed him a lightning grin.

J.B. Dix stood next to him, arms folded across his chest, pale face turned incuriously toward the baron and his woman. Despite the passive appearance, Ryan knew from long experience that the brain of the Armorer would be racing, calculating angles and odds, looking for a chance. Half a chance.