But Gerard wasted little thought this time on the source of the smith's antisocial manner, for a question had formed in his mind as he sat and out-waited the man. He strode purposefully through town, receiving the salutations of the people he encountered with brief nods. If he hurried, he had just enough time to get to where he was going before he had to be somewhere else. He found the shop he was looking for, ducked in beneath the clusters of drying herbs suspended from the ceiling-he recognized fastbind and haleboar and sweet lady's bonnet among dozens of other specimens-and hailed the proprietor.

"Mistress Hulsey, I wonder if I might have a moment of your time."

Argyle Hulsey straightened from the mixture of herbs and spices she was reducing to a powder with a mortar and pestle. The aroma of mint rose in a heady cloud from the crushed mixture, overwhelming the more delicate odors in the room. She shrugged the tension from her narrow, birdlike shoulders and peered at Gerard. "Sheriff?"

"You examined the body of the late Sheriff Joyner, did you not?"

She looked at him with a combination of curiosity and irritation. "You know that I did."

"Tell me, did you discover anything of an, um"-he thought how he might phrase the question without jiving away the answer he anticipated-"of an unusual nature on the body?"

"Unusual?"

"You know, such as strange markings?"

"Well, I would certainly call the word cut into the flesh of his chest unusual in that regard. What was it now? An Elvish word, I believe. Morgoth? Yes, that was it."

"I mean other than that etched word, of which we all know. Was there anything else?"

She shook her head; then her gaze became more piercing. "Sheriff, exactly what is it you are wanting me to say?"

He spread his hands helplessly. "Did you look under the hair on his neck, as you did with the architect, Salamon Beach?"

"Of course." Understanding lit her face. "Oh, you mean the tattoo."

"Precisely."

"Well, why didn't you simply say so, instead of sounding like Lady Drebble's fool of a son, Nyland?" She brushed away his attempted explanation with an impatient gesture. "No, Sheriff, Graylord Joyner's body possessed no such tattoo as did the body of Salamon Beach."

Gerard felt a hoped-for connection between the two deaths slip away. "You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," she snapped. "Do you presume to question my professional competence?"

"No, no," he said hastily. "I merely… well, I had hoped perhaps there would be such a tattoo, which would suggest a common between the two men."

She shook her head. "I knew Sheriff Joyner for a good number of years," she said with a tightness in her voice that made Gerard think there might have been more to their relationship than simply professional association. "I can assure you, he had no such tattoo, nor was he a gambler."

Gerard nodded, although the thought occurred to him that if Sheriff Joyner didn't gamble himself, that didn't mean he wasn't somehow connected with those who did, especially if there was anything about this gambling society that might cause it to run afoul of municipal authorities. In such a case, it would be extremely useful to the members of the society to have the sheriff in their purse.

He thanked the healer and left her shop, no further enlightened than he'd been before coming there. But Gerard made a mental note to discuss with Vercleese the possibility that Sheriff Joyner might have been somehow involved with the gambling society. The deputy was aware of much that went on in this town, and had worked closely with the former sheriff.

Right now, Gerard had an appointment of a very private nature to keep.

¦ ¦ ¦ ¦ ¦

Vercleese stood within the shadowed doorway of a tailor's shop and watched Mistress Hulsey's doorway until Gerard reappeared. Vercleese ducked back out of sight and told himself this wasn't really as bad as it looked, spying on his superior. Gerard wasn't behaving like himself this morning, wandering around town and evading him. Something was making the sheriff very anxious.

Given all that had been happening in town lately- the two deaths and the attempt on Gerard's life the day before-Vercleese was determined to keep an eye on the younger man, for his own safety.

Gerard was hurrying down the street now, paying He attention to his surroundings. If he was walking in to a trap, he was certainly going into it with his guard down, Vercleese reflected.

The knight frowned and wondered what could possibly be so important that Gerard, normally so cautious, would pay such little heed to his own safety, vercleese darted from doorway to doorway in Gerard's wake, raising eyebrows from the many passersby who noticed him. But he was obviously justified in his efforts to remain hidden from Gerard's sight, for Gerard began to pause and glance behind him, as if fearful. Whatever the young man was up to, he was acting very furtive, which to Vercleese's mind only called that more attention to him.

He hoped Gerard wasn't attempting to do some thing foolish, such as confronting a murder suspect by himself. This seemed all the more likely, after Gerard picked up his new sword from Torren Soljack. Was the sheriff headed for some kind of dramatic showdown?

Vercleese was surprised when Gerard turned down a street with shops and businesses catering to the more prominent citizens of Solace. The knight's eyebrows shot up, unconsciously mimicking the looks he was receiving from all who spotted his peculiar behavior He slipped into the shadows of yet another doorway startling the proprietor inside, who looked up sharply then waved in friendly greeting. Vercleese smiled wanly and returned Kedrick Tos's wave, hurrying on before the councilman could ask what in the world he was doing.

With a last wary glance around, Gerard ducked into an unmarked doorway. Vercleese waited several minutes then, when Gerard didn't reappear, followed cautiously. When he peered around the doorway, risking a look inside, he saw that the door opened not directly onto another shop, as he had expected, but onto a short hallway with a couple of closed doors at the end Vercleese tiptoed down the short corridor, his hand on the hilt of his sword. A strange, rhythmic tapping came from the other side of one door, along with what sounded like someone humming. Very slowly, Vercleese opened the latch and pushed the door open just enough to peek inside.

In the middle of an empty room, Gerard stood facing a tall, imperious woman who was rapping the floor sharply with a long staff she carried in one hand. At the same time she was humming a lively air. For a horrified instant, Vercleese thought she must have placed Gerard under some kind of terrible spell, for he jerked and twitched spasmodically in time to her beat. Abruptly, however, the woman stopped tapping the staff, and dapped her hands in annoyance, bringing Gerard to a halt. "No, no, not like that at all! Are you utterly bereft of rhythm?" Gerard glowered shamefacedly at the floor. "Once more, and this time try to feel the music!" She began humming again and resumed the rhythmic tipping with her staff. With a smile, Vercleese quietly closed the door and moved with a stealthy tread back down the hall, determined to preserve Gerard's secret, regardless how tempting it might be to let on that he knew. Some secrets deserved a modicum of privacy, and to Vercleese's thinking this was one, for Gerard was engaged in as heroic and momentous a struggle as any he'd ever faced. The new sheriff was learning to dance.

Early that evening, resting in his attic room, Gerard at at a small table by the open window and worked industriously as the daylight waned. His quill scratched again and again across a page that soon filled with the lines of his fine, precise hand. He paused periodically to dip the nib in a small pot of ink nearby, careful not to overturn the ink it with a careless elbow or a sudden flourish with the quill. Then he blotted the excess ink from the nib and resumed writing. At one point, he stopped long enough to light a small lamp, the daylight having faded.