"Do I have to tell the kender to start playing again?"

"No, no!" Randolph said, hurrying to comply. He lifted his lank, dirty, collar-length hair, exposing the base of his neck. There, at the hairline, Gerard saw what he was looking for: the tattoo of the secret gambling society. Things were finally beginning to in some sense.

"What about him?" Gerard asked, gesturing to where Grudge still huddled and moaned miserably.

"Oh, yes, him too!" Randolph said. "Him especially. He was the mastermind of the whole operation, ringleader." He wrinkled his brow, wondering if this might exonerate him from responsibility. "But I was a very enthusiastic accomplice," he said quickly, "I should still hang for it! Get me out of here, please. There must be another waiting spot for the condemned."

Gerard thought he was probably telling the truth about the architect, at least. However, he had his own notions of who had done what, and who was whose accomplice.

He turned to the kender. "Tangletoe, I just remembered. I've got to go on a delicate and most dangerous mission, and I'll need my sword back."

Tangletoe looked crestfallen. "But… but…"

"I'll tell you what," Gerard said, fishing around in the desk for the knife that had been thrown at him in the woods. "I'll leave you with this instead. This, urn, this is a quite rare and valuable assassin's throwing knife. In the hands of an expert, it can bring a man down at fifty paces. So, if you're a good aim, it's an extremely deadly weapon. Are you a good aim?"

Tangletoe looked hungrily at the knife. "Oh, I'm a very, very good aim!"

"Fine, fine," Gerard said. He peered more closely at the kender. "You aren't exaggerating now, are you?"

"What, me?" Tangletoe exclaimed. "Of course not! Why, my Uncle Trapspringer used to say,

Thumblethumb'-that being another name he called me sometimes, you see-'Thumblethumb,' he used to say, 'there's no finer knife thrower in these parts than you-'»

"Good, good," Gerard interrupted swiftly, exchanging the knife for his sword, which he belted at his waist. "Now I'm going to entrust these two vicious criminals into your care once more-"

"What!" Randolph roared. "Sheriff, you, promised! You can't! Why, it's inhumane." He looked ready to weep. "I've already confessed to everything, even the theft of the cabbages."

"Carrots," Gerard corrected, then studied the man more closely. "Unless there were cabbages involved as well."

"Oh, there were, undoubtedly!" Randolph told him. "I'm sure we stole some cabbages, too, at one time or another. Probably eggplants and cucumbers as well. Anything we can steal, we just steal, steal, steal! Believe me! Only please don't let him play that flute again."

Gerard turned to Tangletoe. "I'll tell you what, you guard these two, but don't play the flute anymore unless they try to escape. You need to spend some time, uh, sharpening the knife."

Tangletoe's shoulders slumped and his head drooped. "All right." Then he brightened. "But if they try to escape?"

"Then you have my permission to play your most piercing notes."

"What if I suspect they're thinking about trying to escape?" Tangletoe asked, studying the cell pensively.

"I leave the matter to your judgment," Gerard said and hurried away before the two prisoners could protest.

From the jail, he went to Palin and Usha's house, where Usha opened the door. "I'm sorry, Gerard," she said, "Palin's not here. He's still at the fair." She wrinkled her nose. "He complains about his mayoral duties, but I think in truth he loves every minute of the job."

Golden-eyed and silver-haired, she appeared, as always, exquisitely beautiful, despite the wisps of hair escaping from where she had bound it up on her head, or the twin smudges of paint dotting one cheek. "Uh, actually, I came hoping to see you," Gerard said, struck shy in her presence. He glanced toward the back of the house. "I gather, since you're out and answering the door, the painting is finished?"

She smiled. "Yes. Just in time, too."

"Might I see it?" Gerard asked.

Her expression clouded. "Well, I didn't intend to show it to anyone until the temple dedication tomorrow-"

"Please," he said. "It's a matter of some urgency, involving the temple."

"In that case, of course." She held the door open and motioned for him to enter then led the way to her studio. The room was alight with candles. "I had just finished applying the finishing touches," Usha explained as Gerard's eyes swept the room, taking in the abundance of light.

Gerard nodded and stepped to the center of the studio, where the painting of Odila in front of the temple sat on an easel. In the picture, Odila looked radiant, adorned in the finest white-robed apparel of a cleric of Mishakal. Usha had even captured the pale spray of freckles that spilled across the bridge of her nose and onto her cheeks. In her hand, she carried the Staff of Mishakal. But it wasn't Odila that Gerard stared at. "The portents?" he asked, peering closer at the architectural details of the temple, where the images of death and destruction had been before.

"As you see," Usha said, beaming.

Gerard nodded once again and stepped back. "It's beautiful," he said.

Usha looked at her hands, appearing for all the world like a bashful girl. "Thank you."…

"And now, I must be going," Gerard said.

Usha indicated the painting. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Gerard thought the matter over before replying. "Yes, I think so," he said at last. "At least I know what I'm no longer looking for, and that's valuable too, after all.

"If Palin asks," she said at the door, "where shall I tell him you've gone?"

"Tell him I went to see a man about some seed and grain," Gerard said, hurrying into the deepening night.

¦ ¦ ¦ ¦ ¦

"Where have you been?" Vercleese growled irritably when Gerard finally made it to the stable, where the knight already had both their horses saddled and ready.

"What's the matter? Were you worried about me?" Gerard asked, his voice honeyed with innocence.

"I, ah… oh, let's go!" Vercleese grunted.

Gerard grinned and accepted Thunderbolt's reins.

They rode to the checkpoint Gerard had set up on the road to Gateway. The young guardsman on duty looked bored and sleepy until he saw who his visitors were; then he snapped to attention.

"That's all right, ah…" Gerard began.

"Thomas, sir."

"Thomas, yes. Well, Thomas, there is something I want you to do. We"-Gerard indicated himself and Vercleese-"should be back by midnight, when your shift ends. But if we haven't returned by then, I want you to go straight to Blair and give him this message. Will you do that?"

Thomas nodded eagerly, accepting the sealed scroll Gerard handed him.

"Excellent," Gerard said. "Then I leave the matter in your capable hands."

With that, he and Vercleese rode on toward Solace Stream.

"Did the message tell him where to search for our bodies?" Vercleese growled. But he spurred his horse forward, keeping up with Gerard, evidently not expecting an answer.

Half an hour later, they arrived within sight of Jutlin's mill, just barely visible in the starlight. Gerard halted Thunderbolt. "I told him that I would come alone," Gerard reminded the knight. "So leave your horse here and go the rest of the way on foot."

"Are you sure about your strategy?" Vercleese asked, but Gerard hushed him and prodded Thunderbolt to a walk again, heading for the mill.

In the mill yard, Gerard got down briefly and studied the deep wagon ruts worn into the packed dirt, tracks that led to Jutlin's spacious barn. He strode over and banged on the door with the pommel of his sword, "jutlin? It's me. Open up."

Gerard heard the heavy bar slide back; then Jutlin opened the door and peered out, holding a lantern up to examine Gerard's face. "You come here with your weapon drawn?" he asked, trying to affect a laugh. "Sheriff, what must you think of me?!"