"Whooee!" Bannock said, juggling the rod one palm to the other. "Tell me that don't heat metal up, working that way!"

He thrust the rod over Room 37's strap and through the staple, then bent the rod into a loop. The room was sealed until somebody cut the rod. Or somebody as strong as Yerby Bannock straightened the steel out again, which seemed about as likely as a sunny day on Dittersdorf Major.

Bannock dusted his hands together. He grinned up at the man on the light sconce. The Zenith pretended to be catatonic, squeezing his eyes more tightly shut.

"Sir, you're amazingly strong!" Mark blurted.

"Ah, but you're the one who opened the dishes so I didn't have to tear the box apart, lad," Bannock said, though he was obviously pleased at the compliment. "Amy couldn't have been happier to see the plates, neither. Said she'd heard of such but never thought she'd see it for herself."

Mark saw the pistol glittering on the concrete. He picked it up and looked at it curiously. The short barrel ended in a needle spike.

Bannock shook his head. "Nerve scrambler," he said. "Not supposed to kill you, but this one likely would anyhow seeing's it's such a piss-poor piece of junk. Don't you mess with it, lad."

He took the scrambler from Mark, held it momentarily in both hands, and twisted. Bits of the weapon showered to the floor.

"How did you do that?" Mark said.

Bannock shrugged. "Well," he said, "you want to make sure you don't have your hand over the barrel because sometimes they go off. Time or two I was too drunk to remember that."

He opened his left palm toward Mark. The flesh was scarred like wax heated until bubbles rose and burst.

Dr. Jesilind emerged from his room. "Ah, Yerby, you're back," he said with a false brightness. He looked around the common area, obviously surprised not to see Mayor Biber's servants. When he noticed the man hanging from the light sconce, he said, "Yerby, you've been fighting again!"

"Well, not like you'd really call fighting, Doctor," Bannock said in some embarrassment. "Nothing undignified, like."

Mark stared at Jesilind. He'd have thrown me to the wolves to save his own skin! The doctor flushed as if he'd heard the unspoken words.

"I found a place we can eat all together," Bannock said. "Not Kilbourn quality, maybe, but I guess it'll do better than cold rations in this box."

He looked up at the caravansary's domed ceiling and grimaced. "Like a tomb, this place is. A big concrete tomb."

Mark suddenly relaxed. OK, Jesilind wasn't a hero, but neither was Mark Maxwell. If the doctor had come out shouting and swinging when he saw what was happening, two innocent men instead of one would have the tar whaled out of them by thugs from Zenith. It hadn't been Jesilind's fault.

"Say, you'll come along with us, won't you, Mark?" Bannock said. "It is Mark, right?"

Mark opened his mouth. He was used to being "Mr. Maxwell," to people he'd known for years. That was normal politeness on Quelhagen.

A frown as momentary as riffles on a pond crossed Dr. Jesilind's face. He didn't say anything.

Mark wasn't on Quelhagen anymore. "I'd be honored, Yerby," he said. "But you'll have to let me pay for the meal as a small recompense for you saving me a moment ago."

Bannock clapped Mark on the shoulders. The big frontiersman really did know his own strength-Mark had seen how great that strength was when it wasn't being tightly controlled-but he had an inflated notion of how strong normal people were, too. The friendly gesture almost knocked Mark down.

"You pay?" Yerby snorted. "When, besides them plates for Amy, you got me the best exercise I've had since I left Greenwood? Your money's no good when I'm around, boy! Now, let's go introduce you to my sister."

3. Dinner for Four

Mark wore a waterproof cape with a metallized layer that reflected body heat back to the wearer. Jesilind had an umbrella with clear sides hanging down nearly to the ground like diaphanous draperies. The struts kept jabbing things, including his companions if they weren't careful. Yerby whistled cheerfully, though Mark didn't think the poncho could be really waterproof even if it was woven of raw wool with the lanolin still on the strands.

The women's side of the caravansary was an identical building joined back-to-back with the men's, like two soap bubbles touching. The concrete sidewalk between the entrances was slightly raised; the constant rain washed off any mud tracked onto it.

The watchman in the barred kiosk was old, thin, female, and hard as nails. Mark didn't doubt that she had some weapon beyond her force of personality with which to control drunken men who tried to enter the women's side, but the glare she gave the three of them as they approached was icy enough to freeze him. He waited a step behind Yerby and the doctor.

Yerby swept off his leather hat, sluicing droplets from the brim. "Ma'am," he said to the watchman. "I'd appreciate you telling Miss Amy Bannock that her brother's ready to take her to dinner."

"She's expecting you," the watchman said with perhaps minutely less of a chill. She pressed a button. A lock clicked and a young woman pushed the small personnel door open to join them.

Amy Bannock was solid and red-haired, more cute than beautiful. When she noticed Jesilind, her face hardened from the smile with which she greeted her brother.

"I see you're joining us, Doctor," she said.

"And here's Mark Maxwell, the fellow I was telling you about," Bannock said enthusiastically. "I figured you'd want to thank him yourself. Anyway I like to have smart people around to talk to when I eat. You can learn a lot by listening at dinner!"

Amy's gaze fell on Mark for the first time. Her expression was speculative but only a little less cool than that she'd given Jesilind. She must think it was Jesilind's idea, that Mark join them.

"Miss Bannock," Mark said, bowing stiffly. "I'm glad to make your acquaintance-"

They hadn't been properly introduced by Quelhagen standards.

"-but I fear business prevents me from dining with you after all. Perhaps another-"

"Please!" Amy said warmly. "I'd be more than grateful for your presence at dinner, Mr. Maxwell."

She dropped Mark a curtsy that surprised him. That level of formality had gone out of style even on Quelhagen.

"His name's Mark, Amy," Yerby said with a laugh. "He's not the sort who stands on ceremony, is he, Doc?"

"But Amy, dear," Jesilind said. "You've forgotten your rain cover. You must go-"

"No, I can't use that thing, Doctor," Amy said sharply. "Don't you bump into everything when you walk around in yours? Anyway"-this to her brother-"I won't melt. You said we'd be taking a car?"

"Right here, darling," Yerby said, waving expansively to the van with big low-pressure tires which had been parked in front of the building all the time. "I told the driver to stick right here till I fetched you. Otherwise I'd find him before I left the planet and he wouldn't much like the rest of our dealings."

Amy shook her head. "Yerby, hitting people isn't the answer to everything in the universe," she said as she skipped ahead of the men.

Mark let Yerby and the doctor precede him. Amy was right, both morally and as a practical matter. Yerby's casual threat was just the sort of thing that made human history such a bloody, wasteful swamp.

But it was hard to see how the business with Biber's servants could have been ended without somebody being hit. The only question was who was going to be hit. Mark didn't feel he was being unreasonable in being glad matters had worked out the way they did.

The only seat in the van was the driver's. The remainder of the vehicle's interior was bare except for dirt and a box of tools. Amy gripped the back of the seat and a stiffener on one side panel.