Jusuf sighed and leaned a little toward his brother Dah-vos, who was squeezed in beside him. “See?” the taciturn Bulgar said in a wry tone. “She will get us all killed…”

Sahul spared a short glare for his brother, then spread his hands to Thyatis.

“So,” Thyatis continued, “I have a plan to get him out, alive, without-if the gods smile on us-anyone noticing.”

Thyatis laughed at the sour expression on Jusuf’s face.

She expected disbelief from them. She had conceived the plan during the hours she spent lying on the rooftop opposite the old palace. It had a very low chance of complete success, but she repressed her dreadful urge to attack the palace from the square and slaughter everyone within. By Bagratuni’s latest count, there were nearly two thousand Immortals in the city, and she counted only twelve men to her hand.

“There are three things that we need to make this work, however, and all three will be difficult to acquire. First, we need to know the layout of the inner building. Bagratuni?”

The dapper little Armenian shrugged and then scratched his nose in sorrow. “Lady Roman, my cousin’s sister’s daughter risked plenty to bring us word that a Roman was held in prison! If we ask her for more, her nerve will fail. She is young and not as strong-willed as my cousin’s sister.” He paused, thinking.

“Maybe,” he said slowly, “we could find a guard or servant, and bribe or threaten them?…”

Thyatis shook her head. “No, there isn’t enough time to find one who is weak enough to take a bribe and malleable enough to keep from getting greedy or betraying us to his superiors. We need to move within the next four days.” She sighed. Without some idea of the guards and rooms, the chance of success dwindled to almost nothing.

“How tall,” she said, “is your cousin’s sister’s daughter? Does she wear a veil when she is in the building?”

Bagratuni smiled lopsidedly and shook his head in negation. “She is almost a foot shorter than you, Roman lady. Her hair is brown and she wears a veil. You are not her!”

Thyatis rapped her knife on the floorboards in frustration.

“If only Anagathios were here,” she muttered. “No matter! Speak with your niece, Bagratuni, and gently, gently, see if she would help us just one more time…”

“Who is Anagathios?” Jusuf’s voice was quiet, but Thyatis snapped her head up at the tone. Jusuf stared back at her with hooded eyes. Inwardly Thyatis groaned-all she needed now was suspicious jealousy on the part of her confederates.

“A friend,” she said, her voice clipped. “A mute Syrian with a talent for the theater. He was short enough, and slim enough, to pass for a girl with the proper paints. He died on the road here. Satisfied?” • Jusuf bowed his head and did not meet her eye.

Sahul tapped on the dusty floor for attention. His face was quizzical“.

Thyatis stared at him. “What is it, Sahul?”

The Bulgar signed to his brothers, though only Dahvos was paying attention. Thyatis watched his fingers flit into foreign patterns; she had been trying to decipher the signs that Sahul used for days.

The youngest brother looked puzzled and then a smile flickered over his face like sun through the clouds. “My brother says, Lady Thyatis, that he has seen a mute actor in the marketplace by the northern gate. He juggles and does tricks. He never speaks but is quite accomplished. He says that this fellow is a foreigner and only came to the city within the last nine days. Sahul says”-there was a pause while Dahvos followed the flickering procession of hand-signs-“he says that the fellow is very pretty and could pass for a girl.”

Thyatis whistled, a long soprano note. Could it be? No, that would be too much to ask. But perhaps this foreigner could act the part as well as her friend… “Find this actor and bring him to me. Bagratuni, take your cousins out for a walk.”

The little Armenian grinned, his teeth flashing in the dim room, and then crawled off to the trapdoor that led down into the living quarters on the unfinished floor.

Thyatis motioned for the three brothers to close up the space around her. “Sahul, you have the most critical’task. You will have to go out of the city and as far away from here as practicable. I need a…”

Each brother was entrusted with a task, and Sahul in particular gave her a long look before shaking his head and leaving through the entrance onto the roof. Dahvos was equally puzzled with his assignment, but he went willingly anyway. Jusuf was the only one inclined to argue.

‘This won’t work,“ he said. ”To put it mildly, you’re insane to think they won’t notice. Chances are exceptionally good that every man you take into the old palace will die or be taken captive, and then the rest of us will follow.“

Thyatis smiled at him and gestured out the window with the twig she had used to draw on the floor with.

“In five days,” she said, “the moon will be fully dark. According to Bagratuni, the fire priests of the Persian god have a great ceremony then. All of the important men in the city and the garrison will be in the temple. The guard on the prisoners will be lax, without the commanders to keep them on their toes. It is our best chance. If it works, and I believe it will, then we will have greatly improved our situation in the city.”

“And you,” he shot back, “will have gotten your friend back! How much is he worth to you? Is he that good?” Jusuf’s face was flushed.

Thyatis’ lip curled in anger at his insinuation. “Nikos has been my second for almost two years. He’s like a member of my family. If it were Dahvos or Sahul in that cage, what •would you do? Hmm? Would you let the Persians put Dahvos on the rack, or put red-hot irons to the soles of his feet? If that happened, you would be here, now, in this attic, tearing your guts out with worry that delaying four days might mean his life.”

She slid forward on the floor and was nose to nose with the Bulgar. He had a sharp, musky smell about him, redolent of horses and sweat and iron and blood. He matched her gaze, tremendously angry himself. Thyatis’ hand snaked out and grabbed his hair, turning his face from her.

“Would you let your brother,” she softly whispered in his ear, “die in that square under the axe to preserve your precious skin?” He shuddered at her closeness and pushed her away. Thyatis rolled back on her heels and laughed bitterly. The Bulgar turned, his face a mask, and crawled away to the trapdoor. Thyatis drummed her fingers on the boards, staring after him, and then squeezed out the opening onto the. roof. The sun had vanished over the mountains to the west, leaving only long streaks of orange and purple in the sky and a gleam on the ice that capped the peaks.

Clad from head to toe in a layered black gown, headdress, and veil, Thyatis stood in a recessed doorway on a side street near the northern market of Tauris. It was cool and dim, for much of the street was blocked from the sun by hundreds of wash lines strung between the buildings. Ba-gratuni, dressed in the pantaloons, shirt, and vest of a lower-class Armenian, sat on the steps at the entrance to the building, a blanket covered with cheap copper trinkets laid over his knees.

“Well?” she said, her voice muffled by the heavy garment.

“It’s not such a good view from here, you know-a bad location! I can only see down the street when there are no people in the way.” His voice raised. “Bracelets! The finest to be had! Bracelets!” A pair of Armenian women bustled by, their laughter echoing down the close walls of the little street.

“Ah!” he continued, “I see now. He acts a play of some kind-now he is a seaman, or so I’d say from the roll in his walk; now a maiden on the blush of womanhood. Say, my lady, this fellow is rather good! The seaman is giving the girl some kind of bracelet. Ah! He is quick to toss the bracelet to himself like that! I don’t see either of my cousins, though… Ho, some kind of a miser has made an appearance, he wants the girl to come with him!”