She did not see him she sought, that day. Twice she must stop and show her face to members of the occupying force, but apparently she did not resemble whomever they sought. Two of their number had been slain last night. The word was murder, but Sanctuarites did not use it in connection with the deaths of the Beysa's minions.

She kept Wintsenay with her, calling him Wints, that he might not talk o'ermuch to his acquaintances and, if he had any, his friends. Obviously he was enjoying his role as well as the pay. Wints was quite willing to remain with her and comply with any of her wishes.

On the day following she wore a still different guise, and changed her lodgings yet again. Again, the inn was a good one. Having gained some knowledge of bankers, she left money and jewels with a man she felt she could trust. He also stabled her horses. She left with a receipt and a more secure feeling. That day, again, she looked more for him she sought.

In mid-aftemoon on the fringe of the Bazaar, she saw him.

"Oh my," she said, from behind her lower-face veil of scarlet (and above her garish S'danzo garb, skirts and apron and blouse in seven colors and six hues), "whoever is that big man who just ordered crockery from your neighbor, there?"

"Ah, m'girl, that's Ahdio-Ahdiovizun, but it's Ahdio he's callt. Runs that hole, back in the Maze-Sly's Place, it's callt. You know. Big, ain't he!"

"Indeed," the veiled lady said softly, and went away.

"Well, I can't help that," the very big man said to the dealer. "You just tell Goatfoot what I said: When even my customers complain about his beer, it's bad! Thin as ... well, if I find out he has a lot of cats over there, I'll be mighty suspicious about what he puts into his so-called prime ale!"

"That ain't nice, Ahdio. You want good stuff, whyn't you buy it then?"

"As you damned well know, Ak, I do. But not from Goatfoot! However, not all my patrons can afford the premium brew, and not all of them know the difference, anyhow. I serve maybe twenty to one of the stuff made by Goatfoot and Maeder. And based on the quality, I ought to be charging more for Maeder's Red Gold!"

"Or maybe less for Goatfoot's True Brew," Akarlain said, tilting his head to one side and doing his best to look clever. It was a strain.

"I'm willing to do that," Ahdio told him, "just as soon as you and Goatfoot get the keg price down to what it should be." He sighed and raised a silencing hand as the much smaller man started to reply. "That's all right, that's all right. I'll need thirteen more kegs tomorrow, and don't forget what I told you to tell Goatfoot. And that I'm looking for another brewer. My customers may be scum, but they've got rights!"

Ahdio, his face open and showing no menace, held eye contact with Akarlain for a long moment before he turned away. He moved on to another merchant's kiosk in the ever-noisy open market. Face working, Ak watched him. How was it that such a genuinely bigger than big man moved so easily in a gait that no one could ever describe as "lumbering"? He was almost graceful! And so lucky, Ak mused with a shiver; Ahdio seemed not to notice the cold although he was not wearing nearly as much clothing as most others. Like to have me a wife that generated that much heat, Akarlain thought, and with a sigh he turned to enter Ahdio's order on the slate headed G-Foot.

Ahdio stopped at a fold-down counter under a sheltering awning of bright green and faded yellow. After doubling his order for the sausages in brine he had tried out on consignment, he complimented their creator.

"They loved them, Ivalia. Helped sell more beer, too! My customers loved those special sausages of yours-and so did I!" Abruptly the big man laughed a big man's laugh. "Not my cat, though. Should've seen him wrinkle his nose and shake his head when he started to settle into a nice sausage meal and smelled that brine! Could've heard his ears rattle two buildings away!"

"Ohh, poor pussy cat," Ivalia said, interrupting her delighted marking down of his order to look up with a sympathetic expression. "What a mean shock for a cat ... well, here! You take this to that poor disappointed kitty of yours, Ahdio, with my compliments."

"Mighty nice of you, Ivalia," Ahdio said, accepting the brown-wrapped package she hurriedly prepared and proffered. It looked strangely smaller, once it was transferred from her hand to his huge one.

Someone passing behind Ahdio bumped him. Ahdio showed no hint of taking offense as his size would have allowed; he merely dropped a hand to the wallet at his belt. It was still there. The bump must have been a genuine one, then-not that it would have mattered much. He kept only three coppers, two sharply jagged bits of rusty steel, and a few pebbles in that leathern bag. His money was in a pocket-purse sewn inside the down-filled vest he wore in lieu of coat or winter cloak. Still, he was not anxious to lose what he thought of as the Fool's Purse at his belt; he'd just have to raise a great fuss and try to chase down the thief ... and of course replace the thing with another cheap bag of goatskin.

"Mighty nice order you just gave me, Ahdio," Ivalia was saying with a smile. "Mighty nice doing business with you-and gracious, I had no idea you were a cat person, too! That makes it all the better."

The disposition of an angel, Ivalia had-a red-faced angel-and arms like a cooper's. Everything about her was round and healthy and on the large side, positively brimming and glowing ruddy with health. Everything except her nose and her chest, he thought, a little wistfully; both were as flat as a fallen pie. Still ... a man did get lonely and thought now and again of a real woman, a companion rather than merely some one-night wench. And in this gods-forsaken town to which he had exiled himself.... Ahdio smiled at her. That showed as a crinkling of his eyes and a writhing of his winter beard; he stopped shaving every year in autumn and removed the whole growth again a few months later when real heat started to set in. Just now the beard was not long, but already obscured most of his face.

"What's your kittycat's name, Ahdio?" she asked, practically burbling, beaming at him.

Ahdio looked a bit embarrassed, pushed a finger up into his brown-pepper-and salt beard, and scratched. "I, ah, named him Sweetboy," he admitted.

The round-faced sausagemaker clapped her hands. "How sweet! My kittycats are named Cinnamon, and Topaz, and Micklety, and Kadakithis, wasn't that naughty of me?-and Chase (that's short for Chase-mouser) and Pan-pie, and Hakiem, and Babyface, and-oh, pardon me; yes, what would you like?"

That to the new customer who had come to the unwitting rescue of Ahdio, whose expression of shock had increased with each new cat Ivalia listed-and without showing signs of running out of either names or cats anytime soon.

"Try one of her pickled sausages," Ahdio said to the newcomer. "And remember it was Ahdio who told you. Stop in at my tavern-Sly's Place near Wrong Way Park. First beer's on me."

He waved a hand in friendly farewell to Ivalia and departed. Thus he did not see the look her prospective customer gave her, or hear him mutter, "Sly's Place! Theba's eyeballs ... I'd as soon slit my throat as go near that dive!"

Ivalia leaned on her counter, face in hands, and gave him a nice smile. "Why don't you, then?"

Bulkily visible with his broad back emphasized by the vest of tired red, Ahdio wended his way out of the Bazaar, returning greetings, stopping to say a few words to this or that merchant and a couple of Stepsons with ever-wary eyes. His words to the beautifully-dressed noble Shaf-ralain went unanswered and Ahdio grinned. He just managed not to wink at an armed but not particularly mean looking Bey, and headed for home.