'Oh indeed I do understand,' Sandol assured him fervently. 'AH I ask is that you keep me in mind ...'

'I'll let you know,' said Lalo graciously, 'when I have time.' He increased his pace, leaving the rug merchant standing like a melting icicle in the sea of people behind him. When he had crossed the Path of Money into the Corridor of Steel, Lalo permitted himself a discreet skip or two.

'Not only my feet but my entire life is charmed now!' he told himself. 'May all the gods of Ranke and Ilsig bless Enas Yorl!'

Sunshine glared from the whitewashed walls around him, flashed from polished swords and daggers displayed in the armourers' stalls, glittered in myriad points of light from linked mail. But the brilliance around him was less dazzling than the vistas opening to Lalo's imagination now. He would have not merely a comfortable living, but riches; not only respect, but fame! Everything he had ever desired was within his grasp ...

Cutpurses flowed around him like shadows as he passed through an alleyway, but despite the rumours, his purse still swung slackly, and they drew back again without his having noticed them. Someone called out to him as he passed the more modest establishments near the warehouses, but Lalo's eyes were blinded by his visions.

It was not until his feet had carried him on to the Wideway that edged the harbour that he realized that he had been hailed by Farsi the Coppersmith, who had loaned him money when Gilla was sick after the birth of their second child. He thought of turning back, but surely he could visit Farsi another time. He was too busy now.

Plans for the new project were boiling in his brain. He had to come up with something that could transcend the rest of Molin's decor without trying to compete with its vulgarity. Colours, details, the interplay of line and mass, rippled before his mind's eye like a painted veil between him and the sordid streets of the town.

So much would depend on the models he chose for the figures in the design! Sabellia and her nymphs must display a beauty that would uplift the imagination even as it pleased the eye, an air at once both regal and innocent.

Lalo slipped on a fishhead. He flailed wildly for a moment, then regained his balance and stood panting and blinking in the bright sun.

'And where will I find such maidens in Sanctuary?' he asked himself aloud. 'Where mothers sell their daughters into whoredom as soon as their breasts begin to show?' Even the girls who retained some outward beauty were swiftly corrupted within. In the past, he had found his models among the street singers and the girls who eked out a weaver's paltry daylight wages on their backs, at night. He would have to look elsewhere now.

He sighed and turned his face to the sea. It was cooler here, and the changing wind brought a fresh sea breeze to compete with the rotting fish odour of the shore. The blue water sparkled like a virgin's eye.

A woman with a child in her arms waved to him, and after a moment Lalo recognized Valira, come to the shore for an hour or two of sunshine with her baby before it was time for her to ply her trade with the sailors there. She lifted the child for him to see, and he noted with a pang that although her eyes were painted, and glass beads glittered in her hennaed hair, her arms were still childishly thin. He remembered when she had been one of his oldest daughter's playmates, and had often come to Lalo's house for supper when there was no food at her own.

He knew about the rape that had started Valira in this profession, the poverty that kept her there, but her cheerful greeting made him uncomfortable. She had not chosen her fate, but she could not escape it now. Her existence clouded the bright future he had been envisioning.

Lalo waved briefly at Valira and then hurried on, at once relieved and ashamed when she did not call out to him.

He continued along the Wideway, past the wharves where the foreign ships were berthed, pulling at their moorings like a nobleman's horses tethered outside a peasant's sty. Some of the merchants had spread out their wares on the docks, and Lalo threaded his way among knots of people bickering over prices, exchanging insults and news with equal good humour. A few City Guards lounged against a piling, weariness and wariness mingling in their faces as they surveyed the motley crowd. They were accompanied by one of the Prince's Hell Hounds, his expression differing from theirs only in that it became, if possible, even more supercilious when he looked at his men.

Lalo passed without stopping the abandoned wharf near Fisherman's Row which had become his favourite place for meditation over the years. He had no need of it now - he had too much to do! Where could he find models? Perhaps he should visit the Bazaar this afternoon. Surely he could find some honest maidens there...

He hurried up the Street of Smells towards his home, but stopped short when he saw his wife hanging out laundry in the building's courtyard, talking over her shoulder to someone hidden behind her. He approached cautiously.

'Did the interview go well, dear?' asked Gilla brightly. 'I've heard that the Lady Rosanda is most gracious. You're quite favoured by the ladies today - see, here's Mistress Zorra come to call on you...'

Lalo winced at the edge in her voice, then forgot her as she moved and the caller came towards him. He received in quick succession an impression of a trim figure, a complexion that glowed like the roses of Eshi, copper-bright hair and a pair of dazzling eyes.

He swallowed. The last time he had seen Mistress Zorra was when she had accompanied her father to collect their rent, which was three months overdue. He tried to remember whether they had paid last month's rent on time.

'Oh, Master Lalo - you've no need to look so apprehensive!' Zorra blushed prettily. 'You should know that your credit is good with us after so many years ...'

After so much gossip about my new prosperity, you mean! he thought, but her smile was infectious, and after all she was not responsible for the stinginess of her sire. He grinned back at her, thinking that she was like a breath of spring in this summer-parched street. Like a nymph ...

'Perhaps you can help me to maintain my credit, mistress!' he replied. 'Would you like to be one of my models for the paintings in Molin Torchholder's Hall?'

How delightful it was to be the dispenser of largesse, thought Lalo as he watched Zorra dance away down the street. She had been painfully eager to break all previous engagements so that she could come to him the next day.

Was that how Enas Yorl felt when he gave me my desire? he wondered, and wondered also (but only for a moment) why, in doing so, the sorcerer had laughed.

'But why can't I pose for you in Molin Torchholder's house?' Zorra pouted, glanced at Lalo to see if he was watching her take off her petticoat, and let the garment slip to the floor.

'If my patrons could detach their walls and sent them here for decoration, I doubt they would let even me in the door...' replied Lalo abstractedly, transferring paint from paintpots to palette in the precise order he always used. 'Besides, I'll need to make several studies from each model before I decide on the final design...'

Morning sunlight shone cheerfully on the clean-swept floor, cleared now of strangers' laundry, gleamed on Lalo's palette knife and glowed through the petals of the flowers he had given to Zorra to hold.

'That's right -' he said, draping a wisp of gauze around her hips and adjusting the angle of her arms. 'Hold the flowers as if you were offering them to the Goddess.' She twitched as he touched her, but his awareness of her flesh was already giving way to his perception other body as a form in space. 'Generally I would do only a quick sketch or two,' he explained, 'but this must be complete enough to give Lord Molin an idea of what the finished work will be like, so I'm using colour ...'