Only then did the memory of her dream come back to her, and with it the Cranning call. "He does it to me," she whispered. "He sends me dreams. Waking, sleeping-"

Sken nodded knowingly. "You dream until your whole body's ready for him, but he never comes to you."

"I have to go to him."

"The curse of women," said Sken. "We know how they mean to use our love for them, we know the whole price of it is ours to pay, but still we go, and still we stay."

"This one's no ordinary lover," said Patience. Sken patted her head. "Oh, true. True, the one you love is never ordinary."

"What, did she really think Patience was lovesick like some village maiden, pining for the handsome farmboy? Because Patience had never had such a girlish feeling, she wondered for a moment if Sken might not be right.

But that was absurd. Patience had seen young girls in many noble houses, had heard them gossip about their real and would-be lovers. Unwyrm's relentless calling was far stronger. Even now it stirred within her; it took effort not to get up from her mat, leave the shabby inn, and walk, run, ride, or swim to Cranning. Still, Sken's ignorant assumptions were harmless enough. In other times, Patience would have seemed to accept Sken's attempt at consolation. But she was too weary, too edgy from the Cranning call to care to play the diplomat. So she answered with the nastiness she felt.

"And if I wait long enough, will I get over it?"

Sken, of course, had no diplomatic instincts. "You are a little bitch. A body tries to be nice-"

Patience answered, as if to explain everything about herself, "I've faced death more times this month than you have in your life."

Sken was still a moment, then smiled. "But you don't know boats like I do."

"We're not on the water now," said Patience.

"Nor are we assassinating anybody," Sken answered, Patience lay back on the mat and smiled icily. Sken had made her point. "Death and the river, we each know our trade," said Patience.

"This lover who makes you sweat and cry out in your sleep-"

"Not my lover," said Patience.

"He wants you, doesn't he? And you want him?"

"He wants me like a jackal hungers for a lamb. And I want him like-"

"Like a fish wants water."

Patience shuddered. That's how it felt, even now, like needing to take a breath, a deep long draught of air. But if she took that breath, it would be her last.

"Sken," said Patience, "I'm made of paper."

Sken touched her gently, stroked the cold damp flesh of her arm with a single dry finger. "Flesh and bone."

"Paper. Folded this way and that, taking whatever shape they give me. Heir to the Heptagon House, daughter of Peace, assassin, diplomat, give me a shape, I'll wear it, I'll act the part, fold me again, again, I'll be his lover, the one who calls me, and if he ever gets me, he'll fold me down so small I'll disappear."

Sken nodded wisely, her whole body jiggling just a little with the movement.

"What if someone unfolded me all the way? What would I be then?"

"A stranger," said Sken.

"Yes, even to me," said Patience.

"Just like everybody else."

"Oh, do you think so! Do you think something like a normal woman lives inside this lovely delicate murderer's body?"

"Don't take on such airs," said Sken. "We're all folded up, and nobody knows what we really are. But I know. We're all identical, blank, empty pieces of paper.

It's the folding that makes us different. We are the folds."

Patience shook her head. "No, not me. Probably no one starts out blank and smooth, but certainly not me.

I'm more than what they've done to me. I'm more than I the roles I have to play."

"What are you, then?"

"I don't know." She rolled over, faced the wall to end the conversation. "Maybe I won't find out until just before I die."

"Or maybe just after, when they take your head."

Patience rolled back, caught the folds of Sken's robe in her tight-clutching fingers. "No," she whispered harshly. "If they ever do that to me, promise you'll split my head in two, you'll pour out the gools, something-"

"I won't promise, that," said Sken.

"Why not?"

"Because if you're in such a state that they could take your head, Heptarch, it means I'm already dead."

Patience relaxed her grip on Sken's clothing, lay back down. The knowledge of Sken's loyalty was a comfort. But it was also a burden. Patience was so tired. "Go to sleep," said Sken, "and don't dream of love."

"What should I dream of, then, since you're the master of sleep."

"Dream of murder," said Sken. "Knowing you, you'll sleep like a baby."

"I don't love death," whispered Patience.

Sken patted her hand. "No, I didn't think so."

"I didn't want my father to die. Nor Angel to be injured, I didn't wish for it."

Sken looked puzzled. Then she understood. "I know you didn't wish for it, girl," she whispered. "But it means you're on your own now, doesn't it? For a time at least. So of course that feels good."

"Exciting, sometimes. Scary."

"And knowing you face the strongest enemy in the world, alone-"

"Doesn't make me feel good."

"Don't lie," said Sken. "You love it, sometimes."

"I hate him for what he's making me want-"

"But to stand alone against him, you want that, you want to face him alone and win."

"Maybe."

"It's perfectly natural to feel that way. It's also perfectly natural to be an idiot."

"I can kill anybody."

"Anybody you want to."

The words sank in. "You're right," said Patience.

"How can I kill him, if he makes me love him?"

"You see? You can't do this alone," said Sken. "You need Angel. You need the goblins, disgusting as they are. Their pet giant, too. You may even need me."

"Even you," whispered Patience.

"Sleep now. We're all with you, you're at the center of everything, and we're all with you. Plenty of time to unfold yourself when this is over, and your lover's plow is hung on a wall somewhere."

Patience slept. She never spoke of the night's conversation again, but things were changed between her and Sken. They bickered as always, because Sken hardly knew another way to deal with people, but things were changed. There were ties between them, ties between sisters, strange sisters indeed, but good enough.

In the morning they traveled again, a queer caravan.

But Sken's words had made a difference in the way Patience saw the others, too. She looked at them with new eyes, thinking, how can I use him? Why do I need her? What is the strength he has that makes up for the weakness in me? They were all dangerous-to her, but' also to Unwyrm. The geblings especially, they were a mystery. The more Patience watched them, the more she realized that they did most of their communicating without speech, each seeming to sense when the other was in need. She was jealous of their closeness; she even tried to imitate them, going to Angel now and then, whenever she felt he might need her. Sometimes he did more often he didn't. Whatever the geblings had, she lacked it.

No special sensitivity. Geblings are too different from us.

This power of theirs is something of this world, not from ours. They're like Unwyrm. Both part of this place, and I'm a stranger here.

Then the days of land travel were over. The river stretched before them again, this time with a busy town along its bank. It was no trouble finding a merchant to buy the carriage and horses. This close to Cranning, all the buyers were geblings, of course. So Patience dressed herself as a wealthy young man, took Will with her so no one would try to rob her, and did all the bargaining herself, without Ruin or Reck present to foul the deal.

Geblings had a way of giving gifts to each other instead of making a profit, and though Patience knew that Angel's small treasury had money enough to buy as many boats as she liked, she didn't want to waste their resources.