The Living would have to disavow him, condemn him, demand that he be punishedfor using the movement's name. Azel was deft. He would evade trouble. Whatevernotoriety came of this would die out soon.

He looked across the room to his writing table, miles away. He had to scribblea note to Azel, warning him off, advising him that he would have to endure thename of outlaw for a time.

He started working his way along the wall, wishing there was someone he could bring in on what he was doing. He was too feeble to carry the whole burden.

But did he dare inform his khadifas? Most would be appalled, even outraged, though not all for the same reasons. Zenobel or Carza? Maybe. If it was presented carefully enough and he revealed the full scope of his duplicitous stratagem, so they would not be repelled by its unsavory immediate aspect. The old man had spent too much strength getting to the door. He did not retain resources adequate to the return journey.

For once bel-Sidek was not sorry about the condition of his leg. Had he been healthy he would have arrived in the middle of things, while tempers burned their hottest and reason bent before a draft out of Chaos. There was residual anger enough to trouble him as he questioned his neighbors.

Inner, secret shame had left some defiant. They could not admit that they had been gulled by a thug. His reassurances were not well received. He dared not pursue it too closely. He limped home irritated. Ortbal Sagdet had proven insiders could use the movement to their benefit. But who would have thought the baser sort of villain might use its name as a tool? He burst in ready to treat the General to an angry monolog. "Sir! Oh, Aram have mercy!" He dropped a squash he had bought for supper, fell to his knees. "Sir?"

The old man croaked, "Bel-Sidek?"

"Yes sir. I'm here, sir."

The flesh betrays the spirit." The old man's words came one to the breath. "Get me to the writing table."

Bel-Sidek lifted him. He was so light! "What were you trying to do, sir?"

"Watched that uproar in the street. Bel-Sidek, a beast of a man, a child- stealer, used our name to escape Dartar justice. If there is such a thing. Where are you going? I said the writing table."

Bel-Sidek lowered the old man into his bed. "You talk too much, sir. Shut up and rest." "The writing table. An order." "So try me for mutiny. At least you'll have the pleasure of being alive to enjoy it."

"The word has to go out. That man has to be caught. People are too eager to think evil of us now."

"Dictate. I'll take care of it."

The old man worked his way around till he faced the wall.

Stubborn old bastard. What was he doing walking around without help? At the very least he could have broken brittle bones.

Bel-Sidek began his meal preparations, and worried. He was supposed to joinMeryel again tonight. But it was obvious someone had to ride herd on the oldman, whose reason was slipping. He could not leave. But it was imperative thathe meet with Meryel and arrange for the disposition of the weapons in herwarehouse. They could not be kept there in a mass. Too much to risk.

Hadribel. The new khadifa of the Hahr had not yet left the Shu. He would doanything to overcome the embarrassment of Having allowed a Herodian agent torise so high in his organization.

Yes. Hadribel. He would not have to be away from the house more than a fewminutes to get Hadribel.

All the news came to Muma's first and fastest, Azel reflected sourly. Or, atleast, all the news that was bad news.

A child-taker stomped to death in the Asian. He did not want to go, but he hadno choice. If Agmed or Bel-Shaduk had got himself killed they would need toknow in the citadel. Now.

He half hoped the man killed was one of those two. That was the sort of whackupside the head the Witch needed to wake her up.

Azel pushed away from his table and went out into the late afternoon. Heheaded east by alleyway and back street. The better streets all boastedDartars headed for the Gate of Autumn and the compound beyond. He did not wantto run into any more Dartars. He was in a mood to try to hurt them and thatwouldn't be smart. They would only hurt him back.

He did not have to go rooting around the Astan to find out what he wanted toknow.

Here and there along Goat Creek, in the open spaces before the Old Wall, weregrounds designated for dumping. A Herodian conceit. They bred flies and ratsby the million. But so had the pre-conquest custom-still followed west of theacropolis-of dumping anything unwanted out the nearest window, in hopes therains would wash it away.

One of the bigger heaps served a grim purpose. It was there the corpses ofcriminals were thrown out for scavengers. It was next to the mound whereunwanted babies were set out to die or be found by those who did want them.

These days few were unwanted, few were exposed. Azel passed the placewondering if it might not have been better had he been exposed.

The body was there on Skull Heap. The day was failing but there was lightenough. He turned back the way he had come.

Sadat Agmed, looking pretty harmless now.

Mo'atabar came almost before Yoseh settled himself to his supper. "Fa'tadwants him as soon as he's eaten," he told Medjhah, who was in charge becauseNogah had stayed in the city with Faruk and another, hidden inside the Shumaze. "You, too."

Medjhah grunted. So did Yoseh.

Once Mo'atabar went, Medjhah said, "It didn't rattle you tonight, littlebrother."

"I hurt too much to worry about Fa'tad." He flinched, but not from the pain.

They were questioning captives in the compound. Some needed convincing andwere a little exuberant with their protests.

Yoseh did feel less uncomfortable crossing the compound. He supposed you couldget used to anything. Yahada showed them inside and pointed out places to sit.

Fa'tad was receiving reports from his captains.

He asked, "The man used the same powder we saw before?"

A man Yoseh did not know replied, "Twice, apparently. Our people weren't thereto see it. He wasn't reluctant to use a knife, either. He cut a dozen mentrying to get away. A couple probably won't live."

Fa'tad grunted.

"He was Dartar, Fa'tad."

Fa'tad looked up, grunted again, sourly. Yoseh wondered if he was havingtrouble with his digestion.

"One of the men recognized him. His name was Sadat Agmed. An outcast. From al- Hadid clan."

"I recall the man. A thief. And too quick with a blade. What did you find onthe body?"

"Nothing. Except gold. Three pounds on each ankle and more on each arm."

"Child-stealing must be lucrative. So. Now we've run into two of them, armedwith minor sorcery. Are there more? Who's buying the children they steal? Whatare they doing with them?"

No one had an answer. No one had a suggestion about how to find out, short ofcatching one of the child-takers.

"Tell me about the other one," Fa'tad told Yoseh. So Yoseh related events ofthe afternoon. Medjhah gave al-Akla the perspective from camelback.

"The important thing we learned," Joab interjected, "is that we're making noheadway in the Shu. The man said he was an agent of the Living and the crowdturned on these boys."

Yoseh was surprised. He had not known that.

The Living. We're not fighting them right now, Joab. We're trying to disarmthem by example."

"Not fighting them? We're trying to take away the night. Their time."

"True."

"And how long before Cado gets wind of the fact we're leaving men in the cityovernight?"

"Not long. But if we take the night from the wicked and Herod orders us togive it back, who gains in the eyes of Qushmarrah?"

"I still say you play the game too subtly," Joab grumbled. "Find the captainsof the Living and come to an accommodation."

"We play for higher stakes, old friend." Al-Akla seemed to realize, suddenly, that he spoke before more than the inner circle. "Yoseh, Medjhah. You may go.