"I had been thinking of traveling as your personal manservant," Jubal said, "but I'm open to other suggestions. I imagine that, whatever my official capacity, I will be serving as a confidential advisor to you."

Hakiem's eyebrows shot up.

"Advisor? Excuse me, but I didn't think you knew any more about the Beysib than I do."

"Think again, old man." The crime lord chuckled darkly. "Your battlefield of choice is the courts with carefully chosen words and arguments. My arena is the back alleys, gathering information from the sorts either ignored or hunted by your aristocrats. If anyone, you should know the value of a bit of street-level information when operating in a new town."

The storyteller stared thoughtfully, seriously considering Jubal's proposal for the first time. It was true that the crime lord would be a valuable ally ... especially if none of the Beysib knew to watch or suspect what appeared to be an aged servant. Still, it was hard to believe Jubal was willing to take part in such a venture, much less accept a role subservient to Hakiem.

As if sensing the storyteller's hesitation, the ex-slaver pressed on.

"There's another thing which can make me a priceless secret weapon, old man."

"And that is ... ?"

Jubal leaned forward, grinning smugly as he whispered.

"I've built an immunity to the bite of those snakes the Beysib women favor so."

"You have?" Hakiem's eyebrows shot up. "I didn't know that was possible ... except for those who were conditioned from birth, that is."

"It's a secret that cost me dear." The crime lord smiled. "Far dearer than obtaining the solvent for the latest witches' brew of glue going round town. More important, I'm willing to share that secret with you if you'll include me in your plans."

"Me? I really don't think that's necessary ... though I appreciate the offer. I've gotten used to having the snakes around, and they're harmless as long as you give them lots of room."

Jubal stared at him for a few moments, then shook his head ruefully.

"I don't know if it's the wine or your time in court that's clouded your thinking, old man. Hasn't it ever occurred to you that those snakes are perfect tools for murder?"

"You mean assassination9 But I'll be an ambassador. They wouldn't dare!"

"I wouldn't bet my life on that, if I were you," the ex-slaver snorted. "You're going to be trying to establish trade with the Beysib Empire, right? That means you're going to be stepping on someone's livelihood. Whether you're providing better or cheaper goods, you'll be diverting money to Sanctuary that would normally go to someone else, which is going to make that someone your mortal enemy. They may not be able to attack you openly, but it's always possible to arrange a convenient 'accident.' The Beysib aren't that different from us."

It had not occurred to Hakiem that there was potential danger in his mission, yet Jubal's words had the irrefutable ring of truth to them. Strangely enough, however, rather than adding to his reluctance, the possibility of an attack on Sanctuary's trade ambassador aroused in him an angry indignation which had him looking forward to the mission for the first time since it had been proposed.

If some of the Beysib thought they could block trade with Sanctuary by disposing of some court fop of an ambassador, they were in for a rude surprise.

Fast on the heels of this thought, of course, was an added awareness of the desirability of Jubal's company on this assignment.

"Well, how about it, old man?" the crime lord said, catching the change in the storyteller's attitude. "Do we have a deal?"

"Possibly," Hakiem responded warily. "At the very least, your idea is interesting enough to discuss further ... perhaps in more private surroundings?"

"Very well then, let's go," Jubal announced, rising to his feet. "Time is short, both for decisions and planning. Tell me ... I assume there will be some sort of bodyguard assigned to you ... have you been offered your choice for that position?"

"It was offered," the storyteller admitted, also rising, "but I really don't have a preference."

"You might want to reconsider that."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Hakiem's face.

"I really don't think I can get you approved in that capacity, Jubal."

"I wasn't thinking of myself ... you don't have to tell me how unacceptable I am to the prince. No, I was thinking about Zaibar."

"Zaibar?"

"One of the original Hell-hounds that arrived with the prince," Jubal explained- "We've had - . . dealings together in the past, and I'd trust him to guard my back ... assuming, of course, he felt it was within his rather narrow concept of duty. Besides, like me, there's nothing left in Sanctuary for him now, and he might welcome the assignment."

Hakiem was listening with only half an ear.

As Jubal spoke, the storyteller was looking around the Vulgar Unicorn, trying to permanently brand every detail in his mind. It had suddenly occurred to him that this might be the last time he ever saw the place, the scene of the start andIor ending to so many stories over the past years. Even if he returned to Sanctuary, this tavern, as well as the town itself, would be different. As he knew all too well, each new beginning is also an ending, and on the road of life, there is no turning back.