She had no doubt that Zip would hear of this. She wanted him to hear. It was why she had come to this stink-hole side of town. Sheathing her sword, she walked on, giving no further thought to the bodies in her wake.

Come to me, Zip, she willed, come to me.

There were taverns in Downwind, or places that professed to be taverns. Only Mama Becho's, though, could legitimately claim to be such. Even so, there were lifelong drunks in Sanctuary who wouldn't deign to spit on its threshold, let alone consume its questionable product.

Chenaya stepped through the low, doorless entrance, her vision swiftly adjusting to the dim light. A dozen pairs of eyes turned to examine her. Quite a different crowd from the one that frequented the Unicorn. There the faces were full of menace or scheming or general disinterest. The eyes at Mama Becho's reflected only desperation and despair.

It was like no place she had ever seen before, and she thought of the men who had met her at the bridge, men like these, men with the same desperate eyes. They had wanted her gold and had gone down for it. She saw in Mama Becho's men who would have done the same and welcomed the death she gave. And why not? For such as these, life had little to offer, little to hold them.

She thought of the bridge again, of men who poured their blood into the dirty street for a handful of spark, and for one moment, Chenaya hated what she had done.

Fortunately, the moment passed. She reminded herself she had come to this cesspool on business.

"You want somethin', honey, or you jus' come to see the sights?" A mountainous woman in a tattered smock leaned one elbow on the board that served as a bar and leered at her. She wiped at the interior of an earthen mug with a grimy rag that hadn't seen a rinsing in weeks. Wisps of grizzled hair floated about her thick jowled face as she worked.

"Uptown bitch," someone muttered into his cup. Pairs of eyes began slowly to turn back to their drinks, to the private fantasy worlds found only in foul brews.

"Honey," Chenaya said smiling to Mama Becho, "I want a couple of things. First, a cup of some decent beverage, Vuksi-bah if you've got it in this dump." The eyes all turned her way again, whether at her mention of the expensive liquor or because of the insult, she didn't know or care. "A respectable wine or cool water if you don't." She leaned on the board facing the fat proprietor and felt it sag under their combined weights. The old woman's breath was worse than fetid, but Chenaya managed to force a grin. "Then I want Zip."

That got their attention. She reached into her purse, drew out another handful of coins. Not bothering to look at them or judge their value, she threw them over her shoulder, all but one which she placed on the board. It was a gleaming soldat.

"I'm betting somebody here knows how to contact him," she said, still addressing Mama Becho, well aware that everyone could hear. "And when he walks through that door I'll scatter another fistful of coins."

"An' what if we jus' take yer spark, lady?" said a lean, twisted man who squatted in a gloomy comer against the wall. He fingered one of the silver pieces that had fallen his way.

"Shet up yer mouth, Haggit," Mama Becho snapped. "Can'tcha see we got us a fine noblewoman here? Mind yer manners!"

Chenaya cast the soldat to the one called Haggit; he caught it with a deft motion. "I give my gold where and when I see fit. Two who tried to take it are still cooling at the foot of the bridge." She gave him a hard, penetrating look. "Now, I want to see Zip, and I'll pay fairly to find him. Play me any other way, Haggit-" Chenaya winked at him and nodded her head "-and you'll do all the paying."

Haggit glared at her for a long moment, bit into the soldat with his front tooth, then rose and went out. One by one all the other customers drifted out, too. Not one of Chenaya's coins remained on the floor.

"Now ye've scared away my business," Mama Becho complained. She still scoured the same mug with the same filthy rag. "Might as well get comfy, honey." She waved at the cloth-covered furniture that served in place of stools and tables. "No tellin' when Zip'11 turn up. Thet boy comes an' goes as he pleases."

Chenaya remained where she was as the old woman disappeared to fetch her wine. She took a deep breath and let it out. Zip would turn up, she had no doubt. She'd spread enough wealth to insure that; she'd killed his enemies, too. He'd come all right, if only out of curiosity.

She took another deep breath and held it. What was that odor? She glanced at the doorway Mama Becho had gone through. An old, worn blanket hung across it; a thin, tenuous smoke wafted around the edges.

Krrf smoke.

She wet her lips slyly and wondered how Gestus and Dismas were faring.

Two bitter cups of wine and one cup of water later, the man she had come to find mercifully walked in, leaving, by the sound of things, a couple of his cronies standing guard in the alleyway. Mama Becho made a discreet nod of greeting and headed for the back room.

"Don't bother listening through the curtain or one of the cracks in the wall. Mama," Zip called and waved his hand to draw her back. "Up here-where I can keep an eye on you, too." Mama Becho put on a look of wounded innocence and reached for another mug to polish.

Zip walked calmly up to Chenaya; his gaze ran unabashedly up and down her body.

"There's a lot more swagger in your step than when we met in Ratfall," she commented wryly.

His gaze met hers with unconcealed arrogance. "You've got a lot less muscle with you this time," he answered bluntly. "What do you want, Chenaya? Did Tempus send you?"

She laughed. Her hand reached out to touch his shoulder, drifted down over his chest, then resumed its place at her belt. Hard, lean muscle beneath his clothing, she'd discovered, no fat. "Tempus Thales isn't quite the puppeteer he thinks himself."

Zip leaned on the board, close to her, giving her a long look. "I wouldn't tell him that-not me."

He had a nice face, she realized. Young and rugged, crowned by a mop of dark hair. Sweat-tracks lined his brow and cheeks, and there were circles of dirt around his neck where the flesh showed above his rough-woven tunic. He smelled, but it was a man's musky odor, not the stench of Downwind. She stared brazenly into his eyes and chuckled.

"Oh, I've taken his measure," she said, "and he comes up short."

"He hears the voice of the Storm God," Zip cautioned with an enigmatic, taut, little smile.

"He hears voices, all right." She caught a piece of his tunic and pulled his face close to hers. In conspiratorial tones she whispered, loud enough still for any to hear, "But the Storm God?" She shrugged meaningfully. "Between you and me and these others, I suspect he's just a crazy, common madman. He uses the so called voices to excuse his perversions and aberrations. After all, he can't be blamed-and needn't take responsibility for his actions-if divine voices compel him. He's only a poor avatar."

Chenaya didn't actually believe it; she had little doubt of the veracity of Tempus's relationship with the Storm Gods. Her own experiences with Savankala were proof enough that such god/mortal alliances evolved. Still, it was a delicious rumor to start.

Zip picked up the mug of beer Mama Becho had placed at his elbow. He took a long drink, regarding Chenaya over the rim. He set the vessel down between them. "You threw away a lot of money to find me, woman," he said finally. "Why? Not just to gossip about the Riddler."

She gave him her look of mock-innocence, picked up his mug, and drained the contents. "But I did want to talk about Tempus," she replied. "At least about a proposal Tempus suggested to me."