"And what about the report those dangerous-looking bodyguards give him?" Strick asked, smiling a little.

"Oh, they tell him what I tell them to tell him. They do exactly as I tell them."

Strick thought this an opportune time to say, "I am not that sort of man, Esaria."

White teeth flashed and dimples sprang into bold evidence. "Can't I just see that, 0 Mysterious Foreigner!" And with a wave, she was gone.

Still smiling that close-mouthed smile of his, Strick turned to her Second Cousin Cusharlain.

"Second Cousin Esaria is ... taken with you, Strick."

"I know. That's why you just heard me warn her. I am being careful, Cusharlain, and not encouraging your noble and wealthy cousin's dotter, believe me. Now let me tell you a little about my plans, and the sort of information I need."

Confident that Cusharlain was working on his behalf, Strick wandered. Passing snatches of conversation informed a tourist who used his ears as well as his eyes.

Carrying a bag formed of a dirty sheet trailing dirty laundry, he studied the palace while Beysin guards studied him with little interest. He went on his way, and soon bought a third armband. When it would not fit around his upper arm, he was apologetic about returning it. The "protectors" chuckled after him as the foreigner, apparently chicken-hearted for all his size, went on his way. Having strolled to the very end of Governor's Walk, he had a look at Sanctuary's main temples. He noted destruction, and the busy work of reconstruction. No, he learned, there was no Temple of the Flame or any kind of fire in Sanctuary. About every other deity imaginable was represented here, though, including a little chapel to Theba.

The foreigner nodded. The death goddess was of no interest to Strick of Firaqa.

He took the Street of Goldsmiths down to the Path of Money, noting among the well-off citizenry more decollete dresses too busy below the waist. He found the moneyhandler Cusharlain had recommended.

They held a bit of converse, during which both men learned this and that of interest to each. Then, in private, Strick opened the dirty-sheet bag to reveal its other contents, carefully pressed together and snugly wrapped to prevent their clinking.

The banker was delighted to make the acquaintance of Torezalan Strick tiFiraqa and his foreign gold.

Strick left in possession of several documents and carrying the bag that now held only dirty laundry. Two doors down and across that showily clean street, he entered the establishment of the second moneyhandler Cusharlain had mentioned. While that individual might have been uninterested in a foreigner with so little taste as to carry his soiled clothing along the street called Money, he was experienced enough to know that eccentric people came to him with treasures in eccentric disguises. He acceded to a private interview and was rewarded.

From his underwear the foreigner in the strange skullcap took a small felt bag. It did not jingle, but it did contain two gleaming examples of the largesse of Firaqa's Pearl River. They were worth over twenty horses, or much gold.

Strick departed with several more documents, less weighty underclothing, and carrying the bag that now held only dirty laundry.

He stopped in at the Golden Oasis to get something done about the latter and to visit his horse. He left bearing a smaller, cleaner bag. It contained food and wine. Ever listening, he walked down the Processional to Wideway. Here he noted that most damage to the ever-important docks had been repaired. He saw workmen, fisherfolk and their boats, and Beysib ships. Ambling easily, keeping his face wide open and his eyes large, he observed, listened, asked carefully unpointed questions, and listened. He noted some flood damage, rather less decolletage among these working people, and some damage from fire.

Three workmen were astonished at the offer of the strange big man who spoke so quietly. Naturally they accepted: They joined him on a loading dock for a bite and a bit of wine. This time he learned the location of the dive called Sly's Place; two of these men knew of it. He was in the wrong section of the city, though close. He was advised to stay out of that area of town, and he thanked the adviser.

Only after he had meandered off on his way, leaving the rest of the wine, did they realize that they had learned little from him while he had learned much. No matter. What a fine nice fellow he was, with his funny accent!

Strick, meanwhile, was wandering some more, observing and listening.

"Well. Here's a new face! I'm Ouleh. Buy a girl a cup, good-lookin'?"

Strick looked up at the woman who materialized beside his comer table in this noisy place. She was a "girl" of thirty or so, wearing a canary yellow blouse scooped deeply to display a great deal of her head-sized breasts. Her long skirt was without flounces or adornment other than its positively manic striping.

He said, "At the bar."

"Hmm?" She cocked her head on one side and tried to look sweet.

"Go to the counter, tell Ahdio I'm buying you one, and to look this way. I will nod."

"Nice man! Be right back."

"No. I drink here, you there."

"Oh."

Without further comment aside from a shrug that imparted massive movement to her blouse, she jiggled back to the counter. Strick saw her point, saw the big mail coated man look at him. Strick held up one finger and nodded. So did the big man in the coat of linked chain. A moment later Ouleh was making expostulatory noises and gestures while Ahdio headed for the comer table, bearing a blue glazed mug. Strick heard the jing-jing of the armor as the other large man approached.

Is he the focus? Strick could not be sure. He read three separate spells in this place. Two involved Ahdio's assistants, the extra-homely woman and the young fellow with the limp. The other was in back, and seemed to have to do with an

animal.

Someone called, "Takin' that poor innocent stranger another mug o' cat-pee, Ahdio?"

"Nah," the dive's proprietor called back, turning his head that way. "Sweetboy Special is what's in your cup, Tervy. Newcomers get the good stuff." Arrived at Strick's table, he went on in a lower voice: "Ouleh said you said you'd buy her one and would nod to prove it. Overhung Ouleh's an old friend and this place's favorite blowze, but for all I know she told you to nod hello to me when I looked this way. Brought you one, though."

Strick decided to stand. Patrons stared. They seldom saw a man as big as Ahdiovizun, even one an inch or so shorter.

"She told it right. And she's to stay over there. I have a message for you." When the other man instantly shifted the mug to his left hand, Strick backed a pace. "Easy. I just came here from Firaqa. Name's Strick. Along the way I met a young man and woman. Boy and a girl, maybe. He asked me to tell you that the big red cat with them followed them-even out across the desert-and to swear that he did not take it."

Ahdio stared for a moment, then smiled. "You get the next one," he said, and drank half the contents of the cup in his left hand. "Dark fellow, hawkish nose, medium height and wiry? Wearing anything unusual?"

"Knives."

Ahdio laughed. "That's Hansey! Thanks, uh, Strick. I've been wondering about Notable. Hanse is the first person that cat ever took to. Be damned. Where was this?"

"Hey Ahdio, how about onea them sausages over here?"

Ahdio glanced that way. "Suck your finger, Harmy! This is an old war crony. Throde? Sausage for Harmocohl. Oh, and fill a cup for Ouleh before she stares a hole in my back."