Chenaya?"

"Yes. Uh-not well. I am not interested in knowing her

well."

"Um. Neither is much of anyone else, apparently. Came in yesterday. First she challenged Frax and sneered at him, then made a sexual suggestion to Wints and then a nasty remark, said another nasty to Avneh and came swaggering in. Reminds me of an adolescent boy with a lot to prove. Challenged me -not to a passage at arms, I mean, just by remarks and attitude. A thoroughly poison personality. She had persuaded herself to come, but had trouble stating her problem. A very, very defensive... person. Demanded to know the source of my ability. I told her the emerald Eye of Agromoto and-"

"That's not what you told me!"

"No, but it's what I thought of yesterday; today I told a fellow it came from the Hoary Head of the Hawk of Horus. I asked this Chenaya for something of value and she slapped down a dagger. Nice sticker, with a jewel or two. She wondered aloud what's under my cap and I only stared, waiting. She kept hedging and meandering verbally. I made the signal for Wints to interrupt and tell me someone was waiting. 'Get out of here, lackey!' she snapped at him, and I quietly told her that I would give orders to my people, thanks, and never to hers. She glowered for a while, then looked away, mentioned needing privacy, and told me what she perceives as her problem."

Strick paused to shake his head. '"I'd like to-to do better with people,' she said. 'No one-I mean, some people don't uh er seem to uh like me.'"

Esaria made a nasty noise.

He went on: "At last she'd got it out, but she continued looking at the wall. Embarrassed and defensive. Ready to challenge, snap back, fight, argue. What a rotten job her parents did with her; how defensive and unhappy she is! I told her that I could help her, but that she would not like the solution -and only her gods could know what the Price might be! She looked at me, then, and I thought how sad it is that she has such genuinely pretty eyes."

He shook his head. " 'What would you do that would be so terrible?' she wanted to know, and I told her: Lock your tongue. Render you unable to speak. That and some real counseling."

Esaria giggled.

"Her glare got worse," he said, ignoring her. "She called me charlatan, snatched up the dagger, and stalked to the door. That didn't surprise me; it just saddened me. Then she surprised me: she turned back and made a sexual suggestion. I said no. Unfortunately she demanded a reason. I told her I did not find her sexually attractive. I don't, and stop looking that way. She seems bent on couching every male in the city-as if, Wints says, her creator mandated it. Not this one. I am more than disinterested: The idea is abhorrent."

"Glad to hear it," Esaria said. "Does that vow encompass all women?"

He shook his head and leaned back, smiling to cover discomfort. "No. Just Chenaya, girls such as Avneh, and the daughters of wealthy noblemen."

"Bigot!"

In his mind Strick identified his bankers as the Pearl One and the Gold One. Amaya was the wife of the Pearl One with the simple name: Renn. The Gold One was Melarshain- probably another ancient Ilsig and relative. After three months in Sanctuary, the quiet man had a considerable amount on deposit with each; far more than the pearls and gold that had established his credit here. It was Melarshain who asked him to come in this afternoon for a "discussion." Without asking questions, Strick went. First he changed clothes.

The floor on which he paced into the chamber was of rich tile, alternating a warm russet with a nicely contrasting pale cream yellow. Handsomely painted scenes decorated the walls; one centered around an intricately fitted mosaic. Entering with his lightweight beige cloak flapping at his ankles, Strick saw that the furnishings were designed simultaneously for show and for comfort-rich comfort.

He was surprised at the collection of men who awaited him, but did not show it. They showed their surprise that he did not wear the "Strick uniform" of unfashionably long tunic over unfashionably matching blue leggings. Today he boldly displayed large bare calves and big bare arms in the undyed tunic with the extra-short sleeves and extra-large opening at the neck. He had chosen to appear as colorless as he had been when he arrived in Sanctuary, three months agone. The cloak, however, was no inexpensive garment.

"So the moneyhandlers of Sanctuary are not enemies, hmm?" he asked, looking blandly at Renn. And at Volmas, and Shafralain, and another man he did not know, and then at Melarshain. "A moment, please." He turned back to the doorway. "Fulcris? It seems that I have not been invited here to be murdered after all. Come and take this, will you, and find some aide of Melarshain's to go down and tell Frax he can relax his guard."

While five men of wealth sat staring, an armed man Shafralain recognized came into the chamber. He wore a blue tunic with darker bands at hems and over both shoulders. Without so much as a glance at them, he accepted the weapons belt Strick unbuckled, and took it away.

Strick turned to face the seated men, who were staring and exchanging looks of surprise or worse. These five represented a fifth of the wealth of Sanctuary. Strick nodded to them, and sat. He gazed at Melarshain with a mildly questioning look and an expectant air.

"This is Noble Izamel, Strick."

"Hello, Noble Izamel. You probably know why you are here. Melarshain, I have come as asked. Tell me why."

Izamel, a quite old man around whose skull remained only a halo of white hair, chuckled. "I have been told considerable about you, but I had not realized how direct you would be, Spellmaster."

"I am in the company of wealthy men who can afford an afternoon off. I am a working man who can ill afford the luxury."

"You are hardly a poor man, sir."

"I did not say that I was poor. Noble. Since it is you who speaks and not my moneyholder Melarshain who invited me, I repeat to you: I have come as asked. Tell me why."

Melarshain glanced at Renn, but it was Shafralain who made an impatient gesture and rose. He paced as he spoke.

"We are men who love Sanctuary. We believe that you do. We have heard that you consider leaving."

Strick's face was open, his eyes large. He said nothing. He had started the rumor.

"You have done good in Sanctuary; for Sanctuary," Shafralain resumed, when it became obvious that Strick would not comment. "For four of us here directly, but what is more important, for the city. For the people. For us of Ilsig, for Ran kans-even the Beys. We wish you to remain, Strick."

"I am moving into the city from my villa, sir," Izamel said. "The villa is for sale. We wish you to purchase it."

"You... flatter and please me," Strick said, even more quietly than usual. "Too, I appreciate bluntness. Noble Izamel. Yet while I have prospered here, I am sure I cannot afford your villa."

At last Melarshain got himself together. "Strick, what you see here is a new cartel. We have discussed. The five of us love Sanctuary and welcome another who has only her good in mind. We propose to loan you the money to purchase the villa of Noble Izamel, at no interest, and to sell you as well an interest in the glass manufactory two of us own. You may specify the terms."

Strick looked about at them. The ancient aristocracy and wealth of ancient, long-dead Ilsig. Five men who genuinely cared. Cared. These were Ilsigi Wrigglies, to some who did not care. He saw five men with their arms outstretched to a foreigner who had come to act as advocate for the people- for their people.