Stewpo added, "This new Patriarch, though… He has no tolerance at all. He preaches against everyone. Even his own people when they fail to agree that he's the Infallible Voice of God."

"You think something is going to happen?"

"I think the Sonsan mob will try to ran the Brotherhood out The Three Families will sit on their hands. People will get hurt. The Brotherhood will claim that it's all our fault. So the mob will turn on the easy victims. Meanwhile, the Brotherhood will work out an accommodation with the Three Families and nothing will change."

"And you want what from me?"

"Professional advice. On how to defend ourselves. Preferably in a way that keeps the casualties down so the mob doesn't get outraged because we did defend ourselves."

"Good luck with that" Else knew of no way to fight people without making them angrier than they already were. All you could do was hurt them until they were in so much pain that they let the anger go.

"So what's the point of asking me not to pass information on to al-Qarn?" He had seen nothing unusual yet.

"Oh. I thought you understood. We'll fight if we're attacked.

"Again, how does that concern al-Qarn?"

"Our methods might be of interest to the sorcerer."

"Fighting back might not be the smartest thing to do."

The dwarf shrugged. "So be it. Come with me."

THE DEVEDIAN QUARTER WAS QUIET AND DARK. ELSE NOTICED pairs of armed men in its shadows. There was a racket in the direction of the Sawn. At least one large fire illuminated the underbellies of dense, low clouds.

"Looks like rain," Else told Stewpo.

"That would be good. It'd cool tempers."

They traveled barely a quarter mile, which was a large fraction of the width of the Devedian quarter. The quarter was densely populated. It occupied very little ground. Deves had to bury their dead outside the wall, in unhallowed ground set aside by the Church.

The dwarf muttered, "There are spies everywhere."

Two determined-looking youths challenged the dwarf quietly. Stewpo responded. One youth hurried ahead to open the door of what looked like a rich man's home. It had no shops at street level.

The door opened on a narrow hallway illuminated by a single candle. The floor was worn hardwood. Four doors opened off on that central hallway. Each was shut.

At the end of the hall a door opened on a steep cellar stairway. The dwarf needed no guide.

Stewpo stopped at the bottom, said nothing until their guide climbed back up the narrow stairs. Then he opened what appeared to be a derelict clothes cupboard stuffed with castoffs, reached through the clothing, pushed sideways. The back panel moved slightly, men swung away to reveal a darkness behind the cupboard.

Stewpo said, "There isn't anything lurking in this darkness."

"I'll be right behind you," Else said. And, "Have you visited Suriet yourself?"

"No. Have you?”

"Yes. Nowhere is the night so dark as it is there."

The dwarf pushed into the darkness. Which proved to be hanging strips of black felt.

There was no light on the other side of the felt, though. Until Stewpo said something that must have been a password.

An ancient Deve in traditional costume, wearing a huge beard, appeared behind a tiny candle. He said nothing while Stewpo and Else eased past and pushed through another set of felt hangings into a large underground room.

Else suspected the whole neighborhood was rife with tunnels and underground rooms, escape routes and places to hide. He wondered what the Deves had done with the surplus earth.

These Deves had been getting ready for trouble for a long time.

The underground room contained an arsenal and seven wizened, shrunken old men. Stewpo said, "These are the Devedian Elders of Sonsa."

Else noted forests of gray facial fur. These old men might not have seen the real world in a generation. One old man looked like he might have been around, criticizing and complaining, when the Creator was putting together his great, flawed clockwork piece of art.

Else considered them, pigeonholed them, shifted attention to the arsenal.

He was impressed. "There must be a lot of money in the Devedian quarter." He saw fire-throwing weapons from the Eastern Empire and Lucidian crossbows of the sort any fool could use with almost no training. He saw weapons meant for use by specialist troops like grenadiers. He saw amphorae marked as containing deadly poisons suitable for use on arrowheads, spearheads, crossbow bolts, swords, and knives.

It all suggested a ferocious determination.

The Devedians of Sonsa had suffered all they were going to take.

"I'm here," he said. "And I see that you're serious. What do you expect me to do?"

"Nothing if we're not attacked," Stewpo said. "Everything if we are. You'll be our general. You'll be our hope. But no one who isn't in this room now will ever know that a foreign soldier was involved."

Else felt his arm being twisted figuratively.

"Let's see what we have to work with." They did have him at their mercy.

Five minutes later, Else told the elders, "What'll happen is, you'll get yourselves massacred. First time they roll a wizard in on you." Sorcery, even in the hands of its masters, seldom operated on a large scale. In a large battle a single sorcerer was almost irrelevant because he could impact only a tiny fraction of the struggle at a time. But on the close, intimate battleground of a house-to-house struggle, the ability of a sorcerer to crush resistance systematically could be terrifying.

Else asked, "Why do Chaldareans want to attack Devedians?"

One old gray shrub with eyes said, "They say we're a worldwide conspiracy to bring on a permanent darkness."

"I guess that explains why Devedians are everywhere. Never mind that you arrived as slaves. You don't want to confuse true believers with facts." Also, there had been two earlier Devedian diasporas, before the most recent, brought about by the crusades. Those came during the age of the Old Empire.

Stewpo demanded, "What are you driving at?"

"A mob breaks into the Devedian quarter. It runs into military weapons used by determined fighters. What happens next?"

"A lot of pople get killed."

"Confirming the universal suspicion that the Deves are up to no good and need to be wiped out before they overthrow the Church and corrupt every Chaldarean virgin."

There was no point reasoning. These people wanted a fight They did not intend to let good sense get in the way. "What's this?" he asked, having just discovered an instrument of destruction that had no business existing outside Dreanger.

It was a firepowder weapon of smaller bore and longer tube than the falcon that had gone to Andesqueluz. A craftsman had been working on it only moments ago. The smell of hot iron still tainted the air.

The tube had been created by wrapping iron wire around a steel rod, then heating the metal and hammering it. "Is a swordsmith doing this?" It was a stretch but a similar concept underlay the making of the best swords. And the best swordsmiths in Praman Direcia were Devedian.

Would this be something he was supposed to report? The existence of the weapon? Or the fact that there were Deve agents inside er-Rashal's secret workshops? Firepowder weapons had seen field use only rarely. Until the incident of the bogon they had attracted no attention because of their freedom from success.

Stewpo finally confessed, "It's an experimental weapon. I don't pretend to understand it. I'm told it'll give us a way to deal with unfriendly sorcerers."

So. The elders were not blind to reality after all. Their chances would be improved if they could protect themselves against sorcery. Particularly if they were a quarter as wicked as the Church accused them of being.