"That wouldn't surprise me. What I'm thinking is, if we do find ourselves in the situation the Principatл wants to set up, then the information has to go both ways."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that if I'm going to be your guy on the inside, you're going to be my guy on the inside. I'll need to look good sometimes, too. Unless you think you have to be one way about the whole thing."

"Not me. God forbid. I'm just trying to set myself up with a comfortable life."

"If we do it right, we can write both of us letters of marque."

Ghort chuckled. "You ain't as simple as you let on, are you, Pipe?"

BEFORE THEIR QUARTERS WERE CONVERTED THEY HAD ENjoyed an incarnation at the palace lumber rooms. There were heaps of tattered old books and records left over from the last century. Many dealt with the Truncella family, histories of generations long gone. They were of little use to anyone but Else, who used them to study western manuscript styles.

There were a few actual books mixed into the mess. Else found those educational. In a professional development sort of way.

Those written in the modern vernacular were not interesting. Mainly, they delved into the lives of Chaldarean saints, of which there were hosts. Information useful if you wanted to fit in, but of no practical value otherwise.

The majority of the real books were in Old Brothen, meticulously copied from texts first set down in classical times and interesting now because they opened marvelous windows into pasts never rewritten by the prejudices and ambitions of intervening ages.

Else got help from Bronte Doneto, who enjoyed teaching when he could find no loftier target for his energies. Doneto told Else, "These are copies of texts set down before the Chaldarean Confirmation. They're in the formal Brothen of their time. Which is lucky for us. The formal language didn't change as fast as the vulgate. But these are treatises on technical things. How to manage vineyards and wineries. How to manage latifundia, which were large commercial agricultural enterprises that included fig, olive, and citrus orchards, along with grain and vegetable crops. They weren't big on meat in those days, except for seafood. This one is a treatise on how to construct various engines, from wine and olive presses to artillery and siege machines. This one concerns the conduct of war. These are about the lives of the emperors and key personalities of their times."

Doneto taught Else a smattering of classical Brothen. Else then spent most of his waking hours puzzling his way through the old books.

He set a precedent. He started a fad. Captivity was so dull that even Bo Biogna and Just Plain Joe were ready to do anything to stave off the boredom. Even if that meant learning, with the Principate doing most of the teaching.

"Pig Iron will be next," Else predicted. "And he'll learn faster than the rest of us." He told an old Dreangerean story about teaching a camel to whistle, though he made it a mule instead of a camel.

Armed with what he was learning. Else would be able to spy on the mail of Dreanger's enemies.

Gradually, as time passed, Else allowed himself to be drawn into the Principatл's plans, but according to his own goals.

THE CAPTIVES HAD NO CLEAR NOTION OF THE LENGTH OF THEIR captivity. At least three months, everyone agreed. Some thought it might be as much as five. Else was surprised that they managed to survive without becoming violent. That, likely, was due to how much space was available. And because despair never set in. Bronte Doneto never stopped believing that rescue or ransom was imminent.

Just Plain Joe was content. He told Else, "I never lived this good in my whole life. Look at this. I'm warm. I got plenny a food. I got frien's. I got Pig Iron. An' I'm even learnin' how ta read an' talk right."

Joe's dream did not end anytime soon. Inevitably, eventually, Bronte Doneto began to lose his confidence. Else wondered if there had not been a complete collapse of human nature in Plemenza.

It was impossible that news of Bronte Doneto's whereabouts would not have reached people who cared.

Ghort suggested, "Maybe our boss has a big head. He's a hundred eighty miles from home. Why would anybody recognize him?"

"I'll buy that," Else replied. "Tell you the truth, I don't think most of those Braunknechts knew who he was. Rounding us up was just a job."

That notion did nothing to improve anyone's mood.

Ghort said, "You'd think the Emperor would want a few people to know. He can't profit just by having Doneto locked up."

He could, though. But that was not obvious from inside a prison.

Else said, "Maybe it's what we were talking about, way back. If Hansel has the Principatл, the Collegium is locked up. If the Collegium is locked up, Sublime can't do the crazy stuff he keeps ranting about. Including making life miserable for the Emperor."

"You're probably right, Pipe. But I don't like it. That means Hansel told the world he's got Sublime's boy. And Sublime thinks he can out-stubborn him. Or flat don't care what happens to his cousin."

Bo Biogna organized a pool. Whoever came closest to guessing the exact length of their captivity would collect. Even Bronte Doneto bought in.

Else often wondered why the Doneto he knew was so unlike the Doneto who had been sent into the End of Connec to help Bishop Serifs and enforce Sublime V's will.

"Why not ask?" Ghort queried when Else posed the question. "What I'm wondering is, whatever happened to the bishop's pretty boy?"

Yes. Osa Stile vanished the day they reached Plemenza. Perhaps the Grail Emperor had found new work for him.

Else gathered his daring and, during a card game, did ask Principatл Doneto why his character seemed to have changed dramatically.

"You aren't even a little slow, are you, Hecht? You notice things."

"I'm a professional soldier, sir. I like to understand the people I work for. These days you aren't anything like the legate we heard about when we first got to Antieux."

"You're right, Hecht. But remember, the job isn't the man. I was fulfilling a role on behalf of the Patriarch. A role hung on me by Bishop Serifs, may that fat, corrupt moron roast in Hell for the harm he did the Church."

ONE DAY SOMEONE CAME WHO WAS NOT THE ONE SILENT SERvant they always saw. The newcomer scanned the nineteen prisoners. The seventeen who were not too sick crowded toward him. He indicated a man. "You. Come with me."

He had chosen Bo Biogna. Bo did not want to go. But the new face had not come alone. Three armed men surrounded Bo. They did not look reluctant to employ the tools of their trade.

"Go on, Bo," Else said. "If they intended to do anything awful they would've already done it to save on feeding us."

Else told Ghort, "I hope I'm right," once Bo left.

"Made sense to me. You know they plan to use us somehow."

Bo Biogna was gone less than fifteen minutes. The men who returned him took another captive away.

"Well?" Ghort asked Biogna. Everyone able crowded around. Even Bronte Doneto positioned himself to hear Biogna's report.

"I don't know. They took me down the hall to this room with nothin' in it but this long table wit' four guys who asked me questions. That they didn't seem to give a shit about the answers."

"What sort of questions?" Else asked.

"Who was I, what was my job, how did I hook up wit' the Patriarch's army."

"Why would they want to know that instead of something more operational?"

"Yeah, well, they asked a bunch of questions about all kinds of shit. Especially about that Brotherhood sorcerer. That Grade Drocker. An' about what happened in the Connec. Only like not about what, exactly, but more like why an' how. An' who really stirred things up. I think they gave up on me pretty quick on account of they realized that I'm a nobody who don't know nothin' about nothin'."