'It's not stone at all,' the woman said, her face free of the anguish that had twisted it a moment before. 'It's wood.' She rose and faced Kalam. 'And it's growing.'

A suspicion came to Paran. 'Girl, do you remember me? Do you know who I am?'

She frowned at him, then shook her head. 'I know Kalam,' she said. 'He's an old friend, I think.'

The assassin choked on something, then coughed loudly, wagging his head.

The woman pointed at the wooden block. 'See? It's growing again.'

Both men looked. A haze blurred the block's edges, swelling and shifting, then vanished, yet it was clear to Paran that the thing was now bigger.

'It has roots,' the woman added.

Paran shook himself. 'Corporal? Remain here with the girl. I won't be long.' He sheathed his sword and left the glade. After winding through the undergrowth for a minute, he came to its edge and looked out on a terrace crowded with guests. A low-walled fountain rose from the paving stones to his left, encircled by marble pillars spaced about a yard apart.

The captain saw that Whiskeyjack and the squad had arrayed themselves in a rough line a dozen feet from the garden's edge, facing the terrace. They looked tense. Paran found a dead branch and snapped it in half.

At the sound all six men turned. The captain pointed at Whiskeyjack and Mallet, then stepped back between the trees. The sergeant whispered something to Quick Ben. Then he collected the healer and they came over.

Paran pulled Whiskeyjack close. 'Kalam's found Sorry, and something else besides,' he said. 'The girl's not all there, Sergeant, and I don't think it's an act. One minute she remembers killing me, the next she doesn't. And she's got it into her head right now that Kalam's an old friend.'

Mallet grunted.

After a brief glance back at the party, Whiskeyjack asked, 'So what's this "something else"?'

'I'm not sure, but it's ugly.'

'All right.' The sergeant sighed. 'Go with the captain, Mallet. Take a look at Sorry. Any contact from the Assassins' Guild yet?' he asked Paran.

'No.'

'Then we move soon,' Whiskeyjack said. 'We let Fiddler and Hedge loose. Bring Kalam when you come back, Mallet. We need to talk.'

Rallick found his path unobstructed as he moved across the central chamber towards the front doors. Faces turned to him and conversations fell away, rising again as he passed. A bone-deep weariness gripped the assassin, more than could be accounted for by the blood lost to a wound already healed. The malaise gripping him was emotional.

He paused at seeing Kruppe rising from a chair, mask dangling from one plump hand. The man's face was sheathed in sweat and there was fear in his eyes.

'You've a right to be terrified,' Rallick said, approaching him. 'If I'd known you'd be here—'

'Silence!' Kruppe snapped. 'Kruppe must think!'

The assassin scowled but said nothing. He'd never before seen Kruppe without his usual affable façade, and the sight of him so perturbed made Rallick profoundly uneasy.