Vorcan laughed softly. 'You say you await punishment, as if already resigned to your own death.' Her gaze shifted from him towards the crowded terrace. 'Councilman Turban Orr possessed protective magic, yet it availed him naught. Curious.' She seemed to be considering something, then she nodded. 'Your skills are required, Rallick Nom. Accompany me.'

He blinked, then, as she strode towards the garden at the rear of the house, he followed.

Crokus held one hand over Challice's mouth as he lay atop her. With his other he removed his thief's mask. Her eyes widened in recognition. 'If you scream,' Crokus warned in a harsh voice, 'you'll regret it.'

He'd managed to drag her perhaps ten yards into the undergrowth before she tripped him. They'd thrashed about, but he'd won the battle.

'I just want to talk to you,' Crokus said. 'I won't hurt you, Challice, I swear it. Unless you try something, of course. Now, I'm going to remove my hand. Please don't scream.' He tried to read the expression in her eyes, but all he saw was fear. Ashamed, he raised his hand.

She didn't scream, and a moment later Crokus found himself wishing she had. 'Damn you, thief! When my father catches you he'll have you skinned alive! That's if Gorlas doesn't find you first. You try anything with me and he'll have you boiled, slowly—'

Crokus jammed his hand over her mouth again. Skinned? Boiled? 'Who's Gorlas?' he demanded, glaring. 'Some amateur chef? So you did betray me!'

She stared up at him.

He lifted his hand again.

'I didn't betray you,' she said. 'What are you talking about?'

'That murdered house guard. I never did it, but—'

'Of course you didn't. Father hired a Seer. A woman killed that guard, a servant of the Rope's. The Seer was terrified and didn't even stay to be paid! Now get off me, thief.'

He let her go and sat back on the ground. He stared into the trees. 'You didn't betray me? What about Meese? The guards at Uncle Mammot's? The big hunt?'

Challice climbed to her feet and brushed dead leaves from her hide cloak. 'What are you babbling about? I have to get back. Gorlas will be looking for me. He's the first son of House Tholius, in training to be a master duellist. If he sees you with me, there'll be real trouble.'

He looked up at her blankly. 'Wait!' He sprang to his feet. 'Listen, Challice! Forget this Gorlas idiot. Within the year my uncle will introduce us formally. Mammot is a famous writer.'

Challice rolled her eyes. 'Get your feet back on the ground. A writer? Some old man with ink-stained hands who walks into walls – has his house power? Influence? House Tholius has power, influence, everything required. Besides, Gorlas loves me.'