When Skif had gotten everything he thought he could out of Londer, he took the knife away from the man’s throat. Londer started to babble; an abrupt gesture with the knife shut him up again, and Skif thrust a bottle made from a small gourd at him.

“Drink it,” he ordered.

Londer ’s eyes bulged. “Y’wouldn’t poison me—”

“Oh, get shut,” Skif snapped, exasperated. “I’d be ‘shamed to count ye as a kill. ’Tis poppy, fool. I’ve got no time t’ tie ye up an’ gag ye, even if I could stummack touchin’ ye. Now drink!”

Londer pulled the cork with his teeth and sucked down the contents of the bottle; Skif made him open his mouth wide to be sure he actually had swallowed it, and wasn’t holding it. Then he sat back and waited, knowing that it was going to take longer for the drug to take effect on the man because of Londer’s fear counteracting it. Meanwhile, his uncle just stared at him, occasionally venturing a timid question that Skif did not deign to answer. If he really was someone out to discover the whereabouts of a young sister, he’d spend no more time on Londer than he had to, and tempting as it was to pay back everything he owed Londer in the way of misery, such torment would not have been in keeping with his assumed role.

And it might give Londer a clue to his real identity.

So he stayed quiet, focusing what he hoped was a menacing gaze on the man, until at long, long last, Londer ’s eyelids drooped and dropped, his trembling stopped, all his muscles went slack, and the drug took him over.

Only then did Skif leave the room, taking the bottle with him.

His exit via the garret room and the drainpipe was uneventful, as was his exchange of clothing in the stable and his escape from that part of town. It almost seemed as if there was a good spirit watching over him and smoothing his way.

He said as much to Cymry, once they were up in among the mansions of the great and powerful.

:I wish you’d gotten more information, then,: she replied ruefully. :I hate to think that much good luck was wasted on essentially trivial knowledge.:

“Not as trivial as y’might think,” he replied thoughtfully, for a new plan was beginning to take shape in his mind. It was a plan that was fraught with risk, but it might be worth it.

And he was not going to carry out this one alone. . . .

“Out late, aren’t you, Trainee?” said a voice at his stirrup, startling him. He looked down to discover that Cymry had brought him to the little gate in the Palace walls used by all the Trainees on legitimate business, and the Gate Guard was looking up at him with a hint of suspicion.