I'd been mingling at the palace for over an hour, and my coin purse was still firmly attached to my belt, much to my disappointment.

Many of the dozens of Lords and Ladies I'd been mingling with had noticed the dangling purse, I was sure of it. I'd seen more than a few pairs of eyes flick towards it, just sitting there on my belt, impossible to ignore. Heck, a blind cutpurse would have been aware of it for all the jingling it was doing.

And it wasn't exactly like I was making it difficult to see, either. Instead of my usual three-quarter cloak, I was wearing a brand new black and silver half-cloak over my left shoulder, which, in addition to looking rather natty and stylish, exposed my entire right side. The very side my coin purse was tied.

I mean, anyone with even modest pickpocketing ability could have lifted it from me at least ten times in the past hour alone. And yet there it was, still attached to my belt, hanging obnoxiously to one side, all but ignored by my peers. Considering that the reception hall contained hundreds of fellow Thief-Lords, a collection of the most accomplished thieves in all of Harael, for a purse to go untouched for as long as mine had . . . well, it was just downright sad.

Of course, I suspected I knew the reason why nobody had stolen it yet, or had even made the attempt.

They were scared.

I surveyed the room for about the thousandth time, sipping at my glass of green wine, a particularly nice Norsk'es forty-seven I'd spotted near the back of the serving table. It had overtones of peach and oak, and the barest hint of lemongrass, and was quite pleasantly refreshing. There were some very nice wines being offered at the palace this year - mostly green and red, but even a few bottles of that new 'white' wine that had become all the rage. I don't really care for white all that much, though I'll occasionally tease Mosond, my cook, by threatening to pick up a bottle or two. I only do it because I love the way he says the word 'abomination'. I think it's the accent.

At first glance, it didn't appear that there was anyone in the elegantly decorated room that I hadn't already exchanged pleasantries with. Then I happened to spy Lord Oxythe standing off in the corner a ways, about forty feet or so, one hand absently smoothing his rather tasteful robes. He and I had always been on reasonable terms from what I could recall, even before the territorial nightmares of the past year.

I caught his eye and gave him a quick head-nod, raising my glass a half-inch in his direction.

He appeared mildly alarmed to have caught my attention, and his eyes quickly darted to one side, as though trying to pretend he hadn't seen me. Then, he seemed to consider for a few seconds, looked back to me, gave me an awkward half-smile, nodded thoughtfully, held up his own wine glass, looked mildly distressed for a few more seconds, and then turned in place and joined a small collection of Lords that were talking a few feet away from him. I took it for the sort of behavior meant to discourage me from coming over and striking up a conversation.

That sort of thing had already happened more than a few times this past hour. I stifled a small sigh, sipping some more of my wine.

Yeah, they were definitely scared of me.

It's not like I'm particularly imposing or anything like that. I'm around five-foot-nine, and keep myself trim, mostly because it's easier to do things like climb rope and scale rock walls when you don't weigh all that much. I'm nowhere near as physically intimidating as some others I could mention.

Take Theo, for instance. The burly, dark-haired monster of a swordsman could probably turn most professional duelists white as a sheet with nothing more than a bored look and a slightly raised eyebrow. He's far more physically frightening than I'll ever be, and yet he wasn't scaring people even half as badly as I was. He hadn't been catching the same sort of frightened, nervous glances that were practically the only kind I'd been seeing since arriving at the palace.

Was that fair? I mean, sure, I was rumored to have bested and killed Lord Redforne, a young man who very well may have been the best swordsman in all of Harael. True, I'd also increased the size of my territory six-fold in a single year, the largest single increase in recent memory, and even appeared to be managing it well. And yes, there were now even a few rumors circulating about how I'd stolen items from the palace itself, right under the noses of the palace guards, just to blow off a little steam. And even though I was the one responsible for sending a certain arrogant Lord Blackstaag fleeing back to his native Garmuth, in addition to single-handedly identifying an elusive thief and putting an end to the most impressive string of burglaries in recent memory, all within the past year, it didn't mean that-

Actually, I suppose there are several very good reasons for my fellow Lords to be frightened of me. Maybe I am scary, now that I stop and think about it. I certainly hadn't given anyone reason to think that I wasn't.

The events of an hour ago probably weren't helping much, either.

We'd just finished sitting through the one court event that all territory-owning Lords and Ladies were required to attend - the yearly bestowing ceremony hosted by Prince Tenarreau. It was when he would inform each Lord in attendance how much of the city's territory they now controlled, which was essentially a reflection of what he thought of you. If Tenarreau felt you were bold or clever enough to handle more territory, he gave it to you . . . usually at the expense of some other territory-owning Lord that he thought less highly of. As a result of this give-and-take process, meting out territory was usually something that the Prince did with a great deal of tact and sensitivity.

Operative word - usually. I guess I'm the exception.

Just one year ago I'd been handed an estate far more massive than anything I'd managed before. It was a small fortune in well developed territory, something that most other Lords would have had trouble managing properly. At the time, it was all but guaranteed that I wouldn't be holding it long.

Now, one year after having that enormous responsibility thrust onto my shoulders, not much about my situation had changed.

Actually, that's not exactly true. Because of the deal I'd forced upon Lord Blackstaag before drumming him out of town, I now had even more territory.

And, as was evident from the looks I'd been getting this past hour, my success was making some of my fellow Lords very, very nervous.

I found that I didn't care much for the feeling, now that I'd had an hour to familiarize myself with it. Oh, I've always had something of a reputation, don't get me wrong. It's much easier to hang on to what you've got if everyone believes you're the sort of person that would make their lives miserable if they tried to take it.

This was different though. There's something I've always found mildly distressing about making people ill at ease, or afraid. Especially people I don't mean to.

Had being a Lord always been like this, and I just hadn't noticed? I swirled the wine in my glass thoughtfully.

Bah. I was being overly sensitive and paranoid. Even a little anxious. I needed to shake melancholy thoughts like those and pay attention to what I was doing. After all, a private meeting with the Prince on his busiest day of the year was not something you took lightly.

I'd sort of assumed that it was going to happen, Prince Tenarreau sending a palace guard over to me before the ceremony to tell me that he wished to speak privately afterward. At last year's ceremony he'd hinted that if I took adequate care of my territory I might learn more about my family's murder, something he'd also hinted he knew something about.

Of course, he hadn't actually said he'd give the information to me once a year had passed. Just the occasional hint here and there. Still, Tenarreau was one of the most talented politicians around, and you don't end up as Prince of Harael by being careless when it comes to the dropping of hints.

I eventually noticed that my wine glass was empty, and took steps to remedy the situation at the nearby wine table. That done, I steeled myself, forced a smile onto my face and began wandering around the room once more, attempting to mingle.

After about fifteen minutes of circling the room and getting worried looks, I gave up on the idea of mingling. Instead, I found a nice spot by the doorway where I could just lean against the wall, watching the other Lords conversing. Not long after, a dark-haired fellow in tidy yet unremarkable clothing made his way over to me.

"Lord Vincent Tucat?" he asked, drawing his heels together the slightest bit and giving me a terse nod. "The Prince will see you."

His voice had startled me a little bit, not because there was anything noteworthy about it, but because it had been such a long time since anyone had spoken aloud to me.

"Exce-" I rasped, coughing explosively, then clearing my throat a second later. (I guess it had been a while since I'd spoken as well.) "Excellent. Would you be so kind as to point the way?"

"I shall take you to him," he said, giving me a deferential nod nearly identical to his first, his words as stiff and crisp as his posture. He was a guardsman, obviously, probably either a Crown Knight or one of the Prince's own personal guards. I wasn't certain why the Prince had felt it necessary to send a plainclothes guard to fetch me - there were dozens of uniformed guards around.

Unless this guy wasn't really a guard, of course. He could be an assassin.

Paranoia's so much fun sometimes.

I found a passing servant I could hand my wine glass to, and prepared myself to leave. It was then, when I was unobtrusively patting myself down, that I realized my coin purse had been stolen from my belt.

About freaking time . . .

Motioning for the dark-haired fellow to hold on for a moment, I reached into my inside vest pocket, trying like mad to keep from grinning like a maniac. My fingers quickly found the small polished wooden stick they were looking for. I pulled it out, inspected it, and then used both hands to break it in two.

There was a muffled 'fwoomp' sound, accompanied by an urgent yelp of surprise. I gave a quick look around the room, and found the source of the noises almost immediately.

Lord Forbeau was dancing around comically, desperately swatting at his right pants pocket, which now had an unnatural amount of thick, dense smoke billowing out of it. The Lords and Ladies nearest him had taken a few steps back, giving him a wide berth as he hopped urgently in place, slapping at his trousers.

Forbeau, huh? I owed Theo five gold - I'd been convinced it was going to be Lord Marcson. I stood and watched the distressed Lord for a few moments, grinning.

Yeah, maybe there was a reason people were afraid of me.

I allowed myself a satisfied chuckle. Turning to my guide, I gave him a quick nod of apology and gestured to the nearby doorway. "After you, sir knight."

He nodded crisply, and we both walked briskly towards the exit I'd indicated, away from the commotion. As we walked, I took the opportunity to inspect how his clothing fell on him, looking for anything that might suggest he was carrying a concealed weapon, or any other sign that I might be walking into a trap. Nothing seemed overly suspicious.

I followed him out of the room, trying to remain as calm as possible.

To my surprise, the nondescript fellow led me in an unexpected direction, down an uncountable number of side hallways, deeper and deeper into the palace. It seemed that every turn we made caused me to be a little more alert, a little more lost . . .

And a little more wary of my escort.

The fellow's every movement seemed just a little too languid, too perfect. He hadn't so much as looked behind him to see if I was following, nor did he appear to be in any great hurry. By the time we'd arrived at an impressive looking set of double-doors, I was half-convinced he was some sort of specially trained knight who had been sent to lure me somewhere isolated and do the Prince's dirty work.

Then, without any sort of warning, he spun in place to face me. His hands went to his sides. I felt a brief flash of panic.

"We've arrived," he said, giving me one last, perfectly identical nod of his head and waving at the doors behind him. "His highness will be with you momentarily."

He turned on his heel and walked briskly down a side hallway I hadn't even noticed, boots clicking against the polished stone of the floor as he rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

Okay, so not an assassin, despite what my rapidly thumping heart was telling me. I stood just outside the doorway, attempting to calm down a tad. I was wound up tighter than a courtier's corset.

Relaxing, deep breaths. This was it - the big meeting with Tenarreau, the one I'd been waiting for all year. It simply wouldn't do to lose my cool, or wind up too nervous to pay proper attention.

I pushed open the large, heavy wooden doors and walked inside.

The place was huge - more massive and spacious than any room I'd ever seen before, including my exercise hall. I'd never been in this room before, and I wasn't exactly a stranger to the palace. I'd been to the throne room dozens of times, the antechamber, the great hall, the petitioner's office, just about everywhere of note. I'd even managed to see the library a couple of times, and hardly anybody gets to see that. But this particular room seemed very different than the others - it was a big, round, vaulted room with golden . . . well, everything.

Gold, gold, and more gold, with the occasional bit of gold thrown in for good measure. No matter where you looked, it seemed like you were staring at different shades of gold. Not 'brown-ish yellow' or 'a gold-ish color' either. Gold. Real gold. You can tell.

There were no chairs, no tables, none of the things that you usually associated with the idea of 'room'. In fact, the huge golden room would have contained nothing but empty space were it not for the massive pillars that lined the walls, and the white marble statues that stood between each of them.

It was the statues that eventually attracted my notice, if only due to the fact that they weren't gold.

Each statue was a perfect, life-sized likeness of a man and horse, each in a slightly different pose. Some were astride their horse, sightless eyes looking stoically toward some nonexistent horizon. Some were holding on to their reins, the horse below rearing up on its hind legs or in various other stages of gallop. A few were standing beside their horse, looking sad or mournful.

Understanding came in a rush.

My eyes widened, and I quickly looked to the other side of the room, opposite where I'd entered. I saw a shallow staircase leading to a very, very impressive golden door. A big, serious-looking golden door. A door that practically screamed the words 'get lost'.

The statues, the pillars, the doors, the obscene amounts of gold leaf . . .

The August Foyer.

Holy crap.

I stood there for a good, long while, trying to piece together why the hell I'd been brought here of all places.

Maybe he'd wanted me unbalanced and scared for our meeting, not knowing what to think. If that was the case, well . . . mission accomplished. But why? Maybe it was a trap. Or perhaps it was a threat, or a dare, or . . .

Maybe I should explain the significance of this particular room.

Every Prince of Harael for the past five-hundred years was represented here, each of the sculptures bearing the likeness of one of the city's former rulers. In addition to that, it also housed the entrance to a vault that protected many of the valuables belonging to the city's current reigning monarch.

We're not talking about piles of gold and silver, or precious stones, or jewel-encrusted scepters, or any trivial nonsense like that. We're talking about important things - stuff that a reigning Prince really doesn't want thieves getting their grubby hands on . . . the kind of items that have extraordinary sentimental value. You know, heirlooms, important documents, politically sensitive material, personal information, even things left behind by previous Princes, all magically and indelibly marked with the personal seal of the current Prince, along with the official seal of Harael.

By reputation, the vault was all but impossible to break into, even without the special detail of royal guards posted outside it every hour of every day. The sheer number of lethal traps and alarms it contained would likely boggle the mind, though nobody knew anything concrete about the vault itself. I mean, look at me - I'd been to the palace dozens of times, and I hadn't even known where this room was located in the first place.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention. If any of those specially marked items belonging to the Prince should ever go missing from that vault, and if someone were to come forward with the missing item claiming to have stolen it, well . . . in addition to enough bells and whistles to wake the entire city, we'd have ourselves a brand new Prince of Harael.

Exciting, huh?

Personally, I'd be hard pressed to think of a less enjoyable job. I'd seen how hard Tenarreau had to work just to keep things going, and even on days where things appeared to be going okay, he pretty much looked like death warmed over. For all the power he wielded, I didn't envy him in the slightest.

Perhaps that was why he'd dragged me here in the first place. Maybe this was a kind of mind-game. Maybe he was attempting to solicit some sympathy from me, since I already had some inkling of the kind of stuff he had to deal with. Or maybe he wanted to humble me a little, taunt me . . . master thief and prankster Vincent Tucat left alone next to the one room where attempting to steal something, anything, could get me killed. Or, hell, maybe he just wanted to ensure we were alone when we talked.

On the other hand, this could be his way of saying, "Take my job, please."

Dear gods . . . I hoped not.

I can't honestly say how long I was in the room for before Tenarreau showed up, but it was long enough for me to have inspected several of the marble statues closely. Long enough for me to begin dreaming up personalities to match the faces, imagining what life must have been like for them, reigning over Harael hundreds of years ago.

"Beautiful work, isn't it?" Tenarreau asked quietly.

I spun around, and saw the minuscule Prince standing not ten feet from me. I hadn't heard him enter the room, seen where he'd come from, or noticed him in any way. Despite being one of the smallest individuals I'd ever met, a mere three-foot-eight, he shouldn't have been able to creep up on me unnoticed.

Sneaky little bastard.

"Yes, they are," I said, determined not to show my surprise. I indicated the one I'd been inspecting with a tilt of my head. "You're familiar with all of them?"

"Of course," he smiled, walking within reach, his eyes wandering over the pale statue before me. "It's part of the job. If I didn't, I'm sure some long-dead Prince of the realm would become quite upset, being forgotten and all. They're quite interesting, actually. Do you know about the horses? How they're significant?"

I shrugged a gesture indicating that I didn't.

"The horse is meant to represent how that Prince died. If they're shown astride a horse that is rearing up on hind legs, they died defending the city. If the horse is on all fours, they died of natural causes." He pointed to the one before us. "Interestingly, if the horse has only his front left leg raised, then that Prince was wounded during battle, but died after the battle was won. If the right leg is so raised, it means something else entirely. Short tail versus long, ears forward or back . . . all of it means something. It's all terribly interesting."

"And what of those Princes standing beside their horses?" I asked.

"They succumbed to treachery," he said, his tone never losing its upbeat quality. "They were murdered, or simply disappeared one day and were never heard from again. Such things happen from time to time. Or they used to."

I nodded, trying to think of some way I could steer this conversation away from antiquated statues, and toward something a little more useful. We stood in silence for a few moments as I considered.

"So, how are things, Tucat?" he asked suddenly, turning and giving me his full attention. "I know we haven't spoken all that much since . . . when was it? Oh yes, that little incident with that one troubled lad. What was his name again?"

Uh-oh.

"Connor, your Highness," I said, becoming a little more alert. It was my experience that Tenarreau had a mind like a fox trap, and wasn't the sort to forget anything. If he was feigning forgetfulness now, there was probably some sort of reason for it.

Embarrassment, perhaps? Getting snubbed by a street urchin probably wasn't something that happened to him every day, after all. And, of course, the things Connor had said to him that day, well . . . let's just say he hadn't exactly been tactful when it came to the subject of the Prince's height. In fact, just repeating some of Connor's comments the next day during a game of cards had caused wine to shoot out of Theo's nose.

I doubted Tenarreau held that whole incident against me, of course, but it was a topic I was hoping to tactfully avoid.

"Connor Jaedemus," the Prince smiled, as though recalling a fond memory. "That's right. That was four . . . no, five months ago. Goodness, has it been five months already?"

"It has, Highness."

"My, time does fly. Well, good then. Yes, five months. How have you been doing?"

"Actually, I was kind of wondering the same thing, Highness. Why don't you tell me?"

Tenarreau beamed up at me. "Why, I would have thought that was obvious - allowing the Blackstaag deal to go through like that, and then smoothing out your borders a bit but keeping the rest of your territory roughly the same size. I'm pleased, Tucat. I couldn't be more pleased, as a matter of fact. After Redforne's unfortunate 'accident', you really stepped up your game, doing everything I hoped you might. More than I'd hoped, honestly. So, yes . . . well, well done. Your father would have been proud."

I nodded respectfully, and my pulse quickened. I also felt a flush of pleasure at his mention of my father, half from the unexpected praise, and half because my family was precisely what I wanted to discuss, and this was an obvious segue to that subject.

This was it, the moment I'd been waiting for. Talking about the last year, how pleased he was, and now mentioning my father, which would inevitably lead him to talk about-

"How is Connor doing, by the way?" asked the Prince, idly inspecting his fingernails. "I'm assuming you two talk from time to time."

My excitement was instantly replaced with dread. He was still all smiles, I noticed, but there was a bit of a harder edge to his tone now.

Making fun of the Prince's size was a huge no-no, and rumors often circulated about the sort of things that happened to Lords who were forgetful of that fact. And here he was, once more bringing up the incident with Connor, where the Prince's height had most definitely come up.

Which meant either he felt I was responsible, or he was pushing my buttons. I considered how to proceed.

Here's a tip when dealing with Tenarreau - you can be as evasive as you want, and dance around the truth for as long as you wish. But never, under any circumstances, tell him an outright lie.

"He seems to be doing well enough, though we haven't spoken in some time," I said, my expression carefully neutral.

There. That was safe. Three hours ago could be considered 'some time', couldn't it?

"Indeed? Well, that must be a bit disappointing for you. I know you're the inquisitive type, and he did appear to be in the possession of some rather clever devices. Still, if you do happen to see him, be sure to mention that the position I offered him is still available, should he want it. No point in letting hard feelings interfere with business, neh?"

"I couldn't agree more, your Highness," I said, relief now washing over me much like disappointment had a moment ago. "And I assure you that his actions were not my idea, nor are they a reflection of the esteem I have for you."

There. That was safe. I mean, I didn't actually say I had esteem for him . . .

"Yes, quite . . . I completely understand." He fixed me with a winning smile. "Well, I suppose we'd better get back to more important matters, hey?"

"Absolutely."

"Excellent. I've always liked your attitude, Tucat. Again, very well done. You've made my job much easier," he said, giving me a nod of gratitude. "Be sure to keep up the good work. I'll have someone escort you back to the banquet."

He turned and began to walk away from me, fingertips idly brushing against one of the columns, as though out of habit.

"It . . . bu-" I stammered.

Tenarreau turned back, giving me an inquisitive look.

"Yes, Tucat?"

"It . . . y- uh, your Highness," I said haltingly, "one year ago today, you gave . . . uh, told me that if I did well . . ."

"Indeed. I said I'd give you words of gratitude for the service you've done for all of Harael. Or something like that, it's hard to remember what I said exactly. I had been put on the spot in front of hundreds of people, after all. Terribly unnerving. Do you know how difficult it is to ad-lib in the middle of something like that, Tucat?"

"Well, it's just . . . you yourself just said that I've done everything you hoped I would. And now," I shifted uncomfortably, "there's still the matter of the, uh . . . the 'words' you promised me."

He raised a single bemused eyebrow at me.

"Haven't I already expressed my gratitude, Tucat? Just now?" he asked quietly. "I could have sworn I had."

I stared.

The Prince was regarding me with a matter-of-fact expression that held just the tiniest bit of smugness. My own expression was . . . well, I don't really know. I was barely even aware of my surroundings just then. The only thing I can remember was that the rational part of my brain, out of an urgent sense of self preservation, was quickly rejecting all of the things that the other parts of my brain was trying to get me to say right at that moment, and was forcibly keeping my mouth shut. I don't even really know how much time passed with me just standing there, staring at him.

Tenarreau had asked for this meeting - he knew what I'd think it was about. He'd arranged for it to be held here, in the August Foyer of all places, and then he went and did something like this? I mean, I knew it was possible he wouldn't give me the information I wanted right away, but to do this . . .

He was screwing with me.

Very deliberately, I told the rational part of my brain to back off, and gave the other bits of my brain a chance to have their say.

"You're sure this is how you want to play it?" I asked, my voice level and dangerous. "I can't change your mind?"

"I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, Tucat," he replied innocently. "I do hope you choose to continue your fine, fine work however. Who knows? Perhaps next year, I'll have twice as many words of gratitude."

I gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Could I ask a favor, your Highness?"

"But of course, Tucat."

"Could you step a few paces to your left?"

He looked puzzled, then looked toward the statue on his left, and finally back to me. His expression didn't change.

"Uh-"

"Just a few seconds, Highness . . . that's all I ask."

Frowning slightly, he took a couple of steps towards the statue, and looked a question at me.

In response, I held up both hands with my thumb and forefinger extended, holding them out at arms length as though they were opposite corners of a window. Closing one eye, I squinted through my outstretched hands at him.

"Sorry about that," I said with an apologetic smile, lowering my arms back to my side. "I just wanted to see how you looked standing beside a horse."

His eyes went hard, and he regarded me. I returned the favor.

Tenarreau eventually gave me a long-suffering and patient smile, one that was little more than a hard, thin line.

"Do try not to touch anything - I'll have someone sent round to escort you back to the party," he said, still managing to sound friendly and upbeat. "Good talking with you, Tucat. We really should do it more often."

He gave me his back, walked over to the entrance, and left through the massive double doors unhurriedly. Soon, the last musty echoes of his departure faded into nothing.

I took stock of how I was doing.

A bit of a throbbing in my temples, black clouds around my vision pulsing with the rhythm of my heartbeat. Shallow breathing with my chest half-full of air. My arms felt shaky, and my fingers felt like they weren't getting enough blood, like I'd slept on my arm funny. Just the fingers though. Odd.

Maybe I needed more air. I took several deep, relaxing breaths.

I'd prepared for this eventuality to some degree, but it did little to dull how it actually felt, being toyed with in this manner. I stood there for a few minutes, just breathing deeply and spending some time getting my emotions under control, thinking calm, soothing thoughts. Thoughts like wondering how much blood Tenarreau's body contained, and how many buckets it might fill. Or how his head might look mounted on a pike, a look of shock and surprise frozen on his face. The images my imagination conjured up made me feel a tiny bit better.

Four armed and unfriendly-looking palace guards eventually appeared at the entrance to the room. They wore full armor along with crisp, businesslike expressions. One began to walk over to me, but I'd started towards the doorway the moment I'd seen them, and he quickly found himself falling into step behind me and to my right. Once I was through the doorway and into the hallway, I realized that the other guards had fallen into step as well, arranging themselves two behind and two in front.

A full 'not taking no for an answer' escort, then.

"Excuse me," I said out loud, not knowing which of them to address, "but instead of the banquet hall, could you escort me to the exit by the carriages please? I think I've had enough celebrating for one day."

The guard in front of me and to my left looked over his shoulder and gave me a quick nod, saying nothing. While not exactly hostile, the look he gave me certainly wasn't friendly.

I made a quick mental list of the things I wanted to avoid right at that moment. I wasn't going to object to my treatment, no matter what occurred. I wasn't going to pull any silly pranks or lift any valuables from their pockets either, for similar reasons. This insult had been calculated, deliberate, and was obviously meant to get my goat. I wasn't about to fall for whatever trap Tenarreau had decided to set for me, or give him any excuse to have me beaten, or imprisoned, or worse.

Additionally, I had no desire for the other Lords to see me being escorted back into their midst like some sort of dangerous prisoner. I had problems enough without throwing more fuel on the Tucat rumor pyre.

We walked down several hallways, turning several times, winding through the labyrinthian maze of passageways and corridors. Without seeming to, I tried to take note of the various turns we were making and commit them to memory.

Before long I found myself in a familiar hallway, and the five of us followed it down to the main palace gates. I noticed that the sun was still hanging fairly high in the sky, and I judged it to be early afternoon. The streets were virtually empty.

The guards, once I'd been escorted about a foot beyond the actual palace gate, turned in unison and marched back into the palace without saying a word. I stood at the top of a magnificent set of well-worn stone stairs, alone.

I waited there for several minutes and considered how I felt, my eyes wandering down the steps and to the street below.

A few optimistic food vendors dotted the street here and there, hoping to take advantage of the increased traffic around the palace. One nearby vendor, a portly fellow with steel-grey hair and shiny red cheeks, was standing next to what appeared to be a pie cart.

I set down the stairs in his direction. His face lit up as I approached, and he stepped forward to greet me, hands idly wringing the front of the white smock he wore.

"Meat pie, my Lord?" he asked in an accent I had trouble placing, but that made his last two words sound like 'moy lourde'. "Baked fresh this mornin', an' still warm."

Smiling, I regarded his cart briefly. "How much?"

"Well, the venison is five copper, and the beef is seven . . . but I've also got a few boar an' chestnut stuffing for one grey mark apiece."

"I see. And how many do you have left?"

He blinked at me. "Uh, I got four venison, nine beef - they been popular lately - and four o' the boar."

"So, that's six grey for the boar and venison together, and six grey three copper for the beef. Twelve grey and change, right?"

His eyes widened fractionally. "Yes my Lord."

"How much for the cart?" I asked.

"My Lord?" he asked, perplexed. "Didn't you just figure it out just now? Twelve grey 'n change, though I'll happily call it twelve even if you're-"

"No, no . . . I'm talking about the cart itself. The pies and the cart together. How much?"

He spent a good portion of the next half-minute or so just standing there, blinking at me. I tried to help carry the conversation forward.

"How much would you say it would cost for you to get a replacement cart as good, or better, than this one here?" I prompted. "Or, if you can't rightly say, then tell me how much this one cost you."

"My Lord . . . it, uh-" He looked at me like I was insane. "You want my cart?"

I nodded, giving him a friendly smile.

He wrung his hands nervously, eyes occasionally glancing at the crest emblazoned on the front of my half-cloak, which depicted two cats sitting back to back. I merely stood there, waiting patiently for him to answer.

"Err . . . I think it, uh-" he stammered, running pudgy, sausage-like fingers through his short brush of grey hair. "I think I paid something like one-twenty grey to Ayer, but I got a deal on account of he owed me from a couple months before, and he told me once that he'd have charged one-eighty if he'd been building it for anyone else, and that it-"

"One eighty then. And the pies would make it about one ninety-three, rounded up, correct?"

He gave a mute nod.

"Done," I said cheerfully, reaching into my left vest pocket, where my real coin purse was located. I counted out and handed over twenty gold marks, which he took from me with a great deal of uncertainty.

"My Lord," he said, staring at the coins he held, "I . . . I have some change if you-"

"Consider it a tip. Now, are we agreed? This cart belongs to me?"

He looked at the coins once more, then gave me a single bewildered nod.

"Excellent," I said, beaming at him.

I leapt over to the cart, landing in a crouch with my fingers gripping the wooden underside. Then, with a bellow of rage and frustration, I lifted upward with everything I had and let the whole thing fly.

The cart was fairly light for its size, and was flipped nearly upside-down. It landed heavily on a top corner, teetered a bit, and then finally collapsed back onto its side with a satisfyingly loud crash. A half dozen utensils skipped onto the street, tinkling musically.

I exhaled out of my nose, considering the toppled cart. The cart's former owner was doing likewise, his eyes even wider than before. After a few moments, a small river of gravy and peas appeared underneath the wooden cart and began slowly trickling its way into the cracks between the stone cobbles of the street.

That had felt good.

Giving a satisfied sigh, I turned to the meat pie vendor. He was still standing there in slack-jawed amazement. He looked at me, then the overturned cart, then back to me again.

I smiled.

"I say, would you be interested in buying a gently used pie cart?" I asked, waving a gesture at it. "Yours for the low price of one grey mark, today only. Sound good?"