what happened to their men.'
Ghort eyed Else's head. 'You going to do something about your hair?'
'What? Why? Like what?'
'Half the nasty folks in Brothe are looking for big foreigners with long blond hair. Two were involved in the debacle you just mentioned. If they get close and bother to think, they'll know you aren't who they're looking for. But suppose you run into idiots?'
'Well. Now I know why I keep getting those evil looks.'
'Those are probably just because you're you.'
'No doubt. I have work to do. I'll see you sometime.'
For a moment Ghort looked hurt. 'Yeah. Later.'
'Say hi to Bo and Joe. And Pig Iron.'
'Yeah.'
Else got away before Ghort could delay him. Principatй Doneto was not going to be pleased. He had given Ghort very little about the Bruglioni and nothing about the Arniena.
Let the man stew.
Else wandered aimlessly. Just in case. No point leading Ghort to one of his contacts. He listened to people. He heard little but everyday arguments, whining, complaints and indifference to squabbles on high. The politics that mattered at street level involved next meals. And Colors.
There was a great deal of anticipation of something called the Summer Invitational Games, when chariot racing teams from throughout Chaldarean Firaldia would participate in a huge elimination contest. The Colors would be out in strength, then.
Else's ramble took him to the south bank of the Teragi River, half a mile above the place where Father Obilade had been introduced to the Sacred Flood. In pre-Chaldarean times the river had been considered a goddess in its own right, harboring within her bosom a host of spirits, some quite wicked, all of which had to be appeased. The goddess was gone, now, but not so all of the dark sprites and nymphs and water horses who had attended her.
The Brothen ancients had done well, coming to terms with the Instrumentalities of the Night. The entire waterfront had been built up in a way that revealed ages of complete confidence that the river would not get out of control. Embankments constructed of huge blocks of dressed stone rose high enough that the water level could rise another twenty-five feet before there was a need to worry.
Else strolled downriver, along the top of the embankment, admiring the work of the ancient engineers. He was confident today's Brothens couldn't manage anything like this, if only for lack of will and energy. He had sensed a paucity of those commodities in the modern tribe.
He was impressed by the bridges, both in their number and their engineering. Each was a monument likely to last forever. And there was nowhere one had to walk more than a third of a mile to make a crossing. Above Castella dollas Pontellas, as it turned out.
The whole would have been immensely picturesque. Without the swarms of people and animals and vehicles clattering the picture.
Else settled himself on a stone block atop the embankment, at a point where he could see Krois on its stone- faced island, the Castella dollas Pontellas and its six little bridges arching over an arm of the Teragi that served as its moat, and farther left, the immense, massive dignity of the Chiaro Palace, the spiritual heart of the Episcopal strain of Chaldareanism. His was a vantage sought by many. When Else sat down he did so amongst a dozen fellow spectators who were besieged by street vendors selling purported holy souvenirs, hot sausages, and sweet cakes.
Sitting there, those three grand structures so close he could make out the streaks of pigeon droppings down their dun flanks, Else first felt some awe of western civilization. What were these buildings but the greatest ghosts of the glory that had been?
The fortress Krois, out in the midst of the flood, had stood there for twelve centuries. It began construction before the birth of the oldest of the Chaldarean founders. It had been decreed by a Brothen emperor uninterested in becoming the victim of the mob, after that had befallen several of his most immediate predecessors. A later emperor, in the end days of the Old Empire, bequeathed Krois to me Church.
It was the first legacy of the thousands responsible for creating the mad hodgepodge of states constituting today's Firaldia.
Else watched the boats and barges go up and down, enjoying the subtle changes in the view as the sun limped westward and the light altered, growing more golden.
'Piper Hecht?'
Else started, spun toward the unexpected voice, noting that the other sightseers had disappeared.
'Sainted Eis,' somebody growled. “This asshole is jumpy.'
Else faced four armed men, one of whom he recognized. 'Sergeant Bechter? You scared the shit out of me, sneaking up like that. So. You were lucky. You got out with Drocker?'
'I'm a survivor. Evidently, you are, too.'
'I got out with Principatй Doneto. Frying pan to the fire kind of thing. We got snapped up by Hansel's men in Ormienden, somewhere up there. They kept us locked up in Plemenza until Sublime decided to ransom his cousin. What's up?'
'Reports came in about a blond foreigner watching the Castella. They sent us to check it out.'
'I was just enjoying the view. I mean, look at that. What's going on? Why the paranoia?'
'How long have you been here? In Brothe, not on the rock.'
“Ten, twelve days. It kind of runs together. Today was my first chance to get out on my own. I was just relaxing and watching the barges go by and feeling homesick. What's up?'
'Did you hear about the Brothers getting murdered a while back?'
Else lifted himself back up onto the block of stone. 'Join me in my parlor, here. Swap lies with me about all the fun we had putting down the heretics in the Connec.'
Bechter got the idea. He came and sat. 'You do know what's going on, don't you?'
'Not really. Local politics are too twisted. I don't see much that makes sense.'
'Here's one for old time's sake, Hecht. Let's don't bullshit each other.'
'Ouch! This doesn't sound good at all.'
'Oh, it's gooder for you than it would've been if you were the guy we were hoping you'd be.'
Else glanced back. 'Do they have to hover? Can't we talk, just you and me?'
After consideration, Bechter said, 'I'll take a chance on you, Hecht.'
Else got Paludan Bruglioni and Gervase Saluda to see him when he returned to the Bruglioni citadel. 'I think I've managed a coup. I hope you weren't so set on a war that you'll be angry with me.'
“Talk to me,' Paludan said. He was in a foul mood, his supposed natural state.
'I ran into somebody I knew from the Connecten campaign. He belongs to the Brotherhood of War. We talked. I made him understand what the Bruglioni think happened the night Rodrigo Cologni was kidnapped.'
Paludan seemed puzzled, Gervase, amazed. 'Go on, miracle worker.' Was he sarcastic or serious?
'Here's the thing.' Else explained what he had done in boring detail, without mentioning Pinkus Ghort 'Bechter is a good man, despite his affiliation. He's trustworthy. I told him the truth as seen from here. He told me theirs. Turns out the big question troubling his bunch is how to lay hands on some mysterious blond foreigners. They thought the Bruglioni might be hiding the outlanders. I set Becker straight. He believed me because he knew me from the Connec.'
Both Paludan and Gervase scowled.
Else told them, 'You'll recall that I suggested giving up the men you'd hired.'
Gervase snarled, 'The point, Hecht.'
'The Brotherhood just wants those two men. If you could tell them more about those two, there'd be peace between the Brotherhood and the Bruglioni.'
'And the Lord God Himself shall step down from Heaven and kiss each of us upon the lips — before he rolls us
