being respectable.'
'Respectable's not worth a whit without money. How rich?'
'A treasury at your command, Therin. Is that loot enough for you?'
'Aye. If you've got a plan, I'll go along with being rich.' Therin still looked dubious. 'Does your plan intend taking on this lich?'
Pinch looked very solemn until the worst fears of the others confirmed themselves in their looks. Only then did he break into a grin. 'That would be a fool's task- so we'll let fools do that for us.'
'So what's our plan?' Sprite asked, signaling his support of the enterprise. The halfling never could resist an adventure, no matter how rash.
Pinch studied the others to make sure they were all in before he went on. Their eyes told it clear: a bright hunger for adventure, revenge on all who'd looked down on them, but, most of all, money.
'The best of all plans-quick wit and light step. I'm going to shake the family tree and we'll see what falls.'
'It's a thin plan for hanging our lives on, Pinch.' Therin sounded less than confident.
'It was as much of a plan as I had for getting you off the gallows in Elturel-and that worked, didn't it, or you wouldn't be here complaining, you over-learned ogre,' Pinch countered.
The big Gur rubbed at the rope-scar under his scarf with self-conscious discomfort. To say he'd been rescued from the gallows wasn't quite honest, though he had to allow that Pinch had rescued him. It was that business of being hanged and then saved that left Therin with nightmares. 'It's just I don't relish dying again, Pinch.'
'Then be smart and you won't.' There was little sympathy in Pinch's words, and seeing that the younger man remained sullen, the regulator poured drinks around. 'Here's what-we'll not take this alone. I've got a mind we should have some allies, though they won't be knowing it. Maeve, I want to you visit the priestess Lissa. Inform her I've tracked down her thief and that she should stand ready to come at my word if she wants to catch him.'
'Me, Pinch? I'm not particular cunning with words.'
'Don't worry, the lass is gullible. You'll make a touching plea, I'm sure.
'Therin, I've got a job with profit for you. Mind, it's going to take a light touch. Go to Iron-Biter-'
'Who?'
'That ox-head of a dwarf who spins in Vargo's orbit. Here's the charm: Tell him he's been tricked, that the real regalia ain't in the tower, but you can lead him to it. Of course, you'll want money.'
'Of course, but where am I supposed to lead this prize ass?'
'You'll have to wait for Sprite to show you.'
'Me?'
'Aye, you.' The regulator stopped to wrap a bit of cloth around his still-bleeding thumb. 'It's upon you to give the signal. Now, get away with your business you two.' With a sharp nod he urged Maeve and Therin toward the door.
Just as he was leaving, Therin turned back for one last question. 'What if we don't show?'
'Then sure as there's gods in the heavens, there'll be not a whit of loot for any of us, the master rogue promised. 'Don't fail if you want your cut.'
Therin grunted in sour understanding and was on his way.
'What about me, Pinch?' Sprite asked after he was sure the door to the street was closed.
'Two jobs for you, old friend.' The words were soft, as if invisible ears might try to overhear. 'First, you must follow Cleedis when he takes me to my rendezvous. Learn the way so you can guide the others to me.'
'What's the other?'
Pinch tapped his brow. 'Keep a weather eye on our fine Gur. I don't trust him. He's like to sell us all-me in particular-if Iron-Biter makes the right price.'
'So why in the hells did you send him to Iron-Biter?'
'Fishing takes the right bait and the right hook. I'm the bait. Therin's the hook. Iron-Biter's a fool, but he's not gullible. Who's going to convince him-Maeve, playing a part, or Therin, who just might get it into his head to sell us cheap?'
Sprite stared into the dregs of his cup. 'I'd feel better if the dice were more to our favor. It's a risky game you're playing.'
Pinch poured them both another round. 'Don't be so glum. We either live or we die. What other kind of game is there?'
17
Pinch swept through the palace halls, leaving a trail of whispers and arched brows in his wake. The regulator paid them no mind. It wasn't how he was dressed, which was a like a proper lord, or the way he passed by. No longer did he casually slouch through the chambers like a bemused man observing the ways of some alien class. No-now he strode through upright and boldly with every sense of possession. He was transformed and carried himself confidently, absolute in the knowledge that he had a place here in his own right and not by the noblesse oblige of others.
These things did not set tongues wagging, although they were noticed and added fuel to the speculation. No, that wasn't what Pinch's sharp ears picked up. It was his very presence at all that set the courtiers abuzz. Clearly, word had gotten around-no doubt from Iron-Biter-that he was missing and not expected to return. It pleased the rogue no end that his entry made such a spectacular impression. Now was not the time to be subtle. He wanted everyone to know that he had returned; the consternation it would rouse in certain quarters was only to his advantage.
It was late in the afternoon, and the palace was teeming with lord, ladies, pages, and squires. Tomorrow was the Festival of Wealth, which alone would have been enough to fill the palace. Tomorrow was a day more than that, though. The Red Priests had declared that day auspicious for the Rite of Ascendancy. Pinch was certain Vargo had played the astrologer for this choice. With Iron-Biter's assurance that Pinch had been foiled, Vargo would want to act quickly before the stakes changed.
Consequently, anyone who hoped to be anything- which meant everyone-had descended on the palace. Counts, knights, poets, and merchants hovered in the halls or held court in the salons. Like gamblers at the track, the courtiers flitted from one faction to the next, trying to guess the outcome of the race. No man wanted to side with the losing party, but no one wanted to look indecisive either.
Friends were to be rewarded, enemies bought or crushed, and neutrals ignored. That was the way of these things.
It amused Pinch to read the faces of those around him, their plots so easily exposed in the astonishment of seeing him. Pinch's appearance upset the odds. Suddenly the Lord Chamberlain's faction wasn't so weak and hopeless as it had been moments before. Everyone knew Cleedis had brought Pinch back to Ankhapur, but no one could say for sure why. Only Iron-Biter had any clue, and even he did not know the whole of it.
Pinch threaded his way through the crowded salons, passing through the circles of courtiers. First there were the revelers, blissfully dumb of the greater stakes that tomorrow held. Dressed in their festival finery, these vain lackwits came to drink, to dance, and to be seen. Pinch perused them with the eye of a poultry buyer at market, making professional note of their plumage and purses. In his other life, these would have been the targets of his trade. Even now he looked at his stiff hand and yearned for a chance to put himself to the test.
Reluctantly he plunged into the next layer, where the ladies danced in stately lines while their lords hovered in knots of casually earnest discussion. This was the realm of hopefuls, those who conspired to advance by guessing the right horse. They eyed Pinch with suspicion and lust, eager to know what he portended, afraid to approach lest they be branded his ally. There was no comparison for them in Pinch's previous life; they had been as far from his reach as the moon and stars. Now he was as much above them and warranted them less concern than he had the revelers of moments before.
The third circle, the core of it all, was his goal. There, in those salons deepest from the city, swaddled in the
