If I Pay Thee Not In Gold

• Chapter 3

Xylina woke late the next morning, with sun beaming down onto the pale brown, hard-packed dirt of the court outside her room. She felt curiously at peace for the first time since Marcus had died. And why not, after all?

Stretching her arms over her head and enjoying the cool, silken softness of her conjured bed-coverings against her skin, she felt as if some huge burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Or as if she had been ill for a long time, and suddenly woke up healed.

This morning could not possibly have been more different from yesterday morning. She had passed her woman-trial: she was a full woman, and a full citizen. She had a pouch full of coins, she had a slave of her own.

Faro was a good man; that was what was so unbelievable, like something out of a fable. Another like Marcus-someone she could trust to advise her. They had begun as enemies, the deadliest of enemies, but within the course of a day and a night, they had somehow become allies, even friends.

Last night, when she had come so close to finally ending her miserable life, he had convinced her that her life was only beginning. He was the first person ever to show any concern for her since Marcus had died; the first to show her that she had a future. Granted-as an arena slave, his life was tied to hers, and he had a vested interest in keeping her from killing herself. But there was something more there- a concern that had surprised her, for she had not thought anyone would ever care whether she lived or died again. She had offered to free him, and he had refused: that was a key test. This was the kind of empathy, the kind of friendship, she had with Marcus.

And he had convinced her, with hours of careful conversation and persuasion, that Marcus had not "left" her. Her friend had not abandoned her-not of his own will, at any rate. He pulled out of her memory many recollections of her friend and slave's despair at knowing his days were numbered-and recollections of how he had tried to prepare her for a life alone. Things she had totally forgotten, lost as she was in her own loneliness. Things she was ashamed that she had forgotten.

Where he had gotten this talent for counseling, she had no idea. Perhaps the schooling for scribes included advice on managing difficult mistresses. She was not going to argue about the source, not when it gave her so much more interest in life.

She finally rose, conjured herself a new chiton to pin about herself, then, feeling more interested in how she looked than she had in months, conjured a hot bath for herself. She heard Faro walking about in the courtyard, but the sound was more soothing than disturbing.

Once bathed, she banished her conjuration, which vanished without leaving even a damp spot. A distinct advantage over real water and soap, she thought with a faint smile.

She pinned her newly-conjured length of fabric at her shoulders, and tied it at her waist with another, narrower band, both in shades of blue. Then she stepped out into the courtyard, to see what Faro was up to.

Somewhat to her surprise, she found him examining her yard in minute detail, even pushing one of the two wooden crates she used as a chair up to the shorter wall and peering over it.

"Have you eaten?" she asked, concerned that he had been waiting all this time for her to appear. "I did give you permission to take care of your own meals, didn't I?"

He jumped down from the crate and dusted his hands.

"Yes, mistress, you did, and I have," he replied. It seemed to her, in the aftermath of last night's purging, that his face seemed much more relaxed and open. Probably a good night's sleep had done him as much good as it had her.

So he had eaten. Well, that was a relief. She went to the cupboard-box and extracted the end of a loaf and some cheese for her own meal, then took a cup to pump out some water. Faro intercepted her, taking the cup, pumping the water, and giving her the cup back, full. She took it, with a brief nod of thanks-it had been a very long time since she'd had a slave; having things done for her felt rather odd.

"What were you doing?" she asked, curiously.

"I was examining your property, mistress," he told her, as she seated herself on the other crate and began nibbling her food.

"Do you have any idea of what it might be worth?" she asked. "You did suggest that I should sell it."

"I am not an expert," he replied, standing between her and the sun, so that he was haloed by it. She realized that he was doing that to keep the slanting sunbeams out of her eyes: another little slave service. Probably he didn't realize how the light enhanced him.

"Well, I know that, but you are a trained scribe," she said, with gentle logic. "A scribe has to do many things, at least, that's what I remember. Surely you can give me a general idea."

To her pleased surprise, he chuckled a little. "That is true," he admitted. "And I do have some ideas."

She leaned forward with interest and began to question him closely, and as what he told her gave her some ideas of her own, she asked his advice on them as well. She couldn't help but notice how her interest and enthusiasm pleased and intrigued him. Was she that different a mistress from what he had expected? She was only trying to emulate how she recalled her mother talking with Marcus, who had been her most trusted advisor.

When they had formed a plan about how to dispose of the house, she began asking his advice on other matters in which she was ignorant-for a trained scribe was much more than simply a secretary for his mistress. He often handled household accounts and management, and he was frequently privy to many of her political and personal secrets. She distinctly remembered Marcus filling those functions for her mother. And now, in the person of Faro, she had someone who could fill them for her.

She shook her head, still bemused by it all. "Oh, Faro, I'm glad I chose you to fight in the arena. If, as you say, I was fated to win, you were the best possible prize I could have won. I was incredibly lucky-because I wasn't thinking of life after the match. I thought there wouldn't be any. What would I have done with one of those other brutes?"

Faro nodded. "I suspect my fortune matches yours. I, too, was not thinking of a life such as this. You are better than I deserve."

She decided not to debate that. Who ever heard of a mistress exchanging compliments with her slave? "I hope it is a sign that my family's curse is over, or was false. I never really believed in it, yet somehow I couldn't quite disbelieve either."

He looked oddly doubtful. "There are curses, and there are curses," he said. "Be careful, mistress."

Later, she sent him out to the bazaar for food for the evening's meal and for breakfast on the morrow, and she felt rather ashamed of having to entrust that to him. "This is below you," she confessed, looking up at his eyes, acutely aware how tiny she was next to him. So strange; hard to believe that she had defeated him, and yet she had. "I wish I had someone else to send to do this."

"You will," he said, firmly. "And in the meantime, I am pleased to serve you this way."

And with that, he took the pouch of coins, and left her alone for the first time this day.

She surveyed her tiny home with new eyes, trying to think of it, not as a home, but as something else. While most of the quarter's inhabitants seemed content to go all the way to the bazaar for what they needed, she had the feeling that they might well welcome something like a small shop here, with foodstuffs-or a bakery. Or perhaps a tavern? That had a great deal of potential, for the last tavern in this quarter had closed when the freedmen expanded their quarter, and bought the building that had housed it.

By the time Faro returned, the bed-clothing that she had conjured the night before had vanished, but she had already produced replacements. They shared a companionable meal, and continued their plotting until after moon-rise, and Xylina went to bed well contented. For the first time in a long while, she slept peacefully and without distressing dreams.

The next day was spent in looking for a new home-and it took the entire day, even after eliminating the poorer and wealthier quarters. She and Faro ate sausage-rolls in the bazaar, without ever going home, until it grew too dark to look any more. They returned home, footsore but content. She conjured new bed-clothing and a foot-bath for each of them, and they both retired to bed. She was so weary she hardly remembered her head touching the pillow. She realized that she felt safe now, because of Faro's presence, and that was another unexpected blessing. It meant that she could sleep relaxed instead of nervous.

In the morning, she bathed and dressed herself with especial care. She could not conceal the fact that she had conjured her clothing, but she could conjure something that was as much like what her mother had worn as she could remember. She even dressed her hair in the single, long braid her mother had favored. Thus dressed, as carefully as if she were once again going into combat, she left the house with Faro and headed into the more prosperous quarters of the city.

Then she smiled to herself. Dressing for combat? She had fought naked! Nevertheless, she liked the notion. She was no longer facing arena combat, but the purchase of a house was likely to entail combat-like negotiations.

Acting on Faro's advice, Xylina went to an information-monger at the bazaar and for a tiny coin bought information on property brokers. As the info-monger recited the kind of property they handled and who their latest clients were, she watched Faro out of the corner of her eye. He shook his head, very subtly, when a broker was not what they were looking for.

At length though, he nodded. She memorized that brokers address, and the process continued.

They ended up with three brokers who seemed likely, and since one was very close to the bazaar, Xylina decided to visit her that moment. With Faro following behind, at the proper, respectful distance, she sought out the address.

As a house, she and Faro had decided that her property was not worth much-but as the site for a small business, say a shop selling staples like flour and salt, or a bakery, or even a tiny tavern, in a neighborhood which had none of these things, it might be worth more. The fact that it had its own pump and well made it much more valuable as a commercial property. The outer room and the forecourt could be made into the shop or tavern, and the rear into living quarters for a woman and two or three slaves. Or, even more likely, it could be run completely by slaves, and the woman who owned them and the property need not set foot there except to collect the profits.

She would not have the connections in the court to gain permission to change her house from a living-place to a residence and commercial establishment. Someone else might. If she found the right broker, she might even be able to trade the value of the place as initial payment on a better home without actually having to sell it. That was what Faro thought, and it seemed worth the trial. What could they lose? The worst that could happen would be that the broker wasn't interested in such a proposal. The best, that she would want it immediately. And it wasn't as if they had a great deal to move. In fact, there wasn't anything that Faro couldn't carry to a new establishment in one trip. All else was conjuration.

The broker, one Antione Sibelle, recognized her immediately, as soon as she entered the woman's office. That was something she had not expected.

"By the stars, it's Xylina, isn't it? The young woman who bested that monster in the arena a few days ago?" The middle-aged broker rose from behind her desk to give Xylina the handclasp of full citizens, as her secretary remained impassively at his own desk in an unobtrusive corner. Xylina envied her the smooth linen tunic and breeches she wore, the same blue as her own outfit, but obviously not conjured. Other than that, the broker was past her prime, but still fit; her neat, short hair about half gray and half brown, and the hand that took Xylina's was the hand of a worker, not soft, but strong.

The office was a very pleasant place. It was paved with blue and white tiles, and with plastered walls that had been painted with murals of girls exercising and playing games in a garden. It was well-ventilated by a window which took up nearly the entire wall that looked out onto a garden . It was cool, and comfortable, and faintly scented with flowers from the garden. It held the brokers desk, a case holding rolled documents behind that desk, a chair for the broker and one for her desk, and a smaller desk and chair in the corner for the broker's slave-scribe.

One day, perhaps, Xylina would have an office like this, and Faro would have a comfortable desk of his own from which to oversee her business.

"A thousand congratulations, Xylina-" she continued effusively. Her clasp was firm and dry; it felt honest, at least. "My goodness, people are still talking about you! And you are Elibet Harmonia's daughter, aren't you?" At Xylina's nod, she smiled. "Ah, I thought so! Tragic, that earthquake-your mother wasn't the only loss, though she was sorely missed. You have her look about you, the hair especially, but I'm sure you know that."

Xylina tried not to show her feeling of sudden disorientation, but it was a difficult task. She hadn't expected this total stranger to be privy to her own past-or at least, part of it. Antione spoke of her mother as if she had known her personally. That was more than Xylina could say, in many ways. She had only observed her mother as a child; this woman had known her as one adult knows another.

"Here, come, take a seat-" the broker said, directing her to the armless chair before the simple wooden desk. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"I'd like to sell my house and purchase something in either the Moonflower or the Blue Lantern quarters," she said carefully. She and Faro had paced the entire city yesterday after all, she with an eye to the property itself, and he talking to the household slaves and getting a feel for what the relative prices were in the area. It was in those two quarters-one old and currently out of fashion, one that was brand-new, built to hold the people who had been displaced by those whose houses had been bought by the freedmen, and who had not yet gained a fashionable status-they found properties that seemed to match their requirements.

"As it happens, I am handling homes in both those districts," Antione replied, her brown eyes shrewd and knowing. "You have a good eye for value, Xylina; I consider both those quarters to be undervalued at the moment. Now, what have you to offer me?"

Now came the moment of truth. How persuasive could she be? She would not admit that her home had once been a stable; it no longer looked as if it had housed horses. "At the moment," she admitted, "my property is very modest. I have my own house-which is at the edge of the Wall, in the Glass Fountain quarter. It is not a very big house, but it does have some potential, I think."

Here she outlined what she and Faro had discussed: how it could be converted to a variety of businesses, and which businesses the quarter lacked. Antione pursed her lips thoughtfully and nodded, her graying curls bobbing over her broad forehead, as she followed Xylina's arguments.

"If one put in any kind of commercial establishment one would have to get the permission of the Queen or her council first," Antione pointed out. "But-that is really a small matter, and I suspect it could be done at the level of the privy secretary. It seems to me that it wouldn't be a handicap. I could manage such permission, for instance."

Xylina smiled, for this was just exactly what Faro had told her. Already his advice had proved apt.

Then she added the idea that had come to her as they walked here this morning. It was an elaboration on something she and Faro had discussed, but she felt rather proud of it. "If it were my investment, I would put in a tavern," she concluded. "The advantage would be twofold. A woman who was only a fair magician could sell conjured wine and beer, for there is no one in that quarter who is able to conjure any such thing. That is one way that one could actually sell conjurations legally, I think."

"And one can become just as drunk on a conjuration," Antione said, with a chuckle. "Indeed, I am told that the hangover is not so bad! There are several taverns selling only conjured products in the city."

"There was another notion that I had. Perhaps if someone with court connections could obtain permission from the Queen to cut a door in the wall at the back, she could also sell her conjurations to the freedmen," Xylina said, feeling a bit audacious. "Perhaps I am wrong, but it seems to me that this would actually be safer than the current policy of allowing the demons to sell them real liquor, for if they became drunk and threatened to cause trouble, the woman in question could simply banish her own conjuration-"

"Rendering them instantly sober!" Antione applauded her forethought. "You are correct, this does make your property potentially far more valuable than it would appear." She scratched her temple, and seemed to be thinking. "Were you actually willing to trade the property outright for a portion of the price of a new residence?"

Xylina nodded, wondering if she dared hope-

"Well, as it happens, I personally have a small house in Moonflower Quarter which I own and have been renting." She made a face of distaste. "I have not been as successful at getting the kind of tenants as I had hoped for. It has been vacant for three months now; it might be smaller than you had wanted, but the advantage is that it is already furnished."

Xylina caught her breath, then schooled her face in an expression of simple interest. Furnished? That meant that she would never have to conjure furnishings again. That daily chore might have sharpened her conjuration facility, but she would be glad to let it go. For furnishings, she would be willing to sacrifice a fair amount of space.

"Now as it happens, my own daughter has about the level of conjuration such a venture as your tavern would require," Antione continued, her eyes bright with speculation. "She has been working for me, but to be frank, her talents do not extend to managing property."

"This would be easy," Xylina ventured. "She could install one of her slaves there to run the tavern-or perhaps two slaves-she could conjure the liquor, and need only oversee the slaves. I think she could do well, and I am sure you have all the court connections you would need to get permission for both the tavern and the door to be cut in the wall behind it." She tilted her head a little to one side, thinking aloud. "In fact, the front room faces on the forecourt, and the rear on the rear court and the Wall. The freedmen and the women of Glass Fountain need never even see each other; each could be served from a different room."

Antione nodded, her eyes showing her surprise, as if she had not expected that Xylina would be so shrewd. "If you would be willing to trade your property for a third of the value of my little house, I think you could move in today."

Careful, Xylina warned herself.Be careful. Don't act too quickly - Yet she was excited; she wanted to jump up and shout her agreement. This was everything she had wanted, and more than she had dared hope for.

"I would like to see it first, of course," she said, as if a little reluctant.

"Well, of course!" Antione signaled to her slave, who brought her a wrought-iron key from a rack of many such keys on the side of his desk. "I'll take you there myself, this instant. I would like to put this all in motion as soon as possible, if you are in agreement."

Xylina hardly noticed the walk, so eager was she to see the house. She already wanted it, no matter how shabby it was, for it certainly could not be poorer than the place where she lived now.

Antione led her to a wrought-iron gate in a high stone wall, a gate that had spikes built into the top to prevent anyone from climbing it. She opened the gate with a flourish, and Xylina and Faro followed her inside, finding them in the forecourt of the little house. The house was, indeed, smaller than most of the others in Moonflower-in fact, a woman with any sizable household would not have been comfortable there.

The forecourt was cool and lovely, however, shaded by two enormous plane-trees, and paved with blue slate. The single door, built into the blank wall, led into the house proper.

The first room was the public or common room; it was furnished with two couches and two chairs, with small tables beside each. It was lit from a skylight, since no one would have any windows looking out on the gate and the street beyond. There was a small room just off this common room that had been fitted up as an office. Then came the sleeping quarters, coming off a hall that led from the common room to the kitchen at the rear. It only had one real bedroom, with quarters for three slaves, or a combination of children and slaves. The kitchen and the bathing room were at the rear, and then came a door that led out into the rear court and the gardens there.

But it did have that lovely little forecourt that boasted a tiny fountain. The kitchen-garden in the rear court, although overgrown and weedy, had an apple tree and a fishpond and, unlike her old place, was supplied with water from the aqueducts, which meant no more pumping, or wondering if the well had been contaminated.

The bathing room was areal bathing room with running water from the city aqueducts, a luxury Xylina had not enjoyed in years. This meant that if she wanted a real bath, with real water, she could have one-and Faro could bathe without her having to conjure a bath for him, if ever she was too busy to do so.

The furniture was of very plain, heavy wood-much scarred by ill-use, and a little chewed upon. It would need new cushions, eventually, but she could live with the ones there now, once they had been cleaned and beaten free of the dust and hair that was thick upon them.

"The previous tenant kept dogs," Antione said, distastefully. "Very large dogs. The neighbors complained about the barking until I had to ask her to leave."

Xylina nodded wisely, and pointed out the defects in the place: that the hypocaust, and the stove that heated its air, would need a thorough cleaning; that the fishpond had been allowed to go dry and would need restocking; that the dogs had made a mess of the kitchen-garden, not to mention the furniture.

But she was in love with the little place, and it didn't take much persuasion on Antione's part to get her to agree to the bargain.

They returned to her office, and the slave was sent to the Office of Records to obtain both deeds. After that, it was simply a matter of signatures, and it was accomplished.

Faro had followed her everywhere, of course, and she had done her best to ignore his presence as Antione had ignored the presence of her own slaves. But once the gate was closed behind the two of them, Xylina dropped her pretense.

"Well?" she demanded, eagerly. "What do you think? Did we do well?"

He didn't answer immediately, but then, he never did. He had the habit of thinking over everything he was going to say before he said it, and she had gotten used to that. He examined the forecourt carefully, with the same attention he had given to her old home.

"There were some other defects you didn't catch," he said, finally. "I think the stove in the kitchen will need repairing before it can be used, and there's some settling in the foundation that has caused some cracks in the wall in the kitchen. But on the whole-this was a good choice. There's only one thing I truly don't like."

"What is that?" she asked, puzzled.

"This place-it's not defensible," he replied, with a frown. "It's terribly open. There are no bars on the windows in the rear, and only the front gate locks. I can see no way to put a lock or a bar upon the front door without making it look like the door to a prison. If I'm to guard you effectively, I will have to sleep in your chamber, across your threshold."

She dismissed that with a shrug. "I can't imagine who would want to break in here," she said. "It isn't as if we have any real valuables to steal. And what profit would there be in attacking me?"

He looked at her strangely, as if he could very readily think of a reason someone would want to attack her, but he didn't share it. "Very well then, little mistress," he said. "Would you like me to get your belongings, then go to the market for you?"

"Please," she said, gratefully. "I know you've said many times that you don't mind doing such a lowly task, but I feel I should keep thanking you. You really are above a task like that, and as soon as I can afford a kitchen-slave, you can stop doing this."

As she said this, she couldn't help feeling a heady sense of exhilaration at the very thought. As soon as she could afford a kitchen-slave. Not "if," but "when." She never could have dreamed of that before.

He smiled: one of his rare, slow smiles. "Think nothing of it, little mistress," he said. "After all, you are undertaking the lowly task of cooking, which I would dread to attempt."

"I don't mind," she replied earnestly. "I did it for myself and Marcus; I don't mind doing it for both of us."

But Faro frowned, as if he were determined that she should not have to cook much longer. "I am also going to see while I'm there if I can't find someone in need of a scribe-a freedman, perhaps. There is no sense in wasting time in getting employment for my skills. I am valuable, little mistress; I would be remiss if I did not begin to augment your income at once."

This man was incredible; he seemed to take more care of her than she did of herself. She smiled and shook her head. "You amaze me, Faro. Sometimes-sometimes I wonder how it is that our fates crossed. Whether it really was luck. You know, I wondered before I fell asleep last night if it was Marcus who somehow sent you to me."

"Sometimes I wonder myself, little mistress," he replied, in complete seriousness, "and the same thought occurred to me last night. Who knows? No one knows at all what is on the other side of death. Perhaps the dead can influence the living, or the fates of the living." And with those surprising words, he turned to go. She had given him the charge of most of their money on the second day of their association, saying that she saw no need to issue it to him in driblets as if he couldn't be trusted with it. He had been touched; she had seen it in his eyes.

Then, just before he left her alone, he turned back. "Please lock the gate after me, little mistress," he said, and there was real worry darkening his eyes. "I would feel better."

"All right," she said. "If you insist."

She followed him to the gate and locked it after him. She watched him until he was out of sight, then turned and surveyed her new home.

She wanted to sing or dance. She could hardly believe the way her life had turned.

But rather than celebrating, she had better get herself to work. She did not have the slaves another woman might have to clean this place. She must do as much of it as she could by herself, until Faro returned to help her.

The first and easiest thing was to scrub the walls and floor of the three rooms they would be using first: the kitchen, the bathing-room, and the mistress's bedroom.

This task would be the easiest, because she would be using conjured soap, sponges, and water. There would be no need to carry and mop up water, rinse sponges, or deal with the same sloppy mess that a slave would need to. In place of mops, she would tie conjured sponges to the ends of sticks, with no worry about whether they wore out. It didn't matter; she could always conjure more.

It was amazing, the amount of filth that came pouring off the walls as she conjured soapy water to cover them and scrubbed with her impromptu mops. When she banished the water and soap, the dirt remained on the floor, in the form of dry dust, easy to sweep away. She dealt with the filthy floors the same way, except that she swept most of the dirty water out the door before banishing it.

It was hard work, but no harder than she was used to. She thought wryly as she scrubbed the walls and floor, putting good effort and muscle into the work, that such chores could serve as adjuncts to training. Certainly after a few days of this, her back, shoulders and arms would have had a thorough workout. Her efforts to clean her prior residence had improved her physical vigor; she had thought that to be an incidental benefit, until she started throwing rods in the arena.

But these activities were, of course, for men. Even though there were plenty of women too poor to afford more than one slave for chores, none of them would ever admit it. It was not fitting for a woman to perform menial chores, publicly. Xylina could not afford to be seen doing so, and therefore the courtyard would have to wait until Faro had time to deal with it. Dirt went out into the back gardens, where no eye would see her doing the work of a slave.

An amazing amount of time passed before she realized it. Faro still had not returned by mid-afternoon, so she gleaned the last wild vegetables from the garden and made a kind of meal of them. While she ate, she gave thought to how best she could lease out Faro's services, for although her old home had paid for part of this new one, there was still a debt of real gold to be discharged, and at the moment Faro's size and skill were all she had to earn that gold.

The surest, quickest way to discharge that debt would be to send him right back to the arena, but she had considered that idea and discarded it without a second thought. He had saved her life; she would not gamble his.

So, one way to capitalize on their new-and probably short-lived-notoriety would be to trade on the obvious and the invisible. The obvious was Faro's size and strength; the invisible, his skills. There would probably be any number of women who would pay to see the hulking brute write a letter. It would, in fact, be a considerable novelty, like a talking horse.

At least it would for a while. Long enough, she hoped, to be able to buy seed for the garden, food for their meals, and to make small payments on her debt.

And then what?

Well, she might let him pursue that idea of hiring his services to the men of the quarter. Or-perhaps there might be more gold in novelty. Perhaps other, wealthier women would pay to have Faro discourse with them at parties and the like. Would he be willing to do recitations? She had no doubt he could memorize any kind of poetry or prose, and he was probably familiar with the works of some of the philosophers. The question was, would he be willing to play the role of the educated freak? This plan would need his cooperation; it would come to nothing if he sat in a sullen silence and would not perform.

And speaking of performing-what of the theater? Could she, perhaps, put on some kind of extravaganza for paid ticket holders? Could she have him make a recitation while hoisting weights above his head or something of the sort? A silly idea, perhaps, but sillier ideas had succeeded in the past.

She finally tired by late afternoon, and banished the last of her cleaning conjurations. She wandered through the rooms of her house, admiring the work she had done, noting how much more still needed to be done. Her path brought her out eventually to the outer court and the gate. She had not been paying a great deal of attention to anything other than the things she knew needed repairing, calculating how much could be done by Faro under her direction, and how much each repair would cost. The westering sun cast long, dark shadows across the court; the overshadowing walls on either side made it very dark. She was considering conjuring lights for the evening when a hint of movement where there should not have been any made her freeze.

It was that which saved her life. She glanced down, and a rush of mingled fear and horror galvanized her, knotting her stomach and sending a thrill of cold up her spine. The adder, coiled and waiting almost at her feet, poised to strike, hesitated. Xylina did not.

Reacting quickly, she conjured a waist-high plate of metal between her and the serpent. The adder struck at the same instant, and hit the metal plate.

Xylina pushed the plate over onto the snake in the moment when it lay stretched out and vulnerable. Then, powered by hysterical energy, she conjured another massive weight of material right on top of it, flattening the creature against the ground. This was definitely not the time to charitably abolish her conjurations.

She sat down abruptly on the broken masonry surrounding one of the half-dead trees, her energy leaving her. She gasped for breath, as if she had been running. Her knees were weak and her stomach had turned to water. She was grateful now for the setting sun, the heavy shadows in the courtyard, that hid her from anyone looking in.

Her mind was completely blank, and she simply sat where she was, shaking, until full dusk. Then she banished her conjurations, and stared at the flattened remains of the deadly adder.

There were no snakes in the city. Not even in the temple of the Oracle, whose symbol was a serpent. A small army of vermin-catcher slaves, accompanied by their terriers and ferrets, kept the city free of rats, snakes, and even helped keep the mouse population within bounds. There were no snakes in the city; there had been no snake-holes anywhere in the courtyard.

Someone must have brought it here and set it loose.

Someone wanted her dead.

But who? And almost as importantly, why?