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illumination exercise. Or unsanded errors. Or an attempt to use one of those useless new printing machines. But I see no traces of any cipher here, Drothe. What you have is a scrap from some scribe’s rubbish.” He flicked the paper. “Hardly worth threatening anyone over,” he added as he began to crumple the slip into a ball.
    I held out my hand. “All the same . . .”
    Baldezar stopped, looked at the paper, and then held it out in his palm. I took the slip and put it back into my ahrami pouch. When I looked up, he was studying me.
    “You’re convinced the paper is that important?” said Baldezar.
    Hell, no. It could have been a scrap, a pipe taper, even a bit of trash that had fallen to the bottom of Athel’s bag. But it was also the only thing I had gotten from Athel that hadn’t come to me under duress. Even with his last breath, Athel could have lied, and I needed something to confirm or deny his story. The paper was the best lead I had, no matter how pathetic that lead might be.
    So naturally, when Baldezar questioned the paper’s importance, I lied.
    “Positive,” I said.
    The scribe began drumming his fingers on the table. “It occurs to me,” he said slowly, “that I may be able to impose on one of my colleagues who know more about these things than I. It would cost a bit, and I would need the ‘document’ in question to show him, of course, but it might provide you with some answers.”
    I could tell it pained him to admit anyone might know more about a subject than he did, let alone that he needed to consult them. Good.
    “Tempting, but no,” I said. “The paper stays with me.” A thought stuck me. “Who is this ‘colleague’?”
    He hesitated a moment too long before answering. “No one you would know.”
    I regarded the Jarkman, smiling slightly as I did so. Was he trying to keep me from going to his friend on my own, or had he been hoping to up the price for the consultation and take a cut of the profits himself? Either way, I’d likely end up paying a steep price for little gain.
    “Nice try,” I said. Baldezar’s eyebrows rose in surprise. I waved away the beginnings of his protestations, yawned and stretched in the chair. “No games,” I said. “I’m too tired for games. Either you help me or you don’t.”
    Baldezar stared at me for a long, hard moment. Then, without taking his eyes off me, he called out, “Lyconnis!”
    I heard the large scribe thumping quickly up the steps and along the walkway to his master’s office. He wasn’t quite breathing heavily when he entered the room.
    “Yes?” he said, ducking his head toward Baldezar.
    “Drothe has some garbage he wants you to look at. He thinks it may be a cipher of some sort.”
    “A cipher?” said the scribe. If his master hadn’t been here, I expect he would have rubbed his hands together in delight; as it was, the excitement that came over him was practically tangible. “May I?”
    I sent a quizzical look at Baldezar even as I pulled out the strip and handed it to Lyconnis.
    “Lyconnis here has made a study of secret messages and early imperial spymasters,” said Baldezar drily. He sniffed. “Imagine my surprise at it suddenly proving useful.”
    Lyconnis bit his lip at his master’s rebuke and bent over the slip of paper. He manipulated and examined it in a manner that was fast becoming familiar to me. He frowned. “Where did you get this?”
    I crossed my arms and stayed silent.
    Lyconnis blushed. “Of course. Excuse me for asking. You noticed the cephta for pystos and immus , I take it?” he said. I nodded. Lyconnis held the paper up to the light again, then shrugged and handed it back to me. “There might be something there, but I think it’s more likely a bit of scrap of some sort. Is it important?”
    “Life and death,” I said, thinking of Athel. Lyconnis’s face became solemn. I smiled despite myself at that, wondering if the scribe was more worried for me, or for the person who had had the