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The air seemed to stir like a living thing with the coming of the sun. The purple sky gave way to rose red. Nabul returned.
    Uramettu boosted the thief to the neighboring rooftop. She clambered lithely up and pulled a chain of bags up from the alley. Nabul produced a plank from a hiding place on the other roof and bridged the alley with it. He crossed, and Uramettu came over with the provisions.
    "Four-and-thirty food shops in Omerabad, and all I could find was wheel bread and yogurt," said Nabul in disgust. "Six-and-twenty wineshops, and I couldn't even find a mug of wheat beer!"
    "What is this?" asked Marix, sloshing a goatskin bag in small circles.
    "Water. It'll go rancid in the heat, mark my words." Jadira rolled her eyes.
    While Nabul unburdened himself from the rest of his ill-gotten gains, Jadira helped herself to bread and yogurt. From the folds of his robe, Nabul produced a small copper pot, a mallet, a coil of coarse twine, cloth lor two keffiya, and a lump of soft white chalk. He squatted on the tar-and-leaf roof and began to draw.
    "The main gates of the city will be filled with armed men," he said, scribing squares west and south. "Our best chance lies at one of the posterns, here or here." Nabul made two dots.
    "Posterns will be guarded," Marix observed.
    "Two men at most. No match for five desperate fugitives," said Jadira.
    "Let us try the nearest one," Uramettu said. "An hour hence and the sun will be well up."
    Off they went. Nabul led them on a merry trail across the housetops of Omerabad. Up a story, down a story, leaping alleys and skirting courtyards. They trod the roofs of the rich and the poor, the tapered peaks of shrines, and the flat tops of shops. Finally Nabul stopped.
    "The city wall," he said. Ahead of them, the stone curtain reared twelve paces high, well above the level of the nearest houses.
    The band descended a shaky iron trellis affixed to the side of a tannery. Nabul scampered down easily, but the others had trouble with the thorny creepers entwined in the lattice. Together again on street level, they huddled in the deep shadows opposite the postern gate. A single Faziri, armed with a long spear and wooden buckler, paced to and fro in front of the single portal.
    "Who's the most innocent-looking among us?" asked Jadira.
    Without hesitation Nabul replied, "The priest."
    "I agree," said Jadira. "Tamakh, you must divert the guard so the rest of us can overcome him silently."
    "How?" said Tamakh, looking uneasy.
    "Lure him over here. We'll do the rest," Marix said, tapping his palm on the pommel of the sword.
    "I cannot be the cause of bloodshed," Tamakh said.
    "Do you have a better idea?" asked Marix.
    "Almost certainly," said the priest and walked out of hiding. With great dignity, he stepped into the street. The first rays of the sun peeked over the wall, highlighting Tamakh in shafts of gold. Halfway to the gate, he halted.
    Tamakh gestured to the empty air. " Kobit ," he said sonorously. " Namis kobit vobay . . ."
    The guard spied Tamakh. He ported his spear and strode toward the priest. As he drew nearer, his steps faltered.
    "Vobay namis, Agman!" said Tamakh. Though he spoke at normal volume, the priest's words seemed to ring like the tolling of a great bell. Jadira felt a numbness take hold of her arms and legs. She saw Uramettu flexing her own ebon arms as if to preserve feeling in them. Nabul shivered violently, and Marix's face showed surprise.
    "Agmas, nam kobituri vobay moiitu. Moritu!" With this last, Tamakh's voice rose, and he flung out his right arm toward the soldier. Four paces from the portly priest, the soldier froze.
    The spear rolled off his shoulder, and he remained rooted to the spot.
    "By the Thirty Gods! What happened?" asked the thief.
    Jadira nodded sagely. "Magic."
    Tamakh rejoined them. "We can proceed. The guard will offer no trouble."
    They passed on either side of the motionless soldier. Nabul waved his hand before the man's eyes. The guard never blinked.