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been able to purchase the additional cuprite?"
    "Yes, sire, although in the quantities required, the... acquisition necessitated spending nearly a thousand golds beyond what we had estimated. You may recall, sire, that we had discussed that possibility."
    "We had." The tired eyes of the Emperor watch each of those who act as though they serve him and Cyador.
     
     
    VII
     
    A cool mist shrouds Cyad, a mist that holds the tang of salt air, the fragrance of the late-blooming aramyds, and the faintest odor of the bitterness that reminds Lorn of chaos, an acridness far stronger within the Quarter of the Magi'i, but omnipresent throughout the great white city. Occasional drops of rain slither through the silvery mist, and the white stones of the buildings and roads of Cyad are gray with moisture.
    Lorn slips along the covered portico on the upper level of the dwelling and then down the outside steps to the garden, staying close to the inside wall. In his left hand is a loosely rolled bundle that appears to be a towel. Once in the garden, he takes the path by the wall toward the postern gate, for that is directly under his mother's window, and unless she leans out the window, she could not see him pass below.
    There is a bench outside the rear gate, where Elthya and the other servants often gather to talk, but no one will be there while dinner is being prepared. After he eases the gate closed, in the afternoon dimness, he quickly pulls off his green-trimmed student whites and dons the shimmering blue merchanter tunic and trousers, then switches his white boots for the dark blue boots, before adding a blue belt. He rerolls his own clothes and places them and his boots into the pitch-coated basket that he had left earlier and replaces the basket back under the feathered conifer beyond the gate.
    He walks swiftly down the alley and across the Road of Perpetual Light, still taking the alley downhill past two other roads until he turns westward on the Road of Benevolent Commerce. The heavy heels of the merchanter boots barely whisper on the stone pavement. His stride is that of the other junior merchanters who scurry to the beckoning of others.
    As he passes the Empty Quarter-a coffee house, almost a cafe, that caters to the most junior of merchanter apprentices-and outland sea-traders-he nods to the two apprentices sitting in the near-vacant establishment, giving them a perfunctory smile of acknowledgement.
    "Who's that... ?"
    "Some junior enumerator... friend of Alyet's and Ryalth's... saved Alyet from Halthor one night when he guzzled too much...."
    "...can't figure Halthor drowning..."
    "...anyone'll drown... drinks and walks the piers..."
    "...looks young for an enumerator..."
    "...Ryalth says he's good..."
    "...at what?"
    Lorn represses a grin as he hurries westward along the Way of Benevolent Commerce until it intersects with the First Harbor Way. The corner is identified by the green-lettered placards inscribed in the angular Anglorian script on the walls of the warehouse that stands on the southwest corner. Only in the trading district of Cyad do such placards exist. Elsewhere, one must know where he goes.
    On the northwest corner, a woman in shimmering blue waits for Lorn under the awning by the Honest Stone-the unofficial merchanter coffee house for the warehouse district of Cyad.
    Lorn waves and smiles as he nears.
    "I was afraid you weren't coming." Ryalth snorts angrily. "After all you said."
    "I'm sorry." Lorn offers an easy and fully apologetic smile. "I got here as quickly as I could."
    "We'd better go. Aljak said at the eighth bell." Ryalth heads toward the harbor, walking on the right side of the white-paved First Harbor Way, as much by custom as to avoid the near-silent cart on the left drawn up the gentle incline by a white pony.
    Lorn inclines his head to the bearded carter who walks beside the pony, leading him, then says quietly, "We have some time."
    Ryalth glances behind them, as though she fears they are