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notwithstanding that the brass dome on top was an interesting climb. It was just a familiar landmark. That made it worse now; it bulked in front of him, a stubby menacing shape against the grayness of the sky.
    He advanced more slowly now, approaching the tower obliquely across the sloping roof. It came to him that his initials were there, on the dome, along with Chiddy’s and those of hundreds of other young assassins, and that they’d carry on being up there even if he died tonight. It was sort of comforting. Only not very.
    He unslung his rope and made an easy throw onto the wide parapet that ran around the tower, just under the dome. He tested it, and heard the gentle clink as it caught.
    Then he tugged it as hard as possible, bracing himself with one foot on a chimney stack.
    Abruptly, and with no sound, a section of parapet slid outward and dropped.
    There was a crash as it hit the roof below and then slid down the tiles. Another pause was punctuated by a distant thump as it hit the silent street. A dog barked.
    Stillness ruled the rooftops. Where Teppic had been the breeze stirred the burning air.
    After several minutes he emerged from the deeper shadow of a chimney stack, smiling a strange and terrible smile.
    Nothing the examiner could do could possibly be unfair. An assassin’s clients were invariably rich enough to pay for extremely ingenious protection, up to and including hiring assassins of his own. * Mericet wasn’t trying to kill him; he was merely trying to make him kill himself.
    He sidled up to the base of the tower and found a drainpipe. It hadn’t been coated with slipall, rather to his surprise, but his gently questing fingers did find the poisoned needles painted black and glued to the inner face of the pipe. He removed one with his tweezers and sniffed it.
    Distilled bloat . Pretty expensive stuff, with an astonishing effect. He took a small glass vial from his belt and collected as many needles as he could find, and then put on his armored gloves and, with the speed of a sloth, started to climb.
     
    “Now it may well be that, as you travel across the city on your lawful occasions, you will find yourselves in opposition to fellow members, even one of the gentlemen, with whom you are currently sharing a bench. And this is quite right and what are you doing Mr. Chidder no don’t tell me I’m sure I wouldn’t want to know see me afterward proper. It is open to everyone to defend themselves as best they may. There are, however, other enemies who will dog your steps and against whom you are all ill-prepared who are they Mr. Cheesewright ?”
    Mericet spun around from his blackboard like a vulture who has just heard a death-rattle and pointed the chalk at Cheesewright, who gulped.
    “Thieves’ Guild, sir?” he managed.
    “Step out here, boy.”
    There were whispered rumors in the dormitories about what Mericet had done to slovenly pupils in the past, which were always vague but horrifying. The class relaxed. Mericet usually concentrated on one victim at a time, so all they had to do now was look keen and enjoy the show. Crimson to his ears, Cheesewright got to his feet and trooped down the aisle between the desks.
    The master inspected him thoughtfully.
    “Well, now,” he said, “and here we have Cheesewright, G., skulking across the quaking rooftops. See the determined ears. See the firm set of those knees.”
    The class tittered dutifully. Cheesewright gave them an idiotic grin and rolled his eyes.
    “But what are these sinister figures that march in step with him, hey? Since you find this so funny, Mr. Teppic, perhaps you would be so good as to tell Mr. Cheesewright ?”
    Teppic froze in mid-laugh.
    Mericet’s gaze bored into him. He’s just like Dios the high priest, Teppic thought. Even father’s frightened of Dios.
    He knew what he ought to do, and he was damned if he was going to do it. He ought to be scared.
    “Ill-preparedness,” he said. “Carelessness. Lack of concentration.