The great city of Sothis, capital of Osirion, drew into sight late in the afternoon. The buildings were sand-colored stone, with their many golden minarets catching sunlight, but there was something else towering over those minarets, something dark. Skiver squinted. "What's that?"

  "The molted shell of Ulunat, child of the dark god Rovagug," Alaeron said. "I've read about it, but it's ...bigger than I thought."

  "Wait," Skiver said. "The Rough Beast? That Rovagug? The god who has no use for people at all and wants us all dead?"

  "The very same. You haven't heard of Ulunat?"

  "Maybe," Skiver said dubiously. "I didn't go to school like you, scholar."

  "The god Rovagug spawned many monsters," Alaeron said. "The Tarrasque, you may have heard of?"

  "There's a drink called Tarrasque's Blood," Skiver said. "Mate of mine invented it. Mostly grain alcohol. Knocks you right out."

  Alaeron laughed. "Well. Ulunat is even older, perhaps the first of Rovagug's spawn. It was a great beetle who came crawling out of a dark hole in the earth thousands of years ago. It laid waste to civilizations." Alaeron nodded toward the great monster's shell. "It died in Osirion. The stories about how it died are conflicting, but it probably took the combined power of the old god-kings of Osirion to defeat it."

  "They built their capital around the husk of a big dead bug?" Skiver said. "Foreigners are so bloody odd."

  "If it's really dead," Jaya said. "When I was in Osirion, I heard stories—some think the wizards who fought Ulunat merely knocked it unconscious, or paralyzed it, or drove it deep into sleep. Some say it may wake again."

  "Grand idea to build their capital around its body, then," Skiver said. "How long's it been sleeping?"

  Jaya shrugged. Alaeron cleared his throat. "Going on...nine thousand years?"

  Skiver blinked. "Oh. All right. Probably not likely to wake up while we're in the city, then. That's something."

  "That husk is just the beast's discarded shell, anyway," Alaeron said. "Not its actual corpse. It's not likely to come back to life any more than an empty suit of armor is apt to start walking around."

  "That sort of thing happens," Skiver muttered. "I blame magic."

  Alaeron ignored him. "The locals call it the Black Dome. It's supposed to be full of palaces and important government buildings and the like."

  "Guess it explains all the little beetle statues Vadim's been offered by treasure hunters lately," Skiver said. "Something like that looming over you makes an impression, I reckon."

  The port of Sothis was tightly regulated, and though the waterway was crowded with ships from various ports of the Inner Sea, there was none of the chaotic jostling common in other harbors Alaeron had seen; everything was orderly and measured, with Osirian harbormasters directing all movement. The great Crimson Canal connected the capital to the River Sphinx in the west, and its multiple locks branched around the Eye of Sothis, an island where all traffic coming and going was directed. The banks on all sides of the canal were green with growing things. Arable land was rare and precious in this desert country.

  The captain, who hadn't spoken to them once on the entire voyage, appeared and scowled at Skiver. "You pay now," he said. "Then go."

  "Ah," Skiver said. "Right." He paid out a handful of heavy gold coins, and the captain directed them to a small rowboat manned by a slave, who took them and their packs to the island, which was connected to Sothis proper by a network of bridges arcing gracefully across the canals. Skiver seemed to have some idea where he was going, so Alaeron and Jaya followed after him as he walked confidently through the throngs of sailors toward the island's center, a vast plaza given over to merchants, food vendors, and a dozen other methods of parting new arrivals from their money. The plaza's bustle made the Coins look tame, and after days of quiet on the sea, Alaeron found the press of people overwhelming.

  Skiver seemed to be affected as well, stopping to gaze up at the tall obelisk in the center of the plaza, and the great curvature of the bridges over the canals, each tall enough to allow the passage of a ship underneath. The golden minarets and the mirror-smooth Black Dome all glittered in the late afternoon sun.

  "Beautiful," Jaya said, and Skiver nodded.

  "Yeah," he said, shaking himself. "I mean, Absalom was something, but it wasn't so different from Almas really, and this ...they just took a great ugly lot of desert and a big dead bug's shell and they made this? Carved their own rivers into the ground and built those bridges and towers and all?" He shook his head. "I knew the world was a big place, but I don't think I ever quite understood how big and wide and different, until now. And this is just the very tip-top of a whole continent, extending on down right off the edge of all the maps I've ever seen ...Makes me think maybe the place I grew up isn't the center of everything after all."

  "You see?" Jaya said, smiling at Alaeron for the first time in days. "Travel does broaden the mind. Even Skiver's."

  "Watch it, you," Skiver said, but he ginned. "My mind's broader than you'd like to imagine. All right then. Vadim said we should go to an inn called ...well, something foreign, but it's supposed to have a picture of a red beetle on the sign, so let's get over into the city and see if we can find it."

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Alaeron knew only a smattering of Osiriani, and even that wasn't much use—he could puzzle out simple words in writing, but was almost useless with the spoken tongue. (There were certainly Garundi people in Absalom, but he hadn't spent much time with them.) Fortunately Sothis was where the rest of the world met Osirion, and almost everyone they met spoke Taldane, the common trade language, at least well enough to try and sell them something, so they found directions to the inn called the Ruby Scarab without much difficulty. It was made of blindingly white stone, with a sign depicting the golden scarab of Osirion, but in bright red instead of gold—Alaeron wondered if it were an homage to the reigning Ruby Prince.

  The inn was a bit deeper into the city than some others, and while there were a few people inside who obviously came from the northern side of the Inner Sea, the majority seemed more southern—Garundi, Keleshites, and Vudrani. There was also a giggling gnome in one corner piling up small circular stones into an impossibly high tower, but as far as Alaeron was concerned, the less said about gnomes, the better. The alchemist had quite enough chaos in his life without adding one of those to the mix.

  Skiver slipped through the small round tables and went straight to the bar. "Ale?" he said hopefully, and the young, dark-eyed bartender shook his head sadly.

  "A thousand apologies, but we serve only wine here, though we have a hundred varieties. We cater to a specialized clientele who appreciate—"

  Skiver wrinkled his nose. "Water for me, then. Wine for them." He gestured at Alaeron and Jaya.

  The bartender bobbed his head. "And what sort of wine—"

  "It's questions like that that make me hate wine," Skiver muttered. He put a coin on the polished bar top. "Never mind, we'll have three waters, and we'll pay well for them. Oh, and for the answer to a question. I'm looking for Chuma."

  The bartender shrugged. "A common name, sir."

  Skiver nodded. "They call him Chuma the Scorpion."

  The bartender looked down at the coin. Skiver added another coin, and after a moment, a third. The bartender swept them into his hand. "He's there, in the far corner. But he ...does not enjoy having his time wasted."

  "Who does?" Skiver said, glancing over. "Farthest corner away from the gnome. That's just good sense."

  "Don't speak against the gnome," the bartender said. "He's been here two days, and says he has to drink a bottle of every sort of wine I can bring him. He may well provide my daughter's entire dowry."

  "Wonder if he plays cards?" Skiver said. He picked up an earthenware cup and took a sip. His eyebrows went up. "Say, this water ...it's good."

  "From one of the famed oases of Sothis," the bartender said. "Sweeter and more refreshing than any wine."

  "You should charge for this and give the wine away, there was any sense in the world," Skiver said. He strolled toward the corner the bartender had indicated, and Alaeron and Jaya followed.

  "Chuma the Scorpion?" Alaeron said. "Doesn't sound like a friendly sort."

  "The name means nothing to me," Jaya said. "But then, my involvement with the criminal classes is more haphazard than Skiver's. If he is an associate of Ralen Vadim, I think we can assume he is only friendly when it benefits him."

  Skiver stopped in front of Chuma's table. The man was Keleshite, big and possibly fat, though it was hard to tell, as he was dressed in flowing robes of linen. His long beard was more dark than white, and he stroked it as he looked over a pile of parchment sheets. He had a tiny silver teapot and a small ceramic cup on the table before him, and nothing else.

  He didn't look up, so Skiver kicked the table, jostling the teapot.

  Without looking up, Chuma said, "I have had men killed for less than splashing tea on my papers."

  "I've killed men personally for less than ignoring me when I'm standing right in front of them," Skiver said.

  "Is that a dog barking?" Chuma called to the bartender. "I hear the barking of a dog. You let filthy dogs into your place of business now?"

  "I'm a dog all right," Skiver said, grinning. "And my master's name is Ralen Vadim."

  Chuma sipped from his teacup, then looked up at them for the first time. His eyes were gold. "Mmm. That name is known to me. But anyone may say a name."

  Skiver hooked a wooden chair with his ankle, pulled it over, and sat down. He glanced back at Alaeron and Jaya. "You two, sit, drink your oasis water." Then, to Chuma, "Vadim was supposed to send you a letter."

  Chuma spread his hands. "I have received no letter."

  "Good thing he sent me with another copy, then." Skiver reached into his jacket and drew out an envelope sealed with a fat blob of wax. He sailed it across the table, and Chuma picked it up, broke the seal, scanned the words, and then flung the letter back.

  "That appears to be Vadim's hand. He urges me to extend to you all possible courtesies. Well. All possible courtesies extend no farther than my asking you to leave, politely, before having you thrown out. I do business with Vadim, from time to time, but that does not mean I am obliged to take care of his pets."

  "Ralen Vadim is a powerful man," Skiver said, frowning.

  Chuma shrugged. "On the other side of the Inner Sea, certainly." He leaned forward. "But I am the Ralen Vadim of the southern lands, dog. Would he take kindly to one of my ...employees ...demanding his personal attention?"

  Skiver nodded. "I see your point. I do. But maybe I'm a useful dog, eh? Or even a dog you shouldn't bother?"

  "The desert is large," Chuma said. "It is easy to lose bodies there. I have lost many bodies there."

  "Do you know a man named Omari? Some people called him ‘the Spider,' or at least, he liked to tell people he was called ‘the Spider.'"

  For the first time, Chuma looked interested. "Yes. I know of this man.

  "Spider, scorpion," Skiver said. "Reckon I'll meet the beetle next. Or the camel! What is it you know about this man, then?"

  Chuma stroked his beard. "Omari. Yes. He disappeared."

  "Oh?" Skiver sipped his water, then grinned. "Nobody ever found him? Not even recently?"

  "I understand parts of him were found," Chuma said slowly.

  Skiver nodded. "His head. And his hands. Still wearing those great big rings, right, with the emeralds and diamonds and rubies, wasn't he? Turned up in an alley around the corner from your, what do you call it, import/export business in Almas."

  "Omari was a treacherous man," Chuma said. "He stole from me. I wanted him punished. It was not so much that my men could not find him—they could find him—it was just that none of them returned from finding him alive."

  "Dangerous fellow." Skiver leaned forward. "The reason I left the rings on his fingers was so you'd know it wasn't some robbery for money. Any ordinary thief and killer would have taken the rings, you see."

  Alaeron and Jaya listened in rapt (and for Alaeron's part, horrified) silence.

  "Why cut off his head and hands?" Chuma said, his voice low.

  "Cutting off the head was the way I killed him," Skiver said. "I find it's usually very effective. As for the rest, isn't that what they do with thieves down here? Cut off their hands? Or is that just one of those, what do you call them, myths? Thought you might appreciate the gesture. Anyway, hauling his whole body over to the alley by your warehouse would have been a right pain in my ass. Head and hands are much lighter, and make just as good an impression. Seems maybe I did a favor for you, doesn't it?"

  Chuma lowered his head for a moment, drumming his fingers on the table. "All right," he said after a moment. "The letter said you wish to travel east, all the way to the Slave Trenches of Hakotep, and from there, you desire a guide through the mountain passes to the Mwangi Expanse."

  Skiver nodded. "That's what we need, right enough."

  "What business do you have on the far side of the mountains?" Chuma said. "What is Vadim looking for? There are many rumors about lost cities, great fortunes to be made, but why send a man of your, ah, talents into the jungle?"

  "I fancied seeing the world," Skiver said. "But really I'm just here to keep the experts motivated. The woman's a tracker and explorer, knows the Mwangi Expanse like I know the back alleys of Almas, and the man's a scholar, can tell you more about artifacts than a butcher can about cuts of meat."

  "What do you seek?" Chuma leaned forward eagerly, his great belly pressing into the table. "Where are you going?"

  "I don't imagine we're supposed to say," Skiver said, then looked left, and right, and left again. "But let's just say Vadim heard of something in a place called the Screaming Jungle, something the right buyer will pay a king's treasury for. That's where my archer here hails from. The Screaming Jungle. Sounds like a shit place, but go where the money is, I always say."

  Chuma stroked his beard, nodding. "Indeed, indeed ...Well. Yes. I own a felucca, a sailboat, with a crew of three. Room enough for ten or twelve passengers, but I'm happy to let you have it—"

  "Is that the kind of ship where you have to sleep on the deck?" Skiver said.

  Chuma nodded. "Yes, indeed, there is no better blanket than the stars—"

  "We need a boat that's got rooms with roofs," Skiver said. "We've been sleeping on a deck for too many days already. We could all use a bit of privacy. I haven't had a moment alone with just my thoughts and my hand in ages."

  The Keleshite crime lord roared laughter, pounding his fist on the table. "Fair enough, my dangerous friend. All right. I will give you use of my personal pleasure barge. It has enough cabins for all three of you, and a fine cook, and comely servants."

  "Will you be joining us?" Jaya said.

  Chuma shook his head. "Though I would love the opportunity to accompany such a beautiful woman on a journey into the wild places, pressing business keeps me here. When do you wish to depart?"

  "Soonest," Skiver said.

  Chuma nodded. "Give me a day or so to prepare. Do you have lodgings for the evening?"

  "This'll do," Skiver said, glancing around the Ruby Scarab.

  "I insist you stay in my home," Chuma said. "It would be my honor."

  "You're too kind," Skiver said. "But we wouldn't want to impose."

  "It is no imposition. For the man who slew the Spider? I would give you my own bed."

  "No, no, we couldn't, but thank you," Skiver said. "Truly."

  Chuma spread his hands and gave a little shrug as if to say he'd tried. "Very well. At least let me pay for your stay here tonight?"

  Skiver nodded. "That would be most gracious."

  Who is this polite person, Alaeron wondered, and what has he done with Skiver? How had he gone from calmly talking about beheading a person to extending verbal courtesies in the space of mere moments?

  "I'll see to it." Chuma pushed back from the table, sweeping the papers into a pile and tucking them into a satchel. "If you'll excuse me, my friends, please enjoy your time in the city, be it all too brief." He paused on the way out to speak to the innkeeper, pointing to Skiver and the others, then bustled out the door and away.

  Skiver took his chair and grinned. "That went all right, even if I am the one saying so."

  "Why didn't you agree to stay at his house?" Jaya said. "Were you afraid he meant us harm?"

  "Nah, nah." Skiver waved a fly away. "Vadim told me the Scorpion's a peculiar fella. If he offers something, you've got to refuse him three times. If he offers a fourth time, it means the offer was sincere. If he accepts your refusal, then he wanted you to refuse. Dunno if that's a Keleshite thing, or just Chuma. You notice he only let me say no twice? Guess he didn't want to risk me losing count and saying yes too soon, heh."

  "While points of etiquette are indeed fascinating," Alaeron said, "I'm more curious about this ‘Spider.' You really killed him?"

  Skiver snorted. "Nah, he'd have cut me into ribbons if I'd tried. He was a right nasty piece of work. Couldn't hold his liquor, though. Got drunk one night, fell off the steps of a tavern, and cracked his head open. Looked pretty much like the same wound you'd get from being hit over the head with a cudgel, though, so Vadim paid the corpse-collectors to give us the body so we could claim it as our own, thinking we could use it to buy a little influence with Chuma. No, I didn't kill the Spider." Skiver sipped his water and looked at the ceiling meditatively. "I've killed whole cartloads of other people, though, if that makes you feel any better. Or worse."

  "And what was all that about the Screaming Jungle?" Alaeron said.

  "Basic misinformation," Jaya said.

  Skiver nodded. "I was lying, he knew I was lying, I knew he knew, he knew I knew he knew, and so on. But we had to go through the motions for, you know, the look of the thing."

  "It seems I have a lot to learn about being a criminal operator," Alaeron said.

  "What," Skiver said, "did you think just stealing things was all it took? Anyone can steal stuff. Being a good criminal means getting away with it."