"We took them from the guards at the watchtower at La Dolorosa." He glanced at her with pity. "I thought it would be safer for her to carry one. We're doomed anyway if we're caught, and she's not skilled with the daggers."

I unfolded my cloak and shook it out, settling it over my shoulders and shoving the bent brooch-pin through the woolen fabric and fastening it. "Her ill luck to be a good shot," I said wryly. "Mayhap 'tis better they know such things, before they choose to battle their way to the north-lands. Prophecies never name the blood-price they exact."

"No." Joscelin roused himself with a shake. "The others?"

"Dead, but for one," I said. "He's agreed to show us the passage. I promised him his life for it."

"Let's go, then."

Another torch and a few lamps had been found and kindled, and by their light, Cervianus led us to the rear of the warehouse. He had donned the deep-blue tunic of Asherat's attendants, the emblem of her starry crown worked in silver thread on the breast, rich and glimmering amid the Illyrians who surrounded him, but his eyes looked like dark holes in the mask of his face.

"It is there," he said faintly, pointing at a mammoth clay vessel, shoulder-high to Kazan. "Beneath the jar."

With a doubtful grunt, Kazan set his shoulder to the jar and shoved. It tilted beneath his force, being empty, and two others joined him in rolling it carefully to one side. Cervianus had spoken the truth. Beneath lay a trapdoor, set flush into the stones of the floor. Joscelin grasped the iron ring and hauled up on it; with a faint screech of hinges, the door opened to reveal a gaping square of darkness below, smelling of stale air and mildew. There were worn stone steps leading downward, the first few visible by torchlight.

"And this leads to the Oracle's balcony in the Temple proper, yes?" I asked Cervianus.

"Yes." He turned his hollow gaze on me. "Beneath the canal."

"And the Oracle does not preside from thence over the ceremony of investiture?"

"N... no." Cervianus hesitated, and shook his head. "Only twice a year, at the Fatum Urbanus. I think. I do not know, for certain. I am only a junior attendant, and a Doge has never been invested in my lifetime. But..."

"But they would have told you, were the tunnel to be opened for the Oracle's usage, would they not?" I asked gently. "That you might make ready to receive her, until she could return unseen."

"Yes." He stared at me with bitter hatred in his shadowed eyes. I did not blame him. "It is our duty, to keep the inventory and ward the passage. They would have told us."

"So." Joscelin knelt beside the open trap door, holding a lamp and peering into the darkness below. "Are there guards within the tunnel, or at the other end?"

"There are no other guards!" Cervianus spat out the words in fury. "It was our duty, our sacred duty! No one knows of this passage. A thousand and more years ago, the masons who built it were slain to keep it secret."

"Charming," Joscelin murmured. Sarae made an involuntary sound, choked at the realization of the extent to which her great-great-aunt Onit's death-bed tales had betrayed the trade-secrets of the order that had sheltered her for most of her life. I sat on my heels, thinking.

"Cervianus," I asked, "what is happening in the Temple now?"

He gave a sullen shrug, then winced when Kazan Atrabiades prodded his ribs with a dagger. "The Priestess of the Crown and her six Elect hold a vigil, praying that Asherat-of-the-Sea will accept the people's choice as Her Beloved and a true bond may be forged. So I am told. At dawn the preparations begin, and when the sun strikes the crown of Her image which overlooks the harbor, the procession will begin from the Doge's Palace to enter the Temple."

"Then," I said, "we had best make ready."

SEVENTY-THREE

1 he steps leading down into the tunnel were narrow and treacherous, overgrown with a slick coating of mold. I could well believe this passage was used but twice a year. We went in single file, with Joscelin in the lead. I followed close on his heels and Ti-Philippe behind me; Kazan and his Illyrians followed.

After the bloodshed in the warehouse, the Yeshuites were less loathe to be left behind to secure our retreat. Those who had fought on the mainland at La Dolorosa had done so against armed prison guards; 'twas another matter altogether, this slaying out of hand of innocent attendants, ceremonial spears or no. We found a stack of grain sacks bound with twine and cut the cord, using it to tie Cervianus securely, hand and foot, gagging him with a wad of bed-linen.

It pained me, but there was nothing else for it. I had promised him his life, and we could not risk leaving him free to give an alarm. The gag cut sharply into the corners of his mouth, and his sunken eyes continued to glare hatred at me. I spoke to him before we left.

"For what it is worth," I said to him, "I spoke the truth to you, Cervianus. I am sorry for the deaths of your companions."

His expression never changed. Kazan, passing, caught my arm. "Do not waste such pity on him, you," he advised in a grim tone. "If we had not taken them by surprise, eh, the catamites would have killed us, yes. You heard him speak of the tunnel, eh? They do not hesitate to kill for their goddess."

It was true-and yet. I knew beyond doubt that if I lay coiled once more enduring the agonies of the thetalos, I would endure the blood-guilt of their deaths. So be it. I had made my choices, knowing full well I must live with the consequences. 'Twas only pain, after all; and who better equipped to bear it than I? Surely, I thought, though it never be given us to know, the tally of the living must outweigh the dead.

If we did not fail.

Down and down and down went the stairs, growing ever more slippery. Once my heel skidded and I put out a hand to catch myself, finding the walls green with slime, moisture seeping between the solid blocks of stone. We were beneath a city built on water. By the time we reached the floor of the tunnel, the air had grown increasingly dank. The flame of Joscelin's oil lamp guttered, and I felt my lungs working for sustenance. The passage is open at our end, I reminded myself; surely air must be moving in it. Joscelin held up his hand and waited patiently for the flame to steady, growing brighter. Massed behind us, the Illyrians muttered superstitiously, falling silent at Kazan's harsh order.

We proceeded.

I do not know how far it was, that stone-sealed journey beneath a city built on water. Not far, I suppose; a mere city block, as the architects would reckon it. Outside, I had seen the domes of the Temple and shuddered at their nearness. Below ground, it seemed a world away. The dense, sodden stone absorbed the sound of our footfalls until we seemed a line of shuffling wraiths. I felt a weariness born of dampness and chill and stone, the never-ending dark eye of the tunnel opening on and on before us. It came almost as a shock when Joscelin stopped in front of me and gazed upward, lifting the lamp.

Another set of stairs, equally steep and narrow, leading upward to vanish in darkness.

"This is it," Joscelin whispered. "Phèdre, the plan is yours. What do you will?"

I gazed up the stairs, straining eyes and ears, but I could not penetrate the darkness and no sound filtered down to us in the tunnel. "Let me go first and see," I whispered back. "If the priestesses of Asherat are the only danger, I'm best equipped to avoid it."

His face tightened. "And if they're not, you're the worst. I'm coming with you."

"Will you stay three paces behind and wait on the stair for my signal?"

Joscelin paused, then gave a curt nod.

"Good." I turned to the others. "Wait here. We'll investigate, and send word."

Ti-Philippe let out a sigh of resignation; he knew better than to try talking me out of anything. Kazan frowned. "I do not like it any better than he does, I," he said in a low voice, jerking his chin at Joscelin. "That you should walk first into danger, no. Better one of us."

I smiled in the dim, lamplit tunnel. "You named me rightly when you named me a spy, my lord, long ago on Dobrek. This is what I am trained to do. I would no more allow you to go in my place than you would allow me to lead your men in battle."

Someone at the rear-Volos, I thought-offered an Illyrian jest under his breath regarding the nature and extent of my training. I was glad of the dim light hiding my blush, and doubly glad that Joscelin spoke not a word of Illyrian.

Kazan's mouth twitched in a reluctant smile. "Then be careful, you," he said aloud.

I nodded, took a deep breath, and began to ascend the stair.

It is harder to move silently in utter blackness, which is what I found myself in once the sharply rising walls cut off sight of the tunnel below. All sounds seem magnified, and one is prone to a vertiginous unsteadiness without vision's markers. As well that Delaunay made Alcuin and me train at such things blindfolded. I let my fingertips trail along the slimy walls and climbed steadily, step by noiseless step. True to his word, Joscelin followed several paces behind me. He did a fair job of stealth-Cassilines are trained to move with grace and balance and discretion, all of which stood him in good stead-but I could hear him clearly enough; an occasional scrape or creak of leather, the faint sound of his breathing.

Then again, I am trained to hear such things, too.

As it happens, our stealth on the stair was unnecessary; 'twas sealed at the top with another door. I felt at the slick, mossy wood with both hands and pressed my ear to it, grimacing with distaste. Faintly, very faintly, I could make out the sound of voices beyond, a low, rhythmic chanting.

In the Temple, I thought; not near enough to be immediately on the other side of the door. I tried the handle cautiously. It was locked, of course.

"The eunuch may have a key." Joscelin spoke at my ear, so quietly his breath scarce stirred my hair.

"And he may not," I murmured in reply, reaching for my brooch. " 'Twill be quicker, this way." I found the lock by touch, working the pin in blindly; it does not matter, for such a task. The faint scratching sound rattled loud in my ears.

"I am sorry," Joscelin said almost inaudibly, "we never found a way to free him."

So he thought of Hyacinthe too.

"Don't say never. We're not dead yet." The lock gave and I held my breath at the thundering clatter, going still and listening.

"Did you get it?" Joscelin whispered; he hadn't heard a thing. "Is it open?"

I nodded, forgetting he couldn't see. "Stay back." I turned the handle, opening the door narrowly. Only a dim, ambient light filtered through the crack and I could hear the chanting more clearly now. Four or more voices; it was hard to discern, in unison, but of a surety, it came from a distance, echoing from the dome of the Temple. I listened hard for anything nearer, and heard naught. Repinning my cloak, I drew its hood up and slipped through the door, ducking low to crouch with both hands splayed on the floor.

Nothing before me, and only the door behind. I was hi a low-ceilinged hall that slanted upward toward a tall, narrow archway. It framed a balconied alcove, in which sat a three-legged stool. To the right and left of the alcove, clearly visible from behind, were openings onto dark chambers, slanted recesses which, like the hallway, would have been nearly undetectable from the front. Lying flat on my belly, I squirmed forward, positioning myself behind the stool to gaze through its legs and the balustrade beyond into the Temple.

Directly opposite me was the massive visage of Asherat-of-the-Sea, wide-eyed and staring, a crescent moon adorning her brow; old, this goddess was, ancient and mighty! I caught my breath, staring back at her, feeling a cold sweat break out between my shoulder blades. I have come to keep my promise, I reminded her silently; have a care for your children's children, O Asherat!

Below, the Temple was filled with candlelight and the sweet blue smoke of incense. I wormed my way forward to peer down at the sight. Seven women stood before the stone altar and the mighty image of the goddess; seven women clad in robes of flowing blue silk, with silver netting overlaying it and shimmering, crystal-strung veils. The one in the center wore a tiara on her unbound hair, with seven diamonds set in starry silver rays. The Priestess of the Crown, I thought, and her six Elect. One had hair as white as milkweed, upraised hands gnarled with age; old Bianca, who had told my fortune true. This would be her balcony from which I espied, then, for surely she was the rightful Oracle.

I felt a little better, to think on it.

And which had betrayed their goddess for gold or mortal power? Vespasia, I knew; that was the name of Bianca's successor, who had given the Doge false foretelling. Was she one of the Elect? I had no way of guessing. The Priestess of the Crown? Mayhap. If not her, it had to be one or more of the Elect. Such risk, such blasphemy, was not undertaken lightly, without surety of gain. Face-to-face, I might have gauged it; hidden above, I could discern little.

There were two sets of stairs curving down from balcony, leading to the floor below. Slithering like an eel, I checked both and found them empty; only pink-veined marble steps disappearing from my sight where they curved, framed by gilded railings. Well and good; thus far, at least, Cervianus had not lied. I backed my way carefully to gaze inside the hidden flanking rooms.

Echo chambers, both of them; Sarae's great-great-aunt Onit had spoken true, too. I had some little knowledge of such things, by virtue of my friendship with Thelesis de Mornay. Each had sounding boards, cunningly set, to conduct the Oracle's voice into the chamber, and thence into the vaulted ceiling of the central dome, magnifying it vastly. A trick, I thought, to pitch one's voice just so; but it could be done in either direction, to the right or left. One held a flexible sheet of bronze, rigged to a mechanism with lever and cogs. This I guessed to be the thunder machine. The Hellenes had such devices of old.