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floor, so that each house opened at the front. The effect was like a series of little boxed stage sets, each containing a fire and a group of Riversiders crowded around it, their hands stuffed under their armpits or held out to the fire, engaged in what could only loosely be termed marketing: a little dicing, a little flirting, drinking, and trying to sell each other stolen objects, shifting from foot to foot in the cold.
    In front of one of them Alec suddenly stopped. 'Here,' he said. 'Let's go in here.'
    There was nothing to distinguish this one from any of the others. Richard followed him to the fire. Alec's movements were languid, with a studied grace that the swordsman's eye recognised as the burden of feverish tension held in check. Other people noticed it too, though what they made of it was hard to say. Riverside was used to odd-looking people with odd moods. The woman nearest Alec moved nervously away, yielding her proximity to the fire. Across it a short man with a rag twisted around his sandy hair looked up from casting dice.
    'Well, look who's here,' he said in a soft whine. 'Master Scholar.' A long gleam of metal slid from his side to his hand. 'I thought I told you last night I didn't want to see your face again.'
    'Stupid face,' Alec corrected with airy condescension. 'You said you didn't want to see my stupid face around here again.' Someone giggled nervously. People had edged away from the dicer with the drawn sword. Without turning his head the man reached his free hand behind him and caught a small, pretty woman's wrist. He reeled her in to his side like a fish on a line, and held her there, fondling one breast. His eyes above her head dared anyone to react.
    'That's good,' Alec said with lofty sarcasm. 'I used to know a man who could name any card you pulled from the deck without looking.
    'That's good.' The man mimicked his accent. 'Is that what they teach you at University, scholar, card tricks?'
    The muscles tautened around Alec's mouth. 'They don't teach anyone anything at University. I had to learn to recognise people with duckshit for brains all by myself. But I think I'm pretty good at it, don't you?'
    The girl squeaked when her captor's arm crushed her bosom. 'You're going to be gone', he growled at Alec, 'by the time I count three.' Spit flecked the corner of his mouth.
    Behind them the voices were murmuring, 'Six says he's gone by two... by three... Six says he stays...."
    Alec stood where he was, his head cocked back, considering the other down the length of his nose. 'One,' the man counted. 'Two.'
    'Move, you stupid clown!' someone cried. 'Brent'll kill you!'
    'But I have to stay and help him,' Alec said with polite surprise. 'You can see he's stuck for the next one. It's "three,"' he told him kindly. 'The one after "two".'
    Brent flung the girl aside. 'Draw,' he growled, 'if you've got a sword.'
    The thin man in the scholar's robe raised his eyebrows. 'What if I haven't?'
    'Well.' Brent came slowly around the fire with a swordsman's sure step. 'That would be a shame.'
    He was halfway to the scholar when a bystander spoke up.
    'My fight,' he said clearly, so everyone heard.
    Brent looked him over. Another swordsman. Harder to kill, but better for his reputation. 'Fine,' he purred in his insinuating whine. 'I'll take care of you first, and then finish off Mister Scholar, here.'
    Richard slung his cloak around one arm. A woman near him looked at his face and gasped, 'St Vier!' Now the word was out; people were jostling to see; bets were changing. Even as they pressed back to the walls to give the fighters room, the spectators were agitating; a few slipped out to fetch friends to watch the fight. Newcomers crowded across the open house-front.
    Richard ignored them all. He was aware of Alec, safe to one side, his eyes wide and bright, his posture negligent.
    'There's your third for today,' Alec said pleasantly.
    'Kill him.'
    Richard began as he usually did, running his opponent through some simple