A knock sounded upon Myles' study door.

It was late. Whoever it was was lucky to still find George there. 'Well' George thought ruefully 'Perhaps not." He had found himself working late often this past week. But the net was closing in tightly. Soon he would capture his prey.

Even so, there was still evidence missing. What had happened to Meenu Natageera on the Tortal- Galla border?

At least George knew where Brotsmith's new found money had come from. That formed the lynch pin in his evidence against his adversary. Although this evidence was compelling it wasn't enough evidence.

"Enter." George said.

Edward entered.

George should have known. It would be Edward who knew that he'd still be working late. Since arrival in Corus, Edward had quickly become George's most adept informant and was as useful in the Palace as he had been amongst the Merchants.

But another person entered shortly after Edward. George sat up straighter. This was an odder occurrence. He sifted through his knowledge of the Palace servants for this girl, about eighteen years old, was wearing their unmistakable uniform. Her name was Eunice, family all servants, first to work at the Palace, disliked hard labour, notoriously flirtatious. Her eyes were red rimmed but they did not disguise the snobbish turn of her nose and her straight posture. She walked gracefully into the centre of the room.

"Yes?" George asked, prompting her to speak

"I have some information for you." She said clearly

George leaned back into his chair. Whatever it was could well be useful, even if it was false accusation in the hopes of advancement, but he was feeling too tired to really feel much anticipation for Eunice's story.

"It was Meenu Natageera who attempted to kill the King not three nights past."

"Oh?" George asked slowly "What gives you that idea?"

"Because I was stood beside him as he threw the knife, one of the knives in the target the Sword Dancers had used."

George was studying Eunice carefully. A witness statement would be invaluable in proving Meenu's guilt. Eunice spoke clearly without faltering or looking away, displaying none of the usual signs of a liar. Yet it seemed too simple.

"Why have you not spoken of this till now?" George asked

"Meenu, I mean Master Natageera promised me something?"

"What did he promise?" George said sharply

Eunice's voice caught with emotion and she looked up at the study's ceiling. When she looked back at George, her face looked more blotched with red than before

"He promised, he promised that he would take me away from the Palace, that he loved me, that when the King was dead he would be greatly rewarded and we would be able to live in luxury. But then I found out-" here Eunice glanced quickly at Edward, who skulked in the shadows "he was unfaithful." George inwardly sighed, Eunice could easily be a spurned lover simply out for revenge.

"Did he explain why he felt the King should be killed?"

"No. I found letters in his rooms once, he was angry that I had found them but I could not read them. They were written in Yamani."

"Is there anything else you feel I should know about Master Natageera?" George asked patiently

"He never revealed more than he needed to." Eunice said bitterly "he told me the death of the King was necessary, that it would save his countryman, that afterwards he would be powerful enough to take me away. I believed everything. I even believed that his scars where from being mauled by a bear. Pah!" she spat her derision.

"Scars?" George asked absent mindedly, his mind already running through his next move.

"Yeah, all up his back, like scratches or whip marks."

It was time to play his hand.

"Edward, get the Palace Guard, alert them, tell them we must not let Meenu Natageera to escape." George said "Eunice, you must stay here and speak no work to anyone, understood?"

Edward dashed out the room. George began to buckle on the belt of knives he kept in the study cabinet, slipping more into his boots and then belting his sword above his knife belt. He thought furiously as he did so. The ambassador's suit was the floor above and there was a servant's staircase within his very study would bring him within four doors of Natageera's very rooms. Would the earliest capture of Natageera possible or would this simply alert Natageera to his danger sooner. It was true that if George failed in his attempt Natageera would know that the game was up. That still left him the task of escaping the Palace Guard.

George made his decision. He strode to the concealed doorway beside Myles' bookshelf and ripped it open. He took the small stairs two at a step until he arrived at another small door. Through the doors peep hole he could see no one and he opened the doors onto the plushy decorated Ambassadorial corridor. Some Conté ancestors imperiously stared down at him but he ignored them, his eyes fixed upon the door to Natageera's rooms.

He crouched down as he reached it, trying to slow his heavy breathing, trying to make less noise. He checked the key hole, it was empty. He stroked the doorknob, thanking Mithros that it made no noise but the door would not push open. He released the door knob and pulled out one of his smallest knives and some curved metal he still kept on him out of habit. Lock picks were invaluable, a life lesson he would live by till his dying breath.

With a minimal amount of scratching and clicking George could manage the lock flicked open. George smiled despite himself; lock picking was a skill hard to lose.

He stood up and eased the door open. The living quarters looked deserted, though their darkened depths could conceal a man easily. George pulled some knives into his hands: infinitely more useful in so enclosed a space than his sword and entered the room.

Sweat prickled the back of his neck but he ignored it. He felt like a highly strung lute, ready to send out a jarring note if he were plucked. His eyes darted all over the small lounge as he entered slowly. But no attacker emerged. George looked up quickly just in case he had missed something, but the ceiling was bare.

George kicked the washroom door open but it too was bare.

As George gave the same treatment to the bedroom door his stomach bounced. He'd seen movement. He levelled his knives, ready to fly at an attacker.

But no attack came.

George realised the movement he had seen was the flapping of a curtain, dancing in the breeze from a flung open window. The night breeze tickled George's sweat flecked brow. George leaned on the window ledge and cursed. It would be easy, at least for him, and he suspected Natageera, to edge along the outside ledge or climb down the two floors to the ground.

It seemed his adversary had flown the coop.