"You can't be serious!"

"Yes, I can."

"But it's ridiculous!"

Brent's face was flushed with agitation, and Janyn didn't blame him, not after he'd related to his client the substance of his dinner conversation with Tera and Paul.

"You said that there was no evidence of forced entry at Prentiss's house, right?"

"There was no evidence of anything that we could see."

"Well, then?" Brent spread his hands almost imploringly. "Doesn't that mean something? They can't prove I was there, not in any way!"

Janyn shrugged.

"You know Sergeant Paul better than I do," he said noncommitally, "but I'll tell you, I've seen people hung for a lot less than having a good motive and no alibi."

Brent didn't answer at once; he just stared off into the rock garden. The flickering lamps hanging at regular intervals were clear evidence that it was meant to be seen by night, that the play of shadow and light among rocks, paths, and the trunks of palm trees was carefully cultivated to achieve an effect. Janyn supposed that to some it would speak of nature's harmony, of the solitude of the desert, or something similar, but he didn't see it. His eyes kept flicking despite themselves towards the larger patches of shadow, attempting to pierce them and failing. Things lurked in shadow, creatures stealthily approaching their prey; the garden made the hairs on the back of Janyn's neck twitch with the sense of danger. The fact that he could spot nothing in any way threatening did not reassure him, but made him even more nervous. His hunter's instincts spoke of a danger, and failing to locate it only made him feel more exposed, more at risk.

"I know," Brent admitted at last. "I know that. It's why I hired you, after all. They have to hang someone, have to show that there's justice and righteousness, even if it's all an act. The killer will probably be there at the hanging, just to laugh about it and cheer them on!" He spun towards Janyn and grabbed the hunter's arm. "You have to stop them! You have to save me!"

"I'll do what I can," Janyn said. "I have to know what I'm up against, though."

Brent seemed to sense something of his meaning, because a sudden wariness came into his voice.

"What do you mean, Janyn?"

"I mean, is there anything to find? When the sergeant goes over those business records, is he going to find evidence of a deal between Tyrell and Prentiss?"

"How would I--"

"You've got to tell me the truth now, Brent. This is the sticking point. The evidence suggests two men were tortured to death; that takes a vicious cruelty, or else a powerful rage. There's no physical link to you, and no witnesses. If all the law can do is suspect you because you were a business rival, you'll be in the clear. But, if they can show the two victims were colluding on a partnership that would cost you thousands or tens of thousands of meseta, then that's another story. I need to know what I'm up against!"

Brent was trembling with barely-suppressed emotion; he was afraid and Janyn was just pushing at that fear. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, though. Fear could be a friend when one was facing real danger. So long as it didn't give way to panic, fear was a shield against stupid choices spawned by greed and desire. Janyn wanted Brent's attention firmly fixed on getting out of his current trouble.

"Damn, I need a drink," the trader muttered, "something to settle my nerves. Where is that kid? I told him to bring it out here." He shook his head as if to clear aside those thoughts. "You're right. Paul is right. There was a deal between Tyrell and Prentiss."

"What kind of deal?"

"Just about what you'd expect. Prentiss had signed a bargain whereby he'd purchase all his imported goods from Tyrell, in exchange for reduced prices. What Tyrell lost in profit margin he'd make up in volume, plus the effect on my business would have been savage."

"It would have put you out of work?"

"No," Brent said at once, then backpedaled. "Maybe. I can't be sure. Prentiss was the best, most reliable customer I had in Morova, and it would have hurt. Maybe it would have had long-term effects, or made some of my other customers doubt me."

So, in a best-case scenario Tyrell's operation would have gotten bigger and richer at Brent's expense. In a worst case, Brent wouldn't have a business left.

It was more than enough motive, especially considering the men's past rivalry.

"How did you find out?"

"Prentiss told me, four days ago. I could have killed him! I could have killed them both! I didn't, though. I'm not a murderer--and besides, there's no way I could have snuck into their homes and killed them. Do I look like someone who could do that?"

It was a rhetorical question, but it raised a valid point. The truth was, Janyn didn't know what "someone who could do that" looked like. He knew dozens of other Guild hunters, every last one of them a trained killer, a person who earned their money by destroying monsters and hunting down criminals. Some were huge and strong, others lithe and swift. A few didn't look a thing like a fighter.

Those were usually the dangerous ones.

"Let's turn this around," he suggested. "Who else would suffer from this exclusive deal?"

"Well, the other shopkeepers, of course. Stability always hurts the little guy. It would mean that Prentiss would never have questions about his supplies; the others wouldn't get a leg up on him. Likewise, Prentiss would be guaranteed first pick of available goods."

"What about Ned Crain? You mentioned him before as being a professional crook, even involved in bandit attacks. That's not a man who'd think twice about killing if he felt he needed to."

"Yes, yes, you're right--and he would have motive!" Brent seized upon the possibility. "An alliance between Tyrell and Prentiss might well have the money and other resources to beat Crain at his own game, stop his extortion. His profits would be sharply curtailed. He might have acted now to stop them from gaining an advantage over him."

"I wonder if he makes a more attractive suspect for Sergeant Paul, or less?"

There was a world of meaning in Janyn's question. Despite his emotional state, or perhaps because of it, Brent picked up on that at once.

"What are you trying to say?"

"I don't know Morova. How willing would the local law be to confront Crain?"

Brent smiled wryly.

"You might be surprised."

"It had to be asked."

"Paul wouldn't agree, but I'm not likely to care much about his feelings right now. What about the woman?"

"Magistrate Serin?"

Brent nodded.

"Whose side is she on?"

That was an interesting way of putting it, though he didn't particularly blame Brent for seeing it that way.

"I don't think she has a side, at least not in the way that you mean. She's from Kadary, so she doesn't have any local agenda to push, and as far as I can tell, finding the truth is all that matters to her. So long as we can't figure out how the crime was committed, she might end up being our best ally. She won't be satisfied naming a suspect on motive alone, hanging someone just because he had a good reason to kill."

"I wish she had the final decision, then."

"You wish?"

"Local law trumps. Kadary Magistrates have the jurisdiction to investigate crime outside of Kadary but they do so as employees of the town, not independently. If Serin says no but Paul says yes, more likely than not the court will listen to Paul."

Did Trevor Paul really want quick answers? He actually seemed more thoughtful and thorough than Janyn had expected, gathering and analyzing evidence and leaving guards to protect a crime scene. Brent knew the sergeant better, but Brent was also clearly near the breaking point emotionally and his judgment wouldn't be as clear as it could be.

Janyn didn't say any of that, though. His client had troubles enough without being harassed by his own hunter.

"Tomorrow I'll start in on Crain," was what he said. "He won't admit anything, unless he's considerably dumber than you make him sound, but with luck I can provoke something. Evidence is what we need, and even if we can't prove he's guilty, he might start acting guilty. That could win you some breathing space."

Presuming, Janyn thought, that his client wasn't actually the murderer. It was a possibility that he couldn't put away. He did have motive, and he'd concealed that motive from the hunter.

"It's stifling out here; let's go in," Brent said suddenly. Though the air was cool, Janyn understood perfectly. Perhaps his client, too, could feel the eyes in the shadows.

Brent spun and in the same motion took a hard step back towards the house. Unfortunately, the drinks he'd been asking for a moment ago had finally arrived, carried by a young boy around ten whom Janyn believed was the housekeeper's son. His steps were almost silent, and Brent crashed unsuspectingly into the boy, who'd had no time to react to his employer's sudden movement. The dark burgundy liquid, ink-black in the lantern light, splashed out over them both.

"Damn it!" Brent shouted. "This shirt's ruined! Why don't you watch where you're going, you stupid brat!" His right hand came up to about waist level and clenched into a trembling fist. Janyn was afraid he'd have to intervene, but his client mastered himself and let his hand fall without striking out.

"Take those glasses inside," Brent told the boy. "Get cleaned up, then clean this mess here." The boy scuttled off, relief suffusing his face. Janyn had read the fear there, fear of Brent's almost tangible anger which had, in turn, sprung from the trader's own panic.

"I'd better be going," Janyn told his client. The momentary loss of control was embarrassing, even shameful for the successful businessman, more so because both men knew what had spawned it. "I'll give you another report tomorrow on my progress."

"Yes, thank you. There's a gate at the far end of the garden. I could unlock it for you if it would be quicker."

Though it would be a faster way out and more convenient for reaching Janyn's inn, he declined the offer. Somehow, he did not want to walk through those shadows.