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The one…armed man was tall； and strongly built。 Still； by definition； he was a cripple； and therefore the robber … if that was all he had been … might have taken it for granted that he'd be easy game。 Even had the attacker guessed that his intended victim carried a good oaken cudgel tucked into his belt under his loose shirt； he could hardly have predicted how quickly his quarry would be able to draw that club and with what authority he'd use it。
Now； leaning against the building for support； he had tucked his cudgel away in his belt again； and was pressing his fingers to his side under his shirt。 He could feel the blood ing out； a frighteningly fast trickle。
Except for the rain； the city around him was silent。 And all the windows he could see through the rain were dark； and most of them were shuttered。 No one else in the huge city appeared to have taken the least notice of the brief clash he had just survived。
Or had he survived it； air all？ Real walking； he had to admit； was no longer possible on his damaged knee。 For the present； at least； he could still stand upright。 He thought he must be near his destination now； and it was essential that he reach it。 Pushing himself along the wall that he was leaning on； and then the next wall； one stone surface after another； he stumbled on； hobbled on。
He remembered the directions he had been given； and he made progress of a sort。 Every time his weight came on the knee at all he had to bite back an outcry of pain。 And now dizziness； lightheadedness； came welling up inside his skull。 He clenched his will like a fist； gripping the treasure of consciousness； knowing that if that slipped from him now； life itself was likely to drain quickly after it。
His memorized directions told him that at this point he had to cross the alley。 Momentarily forsaking the support of walls； divorcing his mind from pain； he somehow managed it。
Leaning on another wall； he rested； and rebuilt his courage。 He'd crawl the rest of the way to get there if he had to； or do what crawling he could on one hand and one knee。 But once he went down to try crawling he didn't know he'd ever get back up on his feet again。
At last the building that had been described to him as his goal； the House of Courtenay； came into sight； limned by distant lightning。 The description had been accurate： four stories tall； flat…roofed； half…timbered construction on the upper levels； stone below。 The house occupied its own small block； with streets or alleys on every side。 The seeker's first view was of the front of the building； but the back was where he was supposed to go in order to get in。 Gritting his teeth； not letting his imagination try to count up how many steps there might be yet to take； he made the necessary detour。 He splashed through puddles； out of one alley and into an even narrower one。 From that he passed to one so narrow it was a mere paved path； running beside the softly gurgling； stone…channeled Corgo。 The surface of the river； innocent now of boats； hissed in the heavier bursts of rain。
The man had almost reached the building he wanted when his hurt knee gave way pletely。 He broke his fall as best he could with his one arm。 Then； painfully； dizzily； he dragged himself along on his one arm and his one functioning leg。 He could imagine the trail of blood he must be leaving。 No matter； the rain would wash it all away。
Presently his slow progress brought him in out of the rain； under the roof of a short； narrow passage that connected directly with the door he wanted。 He crawled on and reached the narrow door。 It was of course locked shut。 He propped himself up in a sitting position against it； and began to pound on the door with the flat of his large hand。 The pounding of his calloused hand seemed to the man to be making no noise at all。 At first it felt like he was beating uselessly； noiselessly； on some thick solid treetrunk。。。 and then it felt like nothing at all。 There was no longer any feeling in his hand。
Maybe no one would hear him。 Because he was no longer able to hear anything himself。 Not even the rain beating on the flat passage roof。 Nor could he see anything through the gathering grayness。 Not even his hand before his face 。。。
At a little after midnight Denis the Quick was lying awake； listening to the rain。 That usually made him sleepy； as long as he knew that he was securely warm and dry indoors。 But tonight he was having trouble sleeping。 The images of two attractive women were ing and going like provocative dancers in his imagination。 If he tried to concentrate on one； then the other intruded as if jealous。 He knew both women in real life； but his real…life problem was not that he had to choose between them。 No； he was not so fortunate； he told himself； as to have problems of just that kind。
Denis was well accusomed to the normal night sounds of the house。 The sound he began to hear now； distracting him from the pleasant torment of waking dreams； was certainly not one of them。 Denis got up quickly； pulled on a pair of trousers； and went out of his small bedchamber to investigate。
His room on the ground floor of the house gave almost directly on the main workshop； which was a large chamber now illumined faintly by a sullen smoldering of coals banked in the central forge。 Faint ghost…gleams of firelight touched tools around the forge and weapons racked on the walls。 Most of the work down here was on some form of weaponry。
Denis paused for a moment beside the fire； intending to light a taper from its coals。 But then he changed his mind； and instead reached up to the high wall niche where the Old World light was kept。
The back door leading into the shop from outside ground level was fitted with a special peephole。 This was a smooth little bulge of glass； cleverly shaped so that anyone looking through it from inside saw out at a wide angle。 Another lens； set into the door near its very top； was there to let the precious flameless torch shine out。 Denis now lifted the antique instrument into position there and turned it on； immediately the narrow passage just outside the door was flooded with clear； brilliant light。 And even as Denis did this； the sound that had caught his attention came again； a faint thumping on the door itself。 Now through the fish…eye lens he could see the one who made the sound； as a slumped figure somewhat blurred by the imperfect lens。 The shape of the fallen figure suggested the absence of an arm。
With the flameless light still glowing in his hand； Denis stepped back from the door。 The House of Courtenay generally contained some stock of the goods in which its owners dealt； including the fancy weapons that were the specialty of the house。 Also there was usually a considerable supply of coin on hand。 The place was a natural target for thieves； and for any member of the household to open any exterior door to anyone； particularly at night； was no trivial matter。 The only thing for Denis to do now was to rouse the household steward； Tarim； and get his orders as to what to do next。
Crossing the workshop； Denis approached the door to the ascending stair that led to the next highest level of the house； Tarim slept up there； along with most of the rest of the resident staff。 Denis opened the door … and stopped in his tracks。
Looking down at him from the top of the first flight； holding a candle in her small； pale hand； was one of the characters from his recent waking dream； the Lady Sophie herself； mistress of this house。 Denis's surprise was at seeing the lady there at all。 Family quarters were located on the upper levels of the house； well above the noise and smoke and smell of the shop when it was busy； and of the daytime streets。 Her tiny but shapely body was wrapped in a thick white robe； contrasting sharply with her straight black hair。 It was hard to believe that any faint sound at the back door could have roused the lady from her bed。
The mistress called down： 〃Denis？ What is it？〃 He thought she sounded nervous。
Denis stood there hugging his bare chest。 〃There's someone at the back door； Mistress。 I could see only one man。 Looked like he was hurt； but I didn't open。〃
〃Hurt； you say？〃
It looked and sounded to Denis almost as if the lady had been expecting someone to arrive tonight； had been waiting around in readiness to receive them。 Denis had heard nothing in particular in the way of business news to make him expect such a visitor； but such a nocturnal arrival in itself would not be very surprising。 As the headquarters of a pany of traders； the house was accustomed to the ings and goings of odd people at odd hours。
Denis answered； 〃Yes； Ma'am； hurt。 And it looked like he only had one arm。 I was just going to arouse Tarim。。。〃
〃No。〃 The mistress was immediately decisive。 〃Just stand by there for a moment； while I go get the master。〃
〃Yes； Ma'am。〃 It was of course the only answer Denis could give； but still it was delayed； delivered only to the lady's already retreating back。 Denis was puzzled； and a moment later his puzzlement increased； for here； already fully awake and active too； came Master Courtenay himself。 Courtenay was a moving mountain of a man； his great bulk wrapped now in a night robe of a rich blue fabric。 With