hardly more than slits, impossible to crawl through. He could have hewn the wood
panels asunder, but the noise might be heard. Cappen had a better idea. He got
his partner down on hands and knees. Standing on the broad back, he poked his
spear through a window and worked it along the inside of the door. After some
fumbling and whispered obscenities, he caught the latch with the head and drew
the bolt.
‘Hoosh, you missed your trade, I’m thinking,’ said the Northerner as he rose and
opened the way.
‘No, burglary’s too risky for my taste,’ Cappen replied in feeble jest. The fact
was that he had never stolen or cheated unless somebody deserved such treatment.
‘Even burgling the house of a god?’ Jamie’s grin was wider than necessary.
Cappen shivered. ‘Don’t remind me.’
They entered a storeroom, shut the door, and groped through murk to the exit.
Beyond was a hall. Widely spaced lamps gave bare visibility. Otherwise the
intruders saw emptiness and heard silence. The vestibule and nave of the temple
were never closed; the guards watched over a priest always prepared to
accept offerings. But elsewhere hierarchy and staff were asleep. Or so the two
hoped.
Jamie had known that the holy of holies was in the dome, Ils being a sky god.
Now he let Cappen take the lead, as having more familiarity with interiors
and ability to reason out a route. The minstrel used half his mind for that
and scarcely noticed the splendours through which he passed. The second half
was busy recollecting legends of heroes who incurred the anger of a god,