Hitching up his tunic, he began drawing from around his waist the thirty feet of
knotted rope he had deemed wise. Lirain had assured him that a sedative would be
administered to the Hell Hounds’ evening libation. Hanse had no way of knowing
that to be the truth; that not only had one of those big burly five done the
administering, he had drunk no less than the others. Bourne and company slept
most soundly. The plan was that Hanse would leave the same way he had entered.
Because he knew he was a tool and was suspicious unto caution, Hanse had decided
to effect a different exit.
One end of the rope he secured to the table whose drape he’d stolen. The other
he tossed out the window. Crosswise, the table would hold the rope without
following him through the window.
It proved true. Hanse went out, and down. Slipping out westwards to wend his way
among the brothels, he was aware of a number of scorpions scuttling up and down
his back, tails poised. Evidently the bound occupant of His Highness’s bed was
not found. Dawn was still only a promise when Hanse reached his second-floor
room in the Maze.
He was a long time wakeful. Admiring the symbol of Rankan authority, named for
the god they claimed had given it them. Marvelling at its unimposing aspect. A
twig-like wand not two feet long, of yellowing ivory. He had done it!
Shortly after noon next day, Hanse had a talk with babbly old Hakiem, who had
lately done much babbling about what a fine fellow His handsome Highness was,
and how he had even spoken with Hakiem, giving him two pieces of good silver as