in the upper windows of the Palace, but he saw no glare of fire-perhaps they had
put it out in time. The cart in which he was sitting was parked just outside the
Zoo Gardens, a few feet from the Processional Gate.
Sighing with relief, Lalo clambered over the side and began to strip off his
smock and brush away the worst of the filth that coated him-
-And stopped, feeling a gaze that was not the dispassionate stare of the mangy
lions beyond the barrier. He turned then, and looked across the square to the
Palace Gate from which a familiar grey-robed figure had just emerged. For a
moment fear froze him again, but he was still glowing with the inebriation of
power. He let his smock fall to the ground.
Zanderei’s robe was of rich silk, while his own worn shirt and stained breeches
would attract no attention. If he could entice the Rankan into the town, Lalo
would be on his own ground, and the City itself might rid him and the Prince of
their enemy.
Grinning nervously, Lalo walked into plain view, and then urged his stiff limbs
into an awkward dash through the Gate as Zanderei and half a dozen Hell-Hounds
leaped into motion across the Square after him.
Looking back over his shoulder at every other step, Lalo pressed his cramped
limbs to greater speed along the Processional Way. Hearing the guards close
behind him, he dodged among the merchants’ houses to Westgate Street and down
Tanner’s Row, heading for the Serpentine. And as he ran, the blood began to
course freely through his limbs once more, and he shed middle-age and