boredom in the middle. Nowhere presently to go. Nothing presently to do, because
it was all waiting, waiting, waiting. Something would break and the Srd’s
scattered vigilance would turn up something, but in the meanwhile commerce went
on and down by the harbor hammering went on, sound echoing off distant walls.
Building going on while the world ended.
He sat there and chewed a tasteless bit of yesterday’s bread and drank a cup of
wine and most of what his mind wanted to go to was Her, and the river and the
dark. Maybe he could have found something to do with himself, found some use for
himself or some plan to pursue-but he had a deep and abiding conviction that
there was nothing, presently, worth the doing. And that soon all hell would
break.
He grew prophetic since he had shared the witch’s bed. Niko had gone down in
such a trap and even that failed to alarm him, because he knew why, and
accepted. He sat listlessly and heard his heart beat, thump, thump, like the
hammer-blows and the thud of cartwheels on cobbles and the whole pulse of the
city.
My city. Walls behind which the Empire could last if there were adjustments
here.
More than one emperor of Ranke had risen (aye, and come to grief) at the will of
the soldiery.
He could snatch up the sword Kadakithis left untouched. Be ready when Tempus
returned.
Shock Crit to hell, he would. Hello, Crit. Meet the new emperor. Me.
He shivered. It was crazy. He tried to think back to the night and it was full
of dark gaps. Memory of things he had done with Ischade that had all the