Peggol said, “Freeman, I know you technically enjoy military rank, but suppose you discover who the killer is, or he strikes again. Do you reckon yourself up to catching him and bringing him back for trial and decapitation?”

“I-” Radnal stopped before he went any further. The ironic question reminded him this wasn’t a game. Dokhnor of Kellef might have been a spy, he was dead now, and whoever had killed him might kill again — might kill me, if I find out who he is, he thought. He said, “I don’t know. I’d like to think so, but I’ve never had to do that sort of thing.”

Something like approval came into Peggol vez Menk’s eyes. “You’re honest with yourself. Not everyone can say that. Hmm — it wouldn’t be just your silver involved in a suit, would it? No, of course not; it would be Trench Park’s, too, which means the Hereditary Tyrant’s.”

“Just what I was thinking,” Radnal said, with luck patriotically. His own silver came first with him. He was honest enough with himself to be sure of that — but he didn’t have to tell it to Peggol.

“I’m sure you were,” the Eye and Ear said, his tone dry. “The Tyrant’s silver really does come first with me. How’s this, then? Suppose you take the tourists out, as you’ve contracted to do. But suppose I come with you to investigate while my comrades keep working here? Does that seem reasonable?”

“Yes, freeman; thank you,” Radnal exclaimed.

“Good,” Peggol said. “My concubine has been nagging me to bring her here. Now I’ll see if I want to do that.” He grinned knowingly. “You see, I also keep my own interests in mind.”

The other Eyes and Ears had methodically gone from one sleeping cubicle to the next, examining the tourists’ belongings. One of them brought a codex out of Lofosa’s cubicle, dropped it on the table in front of Peggol vez Menk. The cover was a color photo of two good-looking Highheads fornicating. Peggol flipped through it. Variations on the same theme filled every page.