looked very much like a boy herself - more so, if anything, than the chubbycheeked blond urchin she was issuing rations to. When Melilot took her on shehad been in rags, and he had insisted on buying her new clothes of which,inevitably, the price would be docked from her miniscule commission on the workshe did. She didn't care. She only insisted in turn that she be allowed tochoose her garb: a short-sleeved leather jerkin cross-laced up the front;breeches to mid-calf; boots to tuck the breeches into, a baldric on which tohang her scribe's compendium with its reed-pens and ink-block and water-pot andsharpening knife and rolls of rough reed-paper; and a cloak to double ascovering at night. She had a silver pin for it - her only treasure.

Melilot had laughed, thinking he understood. He owned a pretty girl a year shyof the fifteen Jarveena admitted to, who customarily boxed the ears of his boyapprentices when they waylaid her in a dark passageway to steal a kiss, and thatwas unusual enough to demand explanation.

But that had nothing to do with it. No more did the fact that with her tannedskin, thin build, close-cropped black hair, and many visible scars, she scarcelyresembled a girl regardless of her costume. There were plenty of ruffians - someof noble blood -who were totally indifferent to the sex of the youngsters theyraped.

Besides, to Jarveena such experiences were survivable; had they not been, shewould not have reached Sanctuary. So she no longer feared them.

But they made her deeply - bitterly - angry. And someday one who deserved heranger more than any was going to pay for one at least of his countless crimes.She had sworn so ... but she had been only nine then, and with the passage oftime the chance of vengeance grew more and more remote. Now she scarcely