Right now, he was going to kill a couple of Beysib boy-toys and lay theirpertinent equipment on Vashanka's Foal-side altar: maybe the Rankan murder-godcould be roused to action; Death knew that the Ilsig gods were out of theirdepth with these women-despots whose spittle was as venomous as the pet snakesthey kept and the spells they spoke. The Revolution could use the publicity andZip could use the money their jewelry was going to bring once Marc melted itdown.

Down the street came the Beysib boywhores, laughing in deeper voices than Beysibmen usually dared. Zip could make out some words now: "-porking town down on itsporking hands and knees with its butt in the air while those porkers pork it-"

Another voice cut in: "I've told you once, Gayle, to watch your mouth. Now I'mmaking it an order. Beysibs don't- God's balls!"

Without warning, and according to plan. Zip's two cohorts jumped out fromconcealment as the three Beysibs passed them.

Zip readied his throwing knives: once the Beysibs were herded his way, they wereas good as dead. He widened his stance, feeling his pulse begin to pound.

But these Beysibs didn't run: from under their cloaks or out of theirpantaloons, weapons suddenly appeared: Zip could hear the grate of metal asswords left their scabbards and the dismayed shouts from his cohorts as theytried to engage swordsmen with rusty daggers and sharpened wooden sticks.

Zip had a wrist slingshot; it was his emergency weapon. He didn't mean to useit; he was still thinking to himself that he was better off not gettinginvolved, that these weren't your average Beysibs-maybe not Beysibs at all-andthat he didn't owe the death-squad members anything, when he found himselfletting fly once, then again, with his wrist slingshot and making as much noise