Sync replied: "Get rid of the mask and your playmates, and we'll talk. This isbetween us, or not at all."

Jubal responded, "Then perhaps it's not at all. But then you've wasted our time,and we don't like that. Do we?"

Ten scruffy locals made threatening noises.

"Look here, slumlord, are you in the pay of the Beysibs? If not, let's getserious. I didn't come here to give your staff combat lessons. If they need 'em,I've got trainers in the 3rd Commando who specialize in making silk purses outof sow's ears."

Three of the ten were edging forward. Jubal stopped them with a raised hand.From under the mask came what might have been a rattling sigh. "3rd Commando?Should I be impressed?"

Sync said, "I don't know what you're supposed to be, Jubal, in that damnfeathered cape and mask. Is everybody in this town in drag?" He crossed hisarms, thinking he should have sent a Sanctuary veteran to bring this black manin by the ear. He had to remind himself forcefully not to call Jubal a Wrigglyto his face. It was a damned shame, having to join forces with an enemy you'dthoroughly beaten years ago-and on equal terms. The misfortunes of war wereneverending.

"Not everybody," Jubal said, leaning forward.

The naked threat in his voice told Sync that he'd pushed just about as far as hecould with this ex-gladiator cum slaver cum power player, so he changed tack:"That's comforting. Now, since you won't get rid of your bodyguards, even thoughit looks to me like you'd be safe enough defending yourself, I'm going to tellyou why I'm here and we can have a democratic referendum on how much of a sharein the profits your men here get, how much you keep, what everybody's got to do,and who else is-"

"All right," Jubal interrupted. "All right. Saliman, clear the room and makesure no one gets too curious."