"It is said that one of your ancestors kept a slave girl secretly imprisoned here," Jorani said. "When his wife heard of it, she waited for him to leave the castle, then accused the girl's servant of some crime and had her killed. Though no one brought her food, the girl was able to obtain some water. She died of starvation not more than a day before her lover returned. It is said that if you go into the room at dawn, you can hear her weeping."

Ilsabet walked slowly toward the door, turning at the threshold. "Have you done so?" she asked.

Jorani nodded. "I heard nothing. Perhaps I do not have that gift. Come, I'll show you a way to the dungeon."

It descended in the same steep spiral as the known stairs, curving below them with little more height than that of an average man. Jorani had to walk in a crouch lest he hit his head on the staircase above him and alert some sharp-eared servant to his presence.

As they passed below ground level, the walls and stairs became damp and slippery. "Hold tight to the rail," Jorani cautioned. The slimy coating on it made Ilsabet thankful she was wearing gloves, but she wondered how well her grip on it would hold if she lost her footing.

The staircase ended below the level of the cells, then a narrow passage slanted upward at an easy angle. It had been designed that way on purpose, Jorani had told her earlier, so that anyone coming down the stairs could use a light, then extinguish it and travel on in the darkness, secure in the knowledge that the floor was smooth and they would not fall.