"Ulander," the guard on the right said, "I have a message for you." Only then did I recognize him beneath his red-plumed helm: Nim Bisnar, an old city guard who'd worked off and on for me during the last ten years.

"What is it?" I demanded. "You know you're supposed to use the back entrance. You'll give my place a bad reputation!"

He ignored my protests. "Captain Yoonlag sent us. An Oracle from Ni Treshel--that's right, the Ni Treshel, where the bones of Shon Atasha are kept--came to the Great Lord's palace yesterday. He's looking for more splinters of his god's bones. Somehow he'd heard tales about Slab's Tavern. Now he's persuaded the Great Lord to let him search your place!"

I jolted to my feet, startled and alarmed. "What? When?"

"In an hour, maybe two."

Calling to Lur, my doorman and bodyguard, I dug a handful of silver royals from my pouch and poured them into Nim's hands. "Half are Yoonlag's. Split the other half between you."

"Thank you, sir!" they both said, then turned to go ... through the back door, this time.

"Master?"

"Throw everybody out," I said, "except the servants."

"Sir?" he said, bewildered.

"You heard me. Do it!"

The tavern was large and dark, its dim light concealing crumbling the plaster and foot worn paving stones. Wooden columns hewn from the hearts of ancient oaks supported the high ceiling. Weird shadows stretched everywhere. There were numerous secluded spots, and off at the curtained booths along the edge of the room, illegal transactions were taking place.

I marked the pirates at their tables, with their rich, colorful, jewel-encrusted clothes that mimicked but never equaled nobles' dress, and nodded to the ones I knew: Griel Teq, Hilan Lammiat, Kol Fesseda, a few others. In return for protecting his city's ships, the Great Lord of Zelloque had made his city an open port ten years earlier. In one dark corner a couple of black-robed slavers threw dice; in another, two dock hands threatened each other with knives. With little patience or gentleness, various barkeeps persuaded them to take their squabble to a nearby alley. But mostly the people drank and talked and sang too loudly, the room ringing with boisterous shouts as they swore, laughed and argued.

Lur moved among them, bending now and then to whisper something in various ears. Usually the men would turn pale, then tremble, then bolt for the door. Even the pirates left without a fight; Lur's imposing bulk was just too much for them, I guessed. Within minutes the place was deserted.

For a long minute, I just stood there are pondered the guard's words. An Oracle, coming to search my tavern for a splinter of a god's bone ...

More than ghostly, disembodied heads that sang drunken songs, my tavern had quite a reputation for strange, magical happenings ... it had helped keep away all but the least blood-thirsty clientele. Slab's was the sort of place anything could happen. Rumor said that, late at night, drunks sometimes inexplicably became sober, the furniture rearranged itself (always when nobody was looking) and people sometimes vanished, never to be seen again. Of course, that was only rumor ... but I did know that against the far wall stood a table where chilled wine tasted like warm blood, and there was a certain spot (which moved every night) where Slab Vethiq himself, the man who'd founded my noble drinking establishment, was known to appear from time to time--or at least, his spirit was. And even if Slab didn't come, chances were someone--or something--else would ... if you stepped too close.

The two drunken, singing heads suddenly appeared over a table. They both wore the colorful silk scarves and earrings of sailors; only the mistiness of their necks and lack of bodies marked them as other than human. One of the barmaids seized a broom and swatted at them until they disappeared.

If the Oracle saw them or anything else magical he'd tear the building down in search of his bone.