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But the silversmith only shrugged, as Talsu had a while before. "Who knows? By the time the Algarvians are done digging, though, they'll find something. You can bet on that."

Talsu abruptly wondered if he'd be sick all over the table in front of him. This was fouler than anything he'd imagined. It felt like wading in sewage. Worse still was being unable to show what he thought. He spoke carefully: "The Algarvians are liable to know I don't know anything about Zverinu."

"Not if you phrase the denunciation the right way." Kugu taught treason with the same methodical thoroughness he gave classical Kaunian. "You can say you heard him on the street, or in the market square, or any place where you could both plausibly be. You can even say you had to ask somebody who he was. That's a nice touch, in fact. It makes things feel real."

"I'll see what I can come up with." Talsu gulped the fine wine Kugu was buying. That first denunciation had got him out of the dungeon, but it hadn't got him out of trouble. If anything, it had got him in deeper.

"All right." Kugu emptied his own goblet. "Don't take too long, though. They're keeping an eye on both of us. It's a hard, cold world, and a man has to get along as best he can."

A man has to get along as best he can. Talsu had lived by that rule in the army. The idea of living by it to the extent of turning against his own kingdom filled him with loathing. But all he said was, "Aye." Here he was, getting along with Kugu as best he could till he found some way to pay back the silversmith.

Kugu set coins on the table, some with King Donalitu's image, more with that of King Mainardo, the younger brother of King Mezentio. If nothing else, Talsu had made him spend a good deal of his, or perhaps Algarve's, money. That wasn't so bad, but it wasn't enough, not nearly.

In the cool evening twilight outside the eatery, Kugu asked, "Do you want to lead off with your denunciation, or shall I go first?"

"You go ahead," Talsu answered. "Yours will be better than mine; it's bound to be. So mine can add on to what you've already said." The longer he delayed, the more time he had to come up with something to undo Kugu.

But the silversmith took Talsu's flattery, if that was what it was, as no more than his due. Nodding, he said, "I give my language lessons tomorrow. I'll work on mine over the next couple of days after that and turn it in. That gives you plenty of time to get something ready."

"All right," Talsu said, though it wasn't. "I'd better get back before curfew catches me."

"Before long, you won't need to worry about that," Kugu said. "People will know who you are." Confident as if he were a redhead, he strode away.

So did Talsu, less confidently. He was thinking furiously as he went back to his father's tailor's shop and his room above it. He kept right on thinking furiously all the next day. He was thinking so hard, he wasn't worth much at work. Traku scolded him: "How many times are you going to use the undo spell, son? The idea is to get it right the first time, not to see how many different kinds of mistake you can fix."