Even during their conversation at Telgar Hold, Shankolin was wary of coming to Landing but Toric had said that there would be no trouble at all to arrange entry into the Admin Building itself so that Shankolin could estimate just what method would serve their mutual purpose. Toric gave him a substantial number of marks and observed that he had best journey from one of the smaller seaholds on Nerat's Foot. Toric knew of a fisherman whose captain owed him a favor or two and would sail him directly to Monaco Bay. He remarked that gloves on Shankolin's hand would disguise the missing joint and a cap pulled down on the forehead would hide the scar.

"Someone saw you and the Harper Hall has passed a rough sketch of you around. You'd best cover what you can and change what you're wearing now."

Shankolin suppressed a smile at the Lord Holder's disgust but smell was as much a disguise as clothing. To most observers, Shankolin was a hill man whom few would approach for several reasons, one of them being the body odor.

Just before Shankolin reached Loscar port, he washed both himself and his stinking clothes in a stream. In the port, it was easy to buy good secondhand clothing, suitable for a sea voyage. He found the captain Toric had recommended and presented him with the first of the hastily scribbled notes Toric had provided. He gave his name as Glasstol from Crom and no one challenged it. He spent most of the journey either asleep or eating. One of the more sociable crewmen explained how much the Flood had improved the Loscar harbor, and was answered by an uncivil grunt. So no one tried again to enter conversations with a passenger who clearly wished to keep to himself.

On his arrival at Monaco Bay, Shankolin was struck by the repairs already made; even its shipbuilding facilities were back in place. He had heard that the area had been inundated by five major tsunami waves and significant smaller ones to extend the sea inland as far as a man could walk in a day. That the wharf was new-and the reek of its wood preservative dominated even the smell of fish-was inescapable. A weathered metal pylon with a bell at its apex had been erected. The captain pointed out the new floats on the seaward side where shipfish would come when the bell was rung. Sometimes, the shipfish would summon the Portmaster. Shankolin had been raised inland and doubted this unlikely story.

As he had once before, he found a carter who was taking supplies from the harbor to Landing and, for a half mark, allowed him to climb into one of the wagons. It was slow. He helped with the burden beasts pulling the heavy loads and the carter, not a curious man by nature, spoke more to them than to his passenger.

By the time Shankolin was left off by the carter at the edge of the widely expanded Landing, he was glad of the map Toric had given him so he could make contact with the Southern Holder's contact in Landing: a man called Esselin who could be found in the Archives. He also owed Lord Toric favors, which was why Esselin would oblige Shankolin by escorting him into the Admin Building and the Aivas chamber. Shankolin found Master Esselin about to leave the main Archive Building, which had far too many windows. Perhaps that design shed light into the room and the shelving on which masses of books were visible, but all that glass would splinter so easily and destroy the contents. Shankolin began to assess how much explosives he would need. Perhaps Lord Toric knew of a man who could supply him.

Master Esselin was not happy to see the handwriting on the envelope Lord Toric addressed to him. He was even unhappier when he read the message; his sallow complexion turning paler and his fat face showing how irritated he was.

"Lord Toric felt that only you," and Shankolin knew how to flatter subtly, "would be able to grant my deep and abiding desire to see where the Aivas was housed."

That sentiment had the ring of truth and Shankolin infused his tone with reverent respect and awe.

"Just the briefest look would fulfill my life's ambition," Shankolin went on.

"Well, well, it is Lord Toric," Esselin said, as he tore the message into the smallest parts his thick fingers could manage.

At this hour, when most would be going to their homes for the evening, there were few on the neatly kept paths. However, Esselin made absolutely certain that no one else was nearby as he kicked a small hole in the nearest garden bed. The pieces of paper fluttered from his fingers into the hole and he stamped hard, looking all about him as he did so. One last look at his feet and he could see that not even a white corner was visible.

"Follow me," he said, straightening the lapels of his coat. "A brief look is all. I have work awaiting me in my quarters. As always." Esselin's tone was long-suffering as he waddled as quickly as he could pump his fat legs in the direction of the Admin Building.

Shankolin jumped as the lights illuminating the pathway blinked on in the twilight. He felt sullied by so much abomination around him. The sooner he could demolish all this, the better. There was, however, far more to Landing now than he had anticipated. It would make his ambition to destroy allthe Abomination's work much harder but there should be a way. He might have to recruit more helpers. He wondered how deeply indebted the fat little man was to Southern's Lord Holder.

He was surprised when he saw that Esselin was leading him, not around the bulky building to the front door, but to aback entrance. Shankolin saw the guard seated inside, saw a look of dislike cross his features as he recognized the little Master, but he rose immediately to let them in.

"We'll just come through this way and go out the front door," Esselin said, waving Shankolin to follow him.

The guard stepped back to allow the portly man to pass. His expression was totally blank as if he was just as happy to avoid any conversation with Esselin and scarcely looked at Shankolin.

They continued down the corridor, and doors closed on either side. Probably he could peer in through the windows once he was again outside on the path. Perhaps. Then they reached the wider hallway that Shankolin remembered, part of the entrance he had used before. No one of those talking among themselves did more than glance at Esselin and quickly look away.

The rooms to the left would have to be inspected. Perhaps burning pitch from an outside window? No, an explosive would be needed to achieve the most destruction. Fire would never damage enough.

Then, there, at the end of the hall, was the softly lit Aivas Chamber. Shankolin felt no reverence at all, but an intense thrill of pleasure. He had never thought he could gain entrance to the facility so easily.

When he had planned Batim's raid on the main Healer Hall they'd thought it would be much harder to enter. Unfortunately for that expedition, it had been much harder to leave.

Should he prevail on Master Esselin to accompany him on his next visit here? The fat man's clothes would hide more than his excess weight. But first, he must get to the actual chamber. And take a quick look at what was in the room to the left. Light spilled out into the hallway and, by the sounds he could hear, a lot of machinery was being used and quite a few people were at work.

Suddenly a big man stepped from that room, frowned when he recognized Esselin, and gave Shankolin the briefest glance.

"Promised him just a look, Tunge," Esselin said, flapping his left hand to dismiss the man.

Tunge started to protest but by then Esselin stopped at the threshold to the chamber. He turned to beckon Shankolin to hurry along.

"There isn't much to see now, of course, since Aivas terminated…"

Shankolin ignored him. He was savoring this moment, heart pounding in anticipation as it had on that previous occasion. He stiffened with remembered fear of the awful noise that had deafened him. But Aivas had terminated itself. Impatient to view the site that he would soon see in rubble, Shankolin shouldered a startled Esselin aside and strode purposefully over the threshold.