"I don't mean to be a downer," Agni says weakly from the back of the trike, "but this is impossible."

  A couple of days ago, I would have said the same. We're standing at the base of the cliff, having taken a wide circle around the raider camp. The nightsun is on western horizon. Before long the first of the daytime suns will peak through in the east, but for now it's the darkest part of the day, blue-white light draining away as shadows stretch and merge. The stars are out, dancing in their constellations.

  The cliff is at least forty feet of nearly vertical rock, polished to smooth curves by the endless wind-blown sand. You could probably get up it with pitons and hammers, which we haven't got.

  "There'll be a lookout up there," Quarter says.

  I shrug. "How often will they be looking straight down, do you think?"

  All the defenses of the camp face the other way, toward the open desert. The big party is the center of attention. With any luck, the cliff and the cutter are covered by only a handful of inattentive guards. Maybe they've already slipped off to get drunk, or bathe in blood, or whatever the fuck cannibal raiders do for fun times. I tell myself happy stories as I tie the rope around Mercy's waist. At least we rope; there was a coil in the back of the trike.

  "All right," I tell her, tightening the knot. "You think you can do this?"

  "Murder," Mercy says, nodding firmly as she stares up at the cliff.

  "And you understand what to do?"

  "Murder." She point upward, then tugs the rope and makes a twisting motion. "Murder, murder. Protect."

  "Right. Throw the loose end down here." I have no idea if she can tie a knot, much less do so one-handed. "And if anyone sees you?"

  "Murder!" Mercy grins.

  "Exactly. Unless there's too many of them. Then just come back here and we'll run for it."

  "Protect," she says solemnly.

  "Okay." I let out a breath. "Good luck."

  "She only has one ," Agni says, struggling to sit forward. "How is she supposed to --"

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  Mercy jumps straight up like a startled tick, clearing half the cliff face in a single bound. Her good arm shapes itself into a blade with a barbed tip, and at the top of her arc she jams it into the rock to arrest her fall. Her legs form blades as well, long and thin, and she kicks them into the crumbly stone for support.

  "Ain't that a thing," Quarter says.

  Erasmus, I notice, is staring with particular concentration.

  Mercy tenses, considering, then jumps again. Pebbles rattle down as she makes another handhold. One more spring and she's reached the top, her arm becoming something like a pick to dig into the flat ground. She rolls inelegantly over the edge and out of sight. The rope, trailing behind her like an overlong tail, continues to twitch and shiver.

  "And she just … found you in the desert?" Agni says. "What was she out there?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine," I say. "Feel free to ask her, but the answer will probably be --"

  A shape appears on the edge of the cliff, limbs flailing, then topples over the side. It hits the sand with a bone-cracking ; as my face can attest, it's not as soft as it looks. The body is a raider, a young man with a slit throat and a surprised expression.

  "Murder," I finish weakly. The rope jerks a few more times, and then Mercy appears at the edge of the cliff, tossing down the free end. It falls beside me, and I give it an experimental tug. No give. Whatever she's attached it to seems solid.

  "I'll go first, I guess. Quarter, you follow. Erasmus, you're sure you can handle Agni?"

  "I think zo," the big man says. "It may be painful for her."

  "Well, I going to lie back and die," Agni drawls, "but now I have to see how this turns out. Do people ever tell you you're crazy, Kal?"

  "Frequently." I grin again, the pins-and-needles anticipation of the game spreading up my arms and through my body. This is my favorite part of the game, when the die has been cast and there's no going back. Something will go wrong, something

  goes wrong. But you make it work anyway.

  Of course, the stakes here are a lot higher than a few sacks of coin or an angry father chasing me out of a girl's bedroom. I'm trying not to think about that part.

  Climbing into -- or more often

  of -- second-story windows comes up surprisingly often, so I'm a fair hand with a rope or even a knotted bedsheet in a pinch. The cliff face is rougher than the fa?ade of most City townhouses, but on the other hand, there are no inconvenient gargoyles or window-boxes to get in the way. I kick off the worthless prisoner's slippers and plant my bare feet against the rock for traction. By the time I pull myself over the lip, my toes are bleeding from a dozen small cuts.

  "Protect!" Mercy says, grabbing my arm and pulling me further. "Protect?"

  "I'm all right," I wheeze. "Just give me a minute."

  By the time I've got my wind back, Quarter has heaved himself over the edge. The scrawny bastard doesn't even look out of breath. Glancing down I can see Erasmus' bulky shape mounting the line with Agni slung ingloriously over his shoulder. I worry for a moment if the his weight will be too much; the rope shivers, but doesn't tear.

  The bulk of the ship looms above us, not looking so little now that we're right up against it. I look from Quarter to Mercy and raise my eyebrows.

  "All right, boarding party. Got your cutlasses?"