Away beyond the wall, the great city murmured in the night: wheels on dirt roads, distant laughter from the pleasure district along the quay, the tide lapping at its stones.
Lamplight shone in windows, embers glowed on roof hearths, and from the top of the tower beside the harbor gate the great watch fire burned its message out to sea.
Its image danced like imp-light on the waves.
At their posts, the guards played games of chance.
In the pillared halls, the servants slept on beds of rushes.
The palace gates were locked by triple bolts, each thicker than a man.
No eyes were turned to the western gardens, where death came calling, secret as a scorpion, on four pairs of silent feet.
