"Who else?" Siggen twisted his lips into an ironic smile and bowed his head. "I'm Siggen, head of the thieves of Yarr. And you're here to kill me. May I ask who sent you?"
"Can't you guess?"
"Many men would like to see me dead. Most of them are afraid to try it themselves. Just as the one who sent you is afraid. But don't bother telling me who did it. Roka has coveted my place for a long time."
Ostby said nothing.
"I trusted too much in my guards," Siggen said, more to himself than to Ostby. "My reputation must have sunk low if they allowed themselves to be bought." He sighed. "Perhaps it's no use trying to save this old hulk, but hope dies hard." For a moment his tired face showed stark and very naked in the light of the lamp. And somehow Ostby felt a bond of sympathy with the old man. "How much will you take to spare my life?"
"What will you pay?" Ostby asked.
"Roka probably paid you a thousand heds," Siggen answered. "I'll pay you ten thousand."
"A fair enough exchange," Ostby said. "Except that I don't want money."
"Then what do you want?"
"I want help—to enter the Stalls. And to get out again with my life."