"At ... this hour?" The swollen lips bubbled. "Down—seventh level."
"And between?"
"The guest chambers—Lady Vydys—her party."
"Vydys...." Craig paused—frowning, searching his memory. Where had he heard that name before? From Tumek, or Narla? Or in a report, while he briefed for this mission?
He scowled, probing. "Why are you here, then, when this level's empty?"
"Why—? With Vydys in the tower?" The bloodshot eyes widened. "My lord Zenaor loves life. He knows better than to trust her."
The memories came back with a rush, if not their source. Vydys the Cruel, chief of all Zenaor's rivals! Here, in this tower, tonight!
Craig drew his lips thin.
"Where's your post, scum?"
"Below—force shaft." The guard gestured. "Heard you—kicking."