A submachine-gun hammered from above, the bullets lashing the fountain pool; the water actually steamed, so great was their velocity. “All right!” a voice called down. “Assassins’ Truce is over!” Another burst of automatic fire smashed out the lights at the bottom of the ascent tube. Dirzed and Dalla struggled across the room, pushing a heavy steel cabinet between them; Verkan Vall, who was holding Olirzon’s submachine-gun, moved aside to allow them to drop it on edge in the open doorway, then wedged the door half-shut against it. Sarnax came over, bringing rifles, hunting pistols, and ammunition. “What’s the situation, up there?” Verkan Vall asked him. “What force have they, and why did they turn against us?” “Lord Virzal!” Dirzed objected, scandalized. “You have no right to ask Sarnax to betray confidences!” Sarnax spat against the door. “In the face of Jirzyn of Starpha!” he said. “And in the face of his _zortan_ mother, and of his father, whoever he was! Dirzed, do not talk foolishly; one does not speak of betraying betrayers.” He turned to Verkan Vall. “They have three menservants of the family of Starpha; your Assassin, Olirzon, discarnated the other three. There is one of Prince Jirzyn’s poor relations, named Girzad. There are three other men, Volitionalist precinct workers, who came with Girzad, and four Assassins, the three who were here, and one who came with Girzad. Eleven, against the three of us.” “The four of us, Sarnax,” Dalla corrected. She had buckled on a hunting pistol, and had a light deer rifle under her arm. Something moved at the bottom of the descent tube. Verkan Vall gave it a short burst, though it was probably only a dummy, dropped to draw fire.