In Viriconium, the young men whistle to one another all night long as they go about their deadly games.  If you wake suddenly you may hear footsteps running, or an urgent sigh. After a minute or two the whistles move away int the direction of the Tinmarket or the Margarethestrasse. The next day some lordling is discovered in the gutter with his throat cut and all you remember is the quiet maneuvering in the dark like the dream of a secret war. Who can tell fantasy from reality, magic from illusion, hero from villain, man from monster – in Viriconium?