THREE

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They paid off the charabanc outside London and took three cabs to the airport itself.

M'chel was feeling a bit sorry for the driver, who'd have to contend with the law sooner or later, since his unwieldy vehicle wasn't the least bit anonymous looking. But he was suspiciously cheerful, especially after von Baldur gave him a tip that equaled his fee, which made her suspect he was more used to irregular customers than he let on, or else he had some impressive friends with badges.

She immediately forgot him, and began pondering who was after them and why.

Riss kept coming up with nothings, and so she asked Jasmine, the usual repository of wisdom.

She, too, was drawing a blank.

All Goodnight could offer was that one of the children had clearly irked someone with a criminal mind and a certain organization, which gave them nothing.

While they thought about who the villains could be, they had more than enough to do with their charges.

It started as Jasmine, being the normal paymaster, was shepherding luggage and tipping handlers.

Grok saw something odd, and inquired of the little girl bending over the drinking fountain just what she was doing. The girl was named Lis.

"Making punch," she said blandly.

"Which means?"

"Which means I'm wedging this bit of chemicals down beside the spout,"

she explained.

"Which makes?" Grok inquired.

"Which makes whoever takes a drink have a little taste of my chemicals,"

she said.

"Which makes?"

"Them pee bright purple for a while," Lis said gleefully.

Grok took the chemical block away.

At least, he thought, Lis was honest.

Goodnight was the next up.

Goodnight happened to see Megan holding her right hand very oddly as she strolled close to a prosperous young man wearing a vastly oversized collar-less jacket—the current style for men in Britain.

He recognized what she was doing, came in fast, took the girl by the arm, and moved her into a corner, a forced smile on his lips.

Kel was following closely.

"Bad stance," Chas hissed in thieves' cant. "That kind of dip is too easy to go shy, and bump the sucker wise."

Megan, who'd begun putting on an angry face, lost it.

"What should I be doing?" she asked.

"Not trying to teach yourself pickpocketing," Goodnight said.

"But I couldn't find any schools to teach me. Not in England," she protested.

"Tough. So you can stay straight, before somebody breaks off your ickle pretty fingers," he said.

"Who would do something like that to a sweet little girl like Megan?" Kel asked.

"Me." Goodnight said.

The two girls considered the expression on his face, and believed.

Arbra and Jo, looking terminally innocent, were strolling toward a duty-free jewelry shop. Grok intercepted them, and put on what he considered a friendly smile.

The two froze, seeing a face promising incipient anthropophaging and paled.

Grok had no idea what they'd been intending, but they went rapidly back to the main group. Grok himself decided to work on his smile.

Alice Sims was giving Von a severe, if very quiet, talking to, and Von was wailing loudly and contritely. Riss thought the wailing was maybe a little too contrite, theatrical, and eye-attracting. Suspicious, she looked around and saw Erin, in sad-faced conversation with a benevolent-looking elderly couple. She edged closer.

"You see, Reverend," Erin was saying, "when my beloved parents were dying, they gave me all of their Madagaskee money, which was to pay for my education here in England as a Bible translator. But no bank I've found will convert to English money. They tell me that what I need is someone who'll stand good for the amount until it clears, and I saw your faces, and knew that—"

That was enough for M'chel.

"Erin," she said, "it's time for prayers."

Erin glared in a most unholy way at Riss.

"In just a minute," she said sweetly.

"No," Riss said firmly, taking the girl's hand. "Now."

She dragged Erin away.

"I almost had them going!" she protested.

"Maybe," M'chel said. "And by the way, where were you going to get these Magawhatsit bills?"

"Oh, I'd figure something out," Erin said. "The important thing was for me to get my hands on their poke."

"Right."

Goodnight was watching Jo and Lithia slide down a corridor, past a sign reading baggage handling.

He went after them, taking his time.

He arrived in a back room. A knot of kneeling men looked up as Jo bent, picked up a pair of dice, and said, "All right, I can deal with any bets up to twenty pounds."

Bills and coins hit a blanket spread on the floor.

"You covered," a very light-skinned man said. "But I don't like takin'

money from a babe."

As Jo started to cast the dice, Goodnight stepped in, took her hand, and slid the dice out of her grasp.

"Sorry, gents," he said genially. "Gambling's against the law, especially for minors."

"And who the hell are you," a large, scarred man growled, "nudging in like this?"

Goodnight bounced the dice in his hand.

"I'm a fool protector," he said. "Watch. A four and a two are faceup. I tap them once, then I let idiots like you put their money down, and then I throw."

He did so.

The dice bounced a couple of times, and six showed.

"They'll put out fours and twos all day long," he said. "Until somebody taps them for another set of numbers. Come, girls. Your warm milk and cookies are getting cold."

As he herded them back into the central waiting room, ignoring the snarls coming from the gamblers, a speaker came on:

"Passengers with last names beginning with E, T, A, O, I, N are instructed to report to their loading areas, and be prepared to have your tickets checked for auth… authenticity." The voice sounded very young.

Friedrich von Baldur was on his feet, slightly purple-faced, even though he had no idea what crime that announcement was intended to conceal or promote.

"Enough and more than enough!" he almost shouted, and stamped toward a woman in an official-looking uniform.

Money changed hands, and the girls were shepherded into a VIP lounge, where they were the only occupants.

"And, by the Lord who made us all," von Baldur growled, "no one—but no one—will leave this room until they call our ship."

Jasmine King immediately got on a com, trying to reach contacts to find out who'd been trying to crash them on the way into London.

M'chel Riss looked around the room, saw a sideboard with bottles on it, poured herself a drink, knocked it back, forced a smile, and said, through her teeth, "Well, well. What a brisk start for a day!

"I wonder what exciting excitement comes next?"