And the answer to the question? The woman up the street?

"Mrs. Cardonlos? Singe? Is Mrs. Cardonlos still a stringer for the red tops?"

"Yes. But since you have been gone she does not have a regular team staying there. She rents rooms for real, now. Let me get these two started on Mr. Dotes."

The burly, badly dressed ratwomen looked at Singe like she was a goddess. They'd never seen a ratperson in a conversation of equals with a human. And Singe was female!

One eyed me like she thought there was something wrong with me.

I followed but stayed in the hallway while Singe explained the job. The ratwomen had done this kind of work before. They had no trouble understanding. Cued by the Dead Man, Dean brought a tray with food for the help as well as Morley.

Before he went back to the kitchen Dean offered a wan smile and said, "The excitement is back."

Not really. We were going to sit here and do every bit of the nothing we had done at Fire and Ice. Everything else would be in the hands of others. Professionals. And criminals.

A warn-off by the gods themselves would not keep Belinda from digging.

I hoped no one on the law-and-order side pushed her. She was crazy enough to push back.

Dean went to bed before the ratwomen finished. I helped Singe clean up; then we resumed gossiping and honoring Weider's beer.

It didn't take much of the latter to slow me down.

I meant to quiz Singe on how I could handle Tinnie. But I stayed sober enough to realize that was stupid. Singe was barely an adult. She wasn't human. And Tinnie was unique, possibly unfathomable by Tinnie Tate herself.

Eventually I dragged myself upstairs. My room was the way I had left it, except that somebody had cleaned it and had made up the bed with fresh linens.

Singe was altogether too efficient. And was, probably, resenting my intrusion into her quiet, orderly world.

30

There were four sleeping rooms on the second floor of my house. The biggest, stretching across the front, was mine. Dean's room spanned the house in back, except for a storage closet and space taken by the stairs. Singe occupied the largest of the remaining rooms, which sat on the west side of the central hallway. In area, it almost matched Dean's. The fourth room--our guest room--contained a seldom-used bed and lots of stuff that should have been thrown away. We used to hide somebody there once in a while.

There were two real, glazed windows in my room. They were not barred because there was no easy way for villains to get at them. Both looked down on Macunado Street. The one to the east might as well have not existed. I've never opened it and seldom looked out it. The other, beside the head of my bed, had seen some action. Once upon a time I would stare out it while I ruminated. Tonight, as always in warm weather, it was open a few inches so cool night air could get inside.

I liked sleeping in a cool room.

I had the opportunity that night. The temperature plummeted after sundown. At one point I wakened and added a light blanket to the sheet that had been adequate earlier. Later, I wakened again and used the chamber pot, setting some beer free. Then I wakened a third time, needing a heavier cover and with my bladder ready to explode.

The sky had been overcast during the afternoon and evening. That had cleared. The light of an unseen moon splashed the rooftops and turned them into a weird faerie landscape.

My aim was less than perfect. I missed the pot completely to start. Disgusting. I gobbled something incoherent meant to be an appeal to the Dead Man. No telling what I thought he could do. I got no response, anyway.

Then I saw the ghost.

The specter drifted down out of the night and came toward my window like a vampire in a dream. "But vampires don't really fly," I reminded myself. "They just jump really far." Vampires can leap for altitude or distance but they don't flit like bats. Nor do they turn into bats, much as they might want the prey community to think they do.

I calmed myself, completed my business, formulated a plan for cleaning up before Singe or Dean discovered the evidence. Then I checked the window. And nearly panicked.

The flying woman was still there, hair and clothing streaming in the breeze. Her dress was something light and white that, in moonlight, made me think of fashionable grave wear. And reminded me of what I had seen vampire brides wearing in the nests in the adventure where I first butted heads with Tinnie Tate.

My ears kicked in. I heard my name. Then my brain shed sleep enough to put it all together. That was the Windwalker, Furious Tide of Light. And she wanted in.

So, naturally, I remembered that vampires, like most evils, have to be invited in the first time. And I recalled my reaction to this woman last time our paths crossed.

She didn't look like she had seduction in mind. She looked troubled.

I raised the window as high as it would go, which was not much. I turned up my bedside lamp. The Windwalker, being a wisp of a woman, drifted through the narrow opening.

I settled on the edge of my bed, waited, hoping she would feel no need to pace over there by the chamber pot. She glanced around, shoved my dirty clothes off the only chair, settled. She turned the lamp back down. "A watcher might wonder."

Assuming he failed to notice a flying woman in her nightgown sliding in the window. "You didn't ride anything this time."

"A broomstick isn't necessary." She noted my interest in her apparel. "The King held a ball at Summer Hall. I was invited. He has aspirations." She spoke softly.

So. Not a nightgown. "I see." I matched her soft voice. Singe would invite herself to join us if she heard us talking. "And now you're here."

"Yes. It was on the way."

Only by the most circuitous route.

31

"I'm frightened. Strange things are happening. They're outside my control. I don't deal well with that sort of circumstance."

She spoke like she wanted me to understand, not like she wanted to be comforted, which was how my head worked when she was around.

"I'm lost but I'm listening."

"Otherwise, I'm not sure what my problem is. Actually, I just know that one is shaping up. Besides being able to stroll through the air I'm strongly intuitive, but randomly. I can't control it and don't dare rely on it. Right now I intuit that something abidingly dark is afoot. Powerful people are trying to cover it up. I can't understand why."

"You wouldn't be one of those yourself, would you?"

She seemed genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"

"Last time I was involved in weird goings-on involving secret labs and illegal experiments, your daughter and her friends were in the middle of it. You and your father went balls to the wall to make sure they didn't get eaten alive for their foolishness."

"Kevans isn't involved this time. I don't think any of the Faction kids are."

Kevans' gang of misfit genius friends called themselves the Faction.

"How come it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself?"

"I admit it. Kevans does lie to me. When I see her. Which is hardly ever anymore."

"She's not living with you?"

"She has her own place. I don't think she learned much last time. And I'm scared that some of her other friends might be involved. Or might know who is. And Kevans wouldn't say."

"Teen solidarity. But, involved in what?"

"Exactly."

"Teen solidarity usually collapses in the face of real consequences."

"I don't think Kevans is involved." She was waffling based on wishful thinking. "But she might be close to someone who is. I don't want to press her. Our relationship is complicated and fragile."

"I know. But how come you're here?"

"Let me tell you about my week." Which she did, wasting few words. "When the business on the edge of Elf Town broke Prince Rupert asked me to investigate. That ended after we found the warehouse where somebody was using parts from dead bodies to assemble custom zombies."

"Singe told me."

"I thought she would. She got warned off before I did."

"Uhm?"

"What did she tell you about that hellhole?"

I sketched Singe's report.

Furious Tide of Light said, "The girl who stayed in that room and slept with that stuffed bear was no captive."

Singe was sure the room's inmate had been a girl, too. "Singe said she was young."

"In terms of socialization, possibly. But no child would have the strength and knowledge to do what she was doing."

I ruminated briefly, then said, "An old woman. A goat cart. Something that behaved like and might have been a giant slug. Two dead men, cut down by sorcery . . ."

"Who have vanished. I was kept away from them. The old woman vanished, too. Cart and goats have gone the way of the dead men."

"And nothing has happened since." I guessed because I hadn't even been fed what the mushrooms get.

"Nothing."

"But you're worried about Kevans. You've developed some disturbing suspicions."

"Not really. I have some fears. I've been unable to support them, which is a good thing. I am intuitively convinced that we're dealing with someone young, female, powerful, rogue, and entirely amoral, though."

"I see. But back to basics. How come you're here? What do you want from me?" I was determined to make a fully adult effort to remain faithful to the redhead in my life.

"I want to hire you. I think. I remember you from before." The lighting was feeble but it was enough to reveal her embarrassment.

"I'm taken."

Wan smile, without comment, in a manner that said exactly what she was thinking. My defenses were male defenses. And she did have a power besides intuition and flight. She could excite the statue of a dead general if she chose to turn it on.

I had seen her reduce a crowd of skilled tradesmen to drooling idiots with no conscious effort.

But tonight she was totally serious.

I wished I knew her situation better. She said she was estranged from her father and daughter. How much so? Her father had run every detail of her life, back when, despite her being one of the most powerful sorcerers in the kingdom. She had not been long on social skills. I couldn't imagine yesterday's Furious Tide of Light surviving on her own.

I shifted the subject. "What about the other Faction girls? I don't recall them that well. Could one of them be our resurrection man?"

"I only knew the ones that came to our house. They were all odd. There were more than I saw. Kids came and went. Some never really belonged to the clique."

"And some were cross-dressers. Including Kevans."

"That, too."

"Any of those kids connected to the Royal Family?"

She shrugged, not surprised. She had considered the question. "Not that I know of."

"What's the mood on the Hill?"

She frowned. Maybe she hadn't thought about that.

"This will reflect on all of you. You want to police yourselves. This makes it look like you need outside help. The villain fled to the Hill twice."

"No. Toward the Hill."

I had to give her that. The monster may have done that as misdirection. "What are your neighbors saying?"

"I don't know. I don't have much to do with them. I'm not comfortable with the ways they think."

The mental work behind the mad laboratory only exaggerated the attitudes of most Hill folk. Furious Tide of Light was the most sane and least dangerous of any I'd ever met.

"All right. Let's lay it out. Straight up honest. What do you want?"

"I don't want to be shut out. I guess Prince Rupert doesn't trust me after the thing with the giant bugs."

"Understandable. That involved another secret lab."

"I know. I see why he might think what he's thinking. That doesn't change what I feel. I want you to help find out what's really going on."

"All right. You're worried about your daughter. But why not stand back and let the professionals do their job?"

She did not offer an answer.

"So. You're not just worried. You want to be a step ahead so you can cover for her again. Even if she's behind the ugliest criminal incident we've seen in years."

"Yes. Sort of."

"Then Prince Rupert did the right thing when he shut you out."

"She's my baby, Garrett. I can't just let her . . ."

"And you can't keep covering. If she can't get a handle on the concept of consequences she'll just keep getting into trouble. You saw the inside of that warehouse. And six people died in two days. You can't make excuses and cover up something like that."

She shrugged. She was near the point where many women turn on the waterworks. She refrained.

32

A tree fell in the wilderness inside my head. Lucky me, I was there to hear the thud. "You've been thinking about this since you saw that stuffed bear."

She admitted, "Your ratgirl friend made me think you were more involved than you said."

"Singe was working for Belinda Contague. She's an independent operator. I don't live here anymore. Which you know. Because you checked up."

She nodded.

"Then you know my real part in everything."

"You're really babysitting your friend."

I nodded.

"Don't you want to know who did it?"

I nodded again. "But I've gotten patient in my old age. I won't do anything till Morley is ready. If the Guard or the Syndicate haven't dealt with it by then we'll see what we can do. It seems odd for you to be pushing revenge when you're afraid your daughter might be involved."

"I don't know what I'm doing. I'm scared and out of my depth. You're the only one I know who does what you do."

I believed her. Including that she would hire me when I might head straight for the kid she wanted to protect. She had been sheltered her whole life.

"So you figure on defying the Prince--for Kevans' sake, even though the best thing now would be to let everything take its course."

"I don't know what I'm doing! I never learned how. All I've ever had to do is be the Windwalker, Furious Tide of Light. I can do that. I can scatter an enemy regiment. I can bring down a castle. But I never learned how to raise a daughter. I never dealt with the quotidian world. Barate handled that so I could focus on being a prodigy."

I wanted to ask about her father but suspected that he would be an unwelcome subject.

"Let's back up to when you got the idea that Kevans--or the Faction--might be involved." I would be covering ground already trodden but she seemed inclined to lurk in the shadow of the truth, now.

"In that warehouse. In that room. That stuffed animal belonged to Kevans. Though I haven't seen it for years."

"You're sure?" I reminded myself that the simplest and most obvious explanation is usually the right one.

"There were other things that reminded me of the Faction. Rupert got the same feeling." So she had seen the Prince at her party.

"You need to talk to Kevans. Straight up, woman to woman, no drama. Then see Rupert again. Be square with him. He'll be square with you if he's really a friend. You might even talk it over with Barate. You're operating on emotion right now. Mostly on fear. You need good information. And you need to decide where you stand on the crime itself, personalities aside."

"I hoped you could gather the information."

She wasn't hearing me. "Don't take the dark side in this. It will just destroy you."

Her jaw tightened. She was going to get stubborn.

"Talk to those people. You have to realize that they'll go hard after whoever created that lab. The Hill is probably a turned-up ants' nest. Nasty people are going to start poking haystacks and turning over rocks."

Her expression told me that she hadn't really considered the reaction of her own class. Those people take a dim and lethal view of rogue sorcery.

"You're sure you won't help me?"

"I can't. Not how you want. Not however much I would like to. I have to stay here, with my friend. That goes to the bedrock of who I am. I'm here even though it could mean the end of my relationship with a woman who . . ."

She cut me off. She didn't need to hear that. "All right. I won't put you in harm's way. I'll do the digging and use you as a sounding board. You just tell me what to do and how to do it."

Startled, I realized that we were not alone. I'd caught the ghost of a sense of amusement from down below.

"I've told you the first thing. The most important thing. Talk to people. An honest exchange could save us all a ton of trouble."

She didn't like that idea.

"If this is going to happen you have to put aside your quirks. You have to gut it up and go face-to-face. Promise me you'll see Rupert, Barate, and Kevans if you can, tomorrow."

I felt a ghostly touch of approval.

This would be interesting. I could play Dead Man in the web, directing the hoof work while I crocheted doilies.

"All right. I can't go out but I can help. You ready to put money into this?"

"As much as it takes."

"Curb the emotion. Emotion won't solve anything. Besides seeing the Prince, Barate, and Kevans, here's what I need you to do."

The intensity with which she listened was embarrassing.

33

I was groggy from lack of sleep when I toddled down for breakfast. I missed a step, lost my balance, and might have busted something if my flailing right hand had not snagged the rail on the left side of the stair. I ended up on my belly, shaking, aching in one bruised knee and embarrassed when Singe appeared at the foot of the stair.

"You all right? What happened?"

"Gravity ambush. I think I'm good. Though I might end up wearing a peg leg." I was starting to hurt where I banged my left hip on the edge of a step. "Let's see if I can make it the rest of the way without killing myself." I turned loose of the rail.

"If you are going to kill yourself, don't do it here. I'm too weak, and Dean is too feeble to shift a corpse."

I sensed amusement from old butterbutt.

Dean had come out to investigate. "We could cut him up into smaller pieces."

"That would make a mess. But we could infiltrate him into the resurrection scheme that's got everybody excited."

"Everybody?" I made it down without further mishap.

Dean said, "Tea's ready. Sausages and rolls are warming." He slipped back into the kitchen.

Singe said, "Good thing you weren't carrying your pot when you did that."

"Yeah. Good thing. But why would I be . . ."

"Because Dean is having trouble getting up and down. He needs to keep both hands on the rails."

"Got it. Now tell me about everybody being excited."

"The news about the murders and the resurrection lab got out."

Not surprising. Too many people knew. Which I mentioned.

"You're right. I hear the public reaction has been strong. Maybe that's because they've gotten spoiled, shaded by the Civil Guard and the Unpublished Committee. Unorganized crime isn't a commonplace anymore. Something like this spooks people. They want it fixed. Fast."

We moved into the kitchen. Dean was just settling my breakfast onto the massive little table. He placed a bowl of stewed apples opposite me, Singe's favorite food. My hip bone barked when I sat down.

I asked, "How is Morley?" I'd drop in as soon as my belly was full.

"Unchanged. But healing. Doing well, physically."

"But?"

"Something inside doesn't want to come back. So I'm told."

"He did try, early on, at the other place." I had a momentary notion about him getting lost in Faerie, a willing captive of illusion.

"And then he decided not to try anymore."

"Is he working on it?"

"Of course. He says it might take a long time. It's some of the finest, most delicate work he's ever done. What do you think of the rolls?"

"I like them. Spicy. Sweeter than I'm used to."

"They're from a specialty bakery I found in Fointain Lane. Looks like you're done. Get on with your chores. You slept in so you've only got an hour before the meeting."

"What chores? What meeting?"

"We talked about this. You need to make up your room, deal with your pot, and gather your dirty clothing so it can be laundered. Then you have to deal with the trash. The dust-man's wagon will come through the alley this afternoon."

Changes, changes. They come in a blink of the eye these days.

My eyes must have been the size of saucers. I got the sense that Old Bones would have busted out laughing if he wasn't so far gone he no longer exercised a respiratory function.

Welcome to the new regime in the house on Macunado Street.

Like the new regime in TunFaire as a whole, writ small.

"What meeting?" I asked again, maybe a little too plaintively.

"I sent for some people who can help the Windwalker." I had not breathed a word about my night visitor. "You'll have to acquaint them with the facts of the situation. And you'll need to make sure they understand possible ramifications if they do get involved."

"All right, you. What have you done with Pular Singe? And what are you talking about?"

"I just told you."

"But . . . If I wanted my life all planned and managed I could've just stayed on Factory Slide."

Oh, my! What did I just say?

"I am not running your life. I'm making it move more efficiently. This meeting had to happen, sooner or later. You would have gone at it piecemeal, catch as catch can."

"Exactly what I mean. Running my . . ."

Children, enough! Garrett, please resist becoming all machomale excited because someone is thoughtful enough to ease your burdens. He put some power behind that. It was a command. Pour yourself a fresh mug, then join me for a moment before you start your chores.

This was not going to be a good day. I resented every minute already. I'm not self-employed because I care about efficiency. I'm interested in not having to do more than it takes to get by. Which was why I moved out of my mother's house as soon as I could.

Was that why she always favored Mikey?

Could be, come to think.

34

"Tell me something that makes sense," I told the Dead Man as I settled facing him. Shivering. My teacup sent up clouds of steam.

Life and afterlife have become more structured. Only you seem to consider that a bad thing.

"The world hasn't changed that much, has it? Everybody still wants to unload on me."

He was amused. He did not argue. I heard my mother telling me I had a wonderful mind. Why couldn't I just try to live up to my potential?

The amusement deepened, still absent comment.

"Did you find anything interesting in the Windwalker's mind?"

She believes you would make an excellent husband.

"What?" There was a hit from the blind side.

I know. If she can delude herself that deeply in a personal matter how can we possibly credit anything else inside her scrambled brain?

That was not what my expletive meant. "Are you making up for time lost?"

No. We have no time for amusements. You have chores that need doing. Pay attention. Feel sorry for yourself later. The Windwalker was, overall, as honest as she could be. She is frantic about her daughter. She is in the cleft stick of a quandary that no parent should have to face. Her only child may be a monster in human guise.

I could see the quandary. It might take a stronger spirit than mine to roll over on my own family, though that would save the lives of strangers.

You have done the equivalent. You have the strength to champion the right. The Windwalker's deepest fear is that her daughter may not only be a villain. She may have created corpses for her experiments.

What could I say to that?

Young, undamaged corpses would be at a premium. Many lost souls roam the byways of this city and are unlikely to be missed. Mr. Dotes could have stumbled onto the harvesting in progress. Nothing I have found in his mind rules that out.

"Look, I remember that kid. Her head was messed up because of her family situation but she wasn't homicidal. She was creative. Weird creative, like Kip. Not deadly weird."

You are correct. To that point. But people can change. When they do, it is usually for the worse.

"I take it you haven't had much luck with Morley."

Very little. He is remarkably closed. If he were an animal I might think he was hibernating. Inasmuch as he is intelligent I have to believe that something was done to keep him untouchable.

"He might never come back?"

He will be back. I promise. As the challenge grows bigger I become more determined. I will build him a path of escape. Henceforth, do not be startled if I reexamine every second of your recollections of your time together before you came here.

Clever Garrett got it in one. Morley had started to wake up. Then he had gone away. "Belinda's healer. We need to find him."

Yes. Though I was thinking about what tried to get in through the window.

"Maybe he just decided to dig a hole and pull it in after him."

That would not be in character. Enough. Do your chores. I have a visitor arriving momentarily. She is not comfortable in your presence.

That had to be his pet priestess, Penny Dreadful. He had taken Penny under his intellectual wing when she was little more than a toddler. He had mentored her ever since.

I considered lying back in the shadows at the foot of the stairs just to get a look but thought better of it. I was upstairs being domestic when Penny arrived.

35

I was still upstairs, taking a nap. Singe invited herself into my room. She poked me with a stiffened finger. Impossible! It couldn't be! Not across species as divergent as redheads and artificially intelligent rats.

"Ouch! Once was enough."

"Drag your lazy ass out and go downstairs. People are waiting. Their time is valuable, too. Look at this mess. You didn't do anything."

"I made the bed."

She snorted derisively.

"And I considered the possibility of changing the lock on the front door," I grumped, sourly enough for her to take me serious for a second. "That might get me some peace."

"I despair of seeing you grow mature and responsible."

"I don't. It isn't on my agenda."

"Be that as it may, you need to go downstairs. Otherwise, those people will drink all the beer and eat everything in the pantry."

"A blatant provocation of my natural inclination toward frugality."

"The correct word is parsimony, but if you prefer the illusion of thrift, indulge."

I was out of practice. I had to settle for being proud of me because I did not let my frustration overcome my self-control. I swung my feet off my bed, planted them firmly on the floor. "Look at me. I'm on my way. Now would be a good time for you to get yourself a head start."

Clever Singe realized this was not the best time for further nagging. Maybe she got private advice from the Dead Man. She scooted out.

I saw Dean leave the kitchen with refreshments as I descended the stairs. He staggered under the weight of the provisions. An absence of cups, mugs, plates, milk, and sugar bowls suggested that this was not his first run. The natural parsimony that Singe had mentioned kicked in--as she had intended.

A dull roar of conversation came from the Dead Man's room.

I followed Dean, wondering if I hadn't made some mad, long-term mistake when I took Singe in.

The Dead Man's room was wall to wall with bodies and faces. There was Saucerhead Tharpe, showing a touch of gray, with an extra layer of muscle around his midriff. There was Singe's brother Pound Humility, better known as John Stretch, gaudy in the latest ratman style. Jon Salvation was there, looking cocky and prosperous. Why the hell was he here? Looking for an angle for a new play? Sarge, one of Morley's oldest henchmen, stood alone, vaguely confused. Playmate looked awful. He had lost a hundred pounds. He was as gaunt as a man dying of starvation.

There were others, in disguise, maybe to avoid being identified by watchers outside.

Belinda had done a creditable job of turning herself into a slim, handsome dandy with a dark dash of a mustache, reminding me of the chap squirreled away in my old office.

General Westman Block looked like a wino who had wandered in unnoticed while the door was open. He looked confused. He was not well-known but everyone here had run into him before. No one seemed troubled.

There were people I did not recognize. I took it on faith that the Dead Man needed them.

I looked for a special one with red hair and came up with a count one short. Singe saw me checking. "I sent word. Maybe she'll come later."

I got no chance to respond. My own respite from recognition ended. People swarmed me. Saucerhead said, "Man, I didn't hardly know you, all dressed weird, and shit."

Jon Salvation stroked his pointy little beard, which wasn't the same color as his hair, and said something about me having adapted my fashion flare to something showing a distinct feminine influence.

A third kind soul mentioned that I was developing a pot. Someone else said, "That happens when you don't got to work for a living no more."

To which Saucerhead responded, "Garrett never did do no more work than it took to keep from starving. He just had a run of luck." Stated with a touch of envy. Like me, Tharpe worked as little as possible but his luck never shined. Too often he had nothing more than the clothes on his back.

36

Amongst those people who stayed quiet and didn't move much were Sarge and Playmate. A good look at Play left me shocked. Not only had the man lost a huge amount of weight, he stooped to where he was no taller than me. He looked like he had to deal with bad chronic pain.

He does. Had I been aware of his situation I would have made something good happen for him, long ago. Without you here these people never visit. I remain unaware of what is happening in their lives. On a positive note, I have gotten Miss Contague to send for the healer who worked on Mr. Dotes.

"Clever. Two birds."

Probably just one. Playmate's cancer appears to be advanced.

I could say nothing more out loud.

I shook hands, slapped backs, exchanged hugs. I asked Jon Salvation where his shark woman was. He astonished me by reporting, "I don't think she was invited."

"You came anyway?" I blurted.

"I do things like that these days. You'll find me more independent than the Remora you remember." He had been called the Remora because he swam in the slipstream of his girlfriend, Winger, betraying no personality of his own. "I expect she'll turn up anyway. She'll be sure the lack of an invite was an oversight."

I looked over at Singe. She was doing a credible job of being the lady of the house, seeing to our guests while being smoothly sociable. Even the prejudiced were unable to consider her as just a ratwoman.

Neither Belinda in disguise nor General Block in disguise did any socializing. With the exception of brief exchanges with John Stretch, neither spoke to anyone.

The more I looked around the bigger the crowd seemed to be. I kept spotting people I didn't know. I saw John Stretch associates helping Dean with the refreshments. I saw people I did know but would not expect at a let's-decide-what-we'll-do party themed round Morley Dotes.

Singe's office was open to the crowd, too. People drifted back and forth in search of conversation. Morley himself had been declared off-limits. Three of John Stretch's worst villains were in there and had permission to hurt people who wouldn't take a hint.

There were exceptions, one-on-one and closely watched. Sarge. Saucerhead. Belinda. Me.

Once I lost my appeal to the mob, Belinda and the General drifted closer. Block shook my hand, told me I was looking good, then said how wonderful it was that I was showing some civic interest again. I kept a straight face and did not ask when he thought that I ever demonstrated any civic mindedness. He asked, "Can we slip into your kitchen for a second? This isn't private enough."

"How can I say no?" Though there wouldn't be much privacy back there, either, what with Dean and his ratfolk assistants underfoot.

This may be important. Do not waste time fencing, Garrett. I sense the imminent arrival of someone who may be Miss Contague's healer. He is very closed. Also, the population of loafers has begun to grow out on Macunado Street.

We stepped into the kitchen, conveniently as Dean and his helpers trained out with trays that looked like each ratman was carrying his own weight in drinks and treats.

I began to suffer grim thoughts about how the Dead Man better not be only plundering minds, he had best be bringing the right people together to talk about what needed doing. And he had better be putting the right ideas into the right minds while he was at it. Because this was going to bankrupt me if it went on for long.

I drew a mug, asked, "Fill you up?" Headshakes. I settled at the overloaded table. "Talk to me."

The General seemed disappointed.

He had changed. The weary but determined middle-aged functionary had become a worn-out elder bureaucrat.

"Garrett, I don't know what to say. I hear you've changed. I'm told you've turned into a model subject of the Karentine Crown."

"I always was."

"Pardon me? You were always a stubborn, obstructionist asshole. You had no interest whatsoever in forwarding the welfare of the commonality."

What the hell? "You mean I wasn't excited about 'forwarding' the cause once Deal Relway defined it for me."

Do not argue. Accept. From his viewpoint he is stating one hundred percent truth.

Meaning he got to define the welfare of the commonality. "I love you, too."

No two people see everything the same. You know that. At the moment it is important that we not antagonize our allies simply for the pleasure of being difficult.

Hang on. Even my partner thinks I refuse to cooperate with the tin whistles, and hold back information, just to tweak them?

"Garrett? You here?" the General asked. "Or have you died and gone to hell?"

"I'm sorry. I was in the throes of what might have been a grand epiphany." On the other hand, it might have been breakfast backing up. "What do you need?"

"We Guardsmen have a morale problem that is becoming a moral problem."

"I hope that's not contagious."

"Exactly. All the good we've done could start to unravel if this mess keeps on the way it has been."

"You lost me."

"Will you . . . ?" He glared in exasperation.

"Ever since we met you've accused me of stonewalling or deliberately holding things up. You were right. When it was in the interest of my client. Maybe one time in ten. I knew why you were barking, then. This time I don't. All I'm doing is protecting a friend who came within a frog's feather of getting himself stabbed to death. In case somebody tries to finish the job. I've been told by half the people here and some who aren't that this is all I'm allowed to do. It's all I intend to do. And at least one woman doesn't want me doing that much."

"Touchy."

"Damned straight."

"Why do you have all these people here, then?"

"I don't. I didn't invite them. Did you get an invitation from me?"

"No. But this is your house."

"It's a place where I'm staying because I thought Morley would be safer here than anywhere else."

He gave me a dubious look.

"The first I knew about this was just a while ago when Singe woke me up from a perfectly beautiful nap and told me to come help."

"You always blow a creditable cloud of smoke."

"Again, what do you want?"

"We've been warned off this case."

"You're going to let it slide? You lost people."

"Garrett, can the shit. For the rest of us this isn't about Morley Dotes. About him and his problems I don't much care."

"Tell him that."

"Gladly. Is he up for an interview?"

"He's in a coma."

"Too bad. But his testimony isn't critical. What is critical would be our incorruptibility. When we started out Deal and I were promised that no one would be above the law. Not even the Royal Family. Prince Rupert stood behind us when we stepped on sensitive toes. But this time he's telling us to back off. We have to let it go. The same word has gone out to the Syndicate."

"Who has the drag to bully the Crown Prince?"

"Exactly. We mean to find out."

"You're not going to back off?"

"We're going to be less obviously vigorous. Unobtrusive. But the more pressure we get the more we'll dig. Same pertains for the Syndicate, I suspect. You push the Contagues, they push back."

"You think dread of an explosion in production of dead bodies might be why the Prince wants to stand down?"

"No. I think somebody on the Hill, somebody who can make even Rupert shit his knickers, wants the thing left alone. I'll even go so far as to guess that the Hill as a whole wants it left alone."

"Because the villains might be some of them?"

"In part. But more because if we poke our noses in very far we're likely to turn up all sorts of things they don't want the public to know."

I poured myself some tea. Dean was outside the kitchen door telling me to hurry up. He had to get back to work.

I raised a questioning eyebrow.

Block said, "I'll stipulate that most Hill folk are as distressed by the warehouse as the rest of us. But they want to handle it themselves."

"So let them."

"And next time somebody wants to shut the Guard out? Next time somebody wants to handle justice privately?"

Block had a fierce case of the same disease that ruled Relway. Most of the time it did more good than bad.

"All I can do is wish you luck. I'll be right here babysitting."

He didn't believe a word.

Sometimes there's no point trying to communicate with some people. They live everything inside their heads. Outside things that don't fit get ignored.

Westman Block was a good man. I liked him. But he could frustrate me like almost no one else but Tinnie.

"Come on in, Dean."

Dean burst in and got cracking. He was determined to render me destitute before the sun went down.

37

Belinda isolated me, in with Morley, amongst the deaf ratmen. "They insist that we back off. That we have to let this alone."

"They? We?"

"Don't play word games."

"I'm not. You know what I mean. Nobody has told me not to do anything. And the only we I'm part of is me and Morley."

"Then I'd have to ask why most everyone you know by name is here. I even saw that poisoner, Kolda, a minute ago."

"He's not a poisoner." Distracted. "I don't know why you're all here. I had nothing to do with that. Like I told the General."

She didn't believe me either. Someday I'll make a huge score because nobody will take me at face value. I could loot the Royal Mint, then run around yelling about how it was me that done it.

I did know what was going on. Singe and the Dead Man had cooked a plan to investigate out of my house. They would use people we had worked with in the past. I found it disconcerting that they weren't troubled by a Hill interest potent enough to make Prince Rupert back off. Old Bones must have seen a way to get away with defying that which must not be defied.

This was shaping up to be what I'd had in mind when I'd visited with the Windwalker. Who was not around today.

I asked, "Is that healer ever going to come?"

"Are you kidding? After what I paid him before?"

"And he isn't worried about my friend in the other room?"

"He doesn't know. I told him you spilled the medicine. That we'll want more. But first he has to take another look at Morley. I'm pretty sure there's something more wrong than what he thought before."

"And if he's a villain?"

"We'll know that straight off, won't we?"

We contemplated our mutual friend. Morley looked as peaceful as a man in a coffin.

I kept wondering why it was taking the healer so long to show.

He is out there. All the traffic makes him nervous. He does not like that but cannot shake his greed. He will come into the trap eventually.

My impatience faded. I just worried about Morley. Till my mind wandered off to Factory Slide.

An unexpected voice asked, "Garrett, are you all right?"

I looked up. "Gilbey?" Manville Gilbey and his recently acquired wife, Heather, were framed in the doorway. Gilbey was the number-two man in the Weider brewing empire. He seemed concerned. "I'm all right."

"We haven't seen you at the brewery lately. When I heard about your open house I thought we'd stop by and see what your situation is."

"It's marginal despair." I glanced at Morley. "What do you need to know?"

"Nothing, now. We've been circulating long enough to get a flavor. Max will stand behind you."

Of course, because Max Weider didn't like folks involved in illegal experimental sorcery. Several of his family were murdered by shape-shifting things created in abandoned beer vats. Max wouldn't mind exterminating the whole tribe of sorcerers.

Heather Gilbey was usually more forthcoming and social, naturally, than Manville, but today she just smiled and kept her mouth shut.

Gilbey told me, "Take care doing what you need to do, Garrett. We value you." He eyed Morley, then the ratmen with illegal weaponry. He knew Morley. Morley's restaurant was across from Max Weider's World Theater, where Heather was manager.

Heather gave me a slight smile before she stepped out of sight. I liked her fine but she was high on Tinnie's list. Tinnie had acted in several Jon Salvation plays. She had gotten a big head. A huge head. Heather wasted no time letting her know that her talents might be better appreciated elsewhere, a fierce stroke since the World is the only theater where female actresses are not expected to have other commerce with audience members.

Tinnie is not accustomed to failure and has almost no capacity for accepting criticism.

38

I had some quiet time with my friend, then, sharing the space with John Stretch's goons. I stared hard, willing Morley to come back.

Belinda stepped in. "No change?"

"None. There's definitely something not right."

"We should learn a lot from the healer."

"You sure he doesn't know about Old Bones?"

"Believe it or not, Garrett, almost nobody outside your acquaintance does. Particularly since you've been inactive for so long."

Things do get forgotten quickly in TunFaire. Maybe that's an urban survival skill.

"The Dead Man is barely a spook story. He's something kids scare each other with. Nobody really believes that he exists."

"Interesting."

"I have to go soon. But not right away. I want to be here for the healer."

"If he ever gets here."

"He'll show up. He might not come inside if he doesn't see me."

He would--unless he could shake off Loghyr mind control.

The healer is close now but is very uncomfortable. He is not a people person.

Belinda did not react. He had not included her. I told her, "His Nibs thinks the healer is finally here." Old Bones would avoid direct contact till it was too late for the man to get away. And, maybe, Belinda would go on believing her own thoughts were inviolate.

I felt a tickle of Loghyr amusement.

I told Belinda, "Your man is really nervous. Get him before he spooks." And, "Let's don't jump him before we lock the door behind him."

I got a hint of something like the old saw about teaching grandma to suck eggs. At the same time Old Bones used a gentle influence to move our guests into his room or Singe's office.

Moments later I said, "Doctor. There you are. I'm getting really worried about my friend."

The healer gripped his bag in front of his chest. He stared at the three ratmen. He looked like he had just been sentenced to hang.

"Are you all right?"

His mouth open and closed. Nothing came out. Belinda filled the doorway behind him. She did not keep her expression benign.

I said, "Don't mind these guys. They're here to protect Morley."

Almost inaudibly, the healer asked, "You spilled the medicine I gave you before?"

"Yep. Fumbled it when I was opening it. It hit the floor and rolled under the bed. It was empty before I could fish it out." He relaxed slightly. I grinned. "No, not really. That was a lie. We thought having you think that would help us get you here, you villain."

His eyes got big. He managed to turn even paler.

His attempt to flee failed totally. Belinda didn't move.

Oh, yes. He is guilty. The medication he provided was designed to keep Mr. Dotes unconscious. Our villain is greedy but he is not a murderer.

I told the little man in black, "Friend, you have reached a crossroads. This is the pivotal moment of your life. And it could be fatal."

Take care. He believes he still has options.

"The lady behind you isn't happy with you. She paid you to heal this man. You poisoned him instead. The gentleman behind her is General Block of the Civil Guard. He wants to ask you some questions, too."

Easy, Old Bones sent. Stop pressing. I have to get control of his body functions, especially his heartbeat. He could die if I do not.

I started to ask a question.

Silence! His heart is about to burst.

I'd heard of that in mice and horses but never a human being.

I raised a hand to Block and Belinda. We had to let the Dead Man work his magic.

Old Bones stilled, calmed, and reported, He was prepared for entrapment by a master hypnotist who was unaware that he might encounter someone like me. I have undone the commands driving him toward heart failure but I have failed to discover who placed those commands.

Inspiration. "Belinda, why did you choose this particular healer?"

"I went to the Children of the Light. I asked for someone. Then I proved that I could afford them."

Maybe that inspiration was halfway a dud. "How long did it take them to decide to help you?"

"Oh. Several days. More than three."

"You went to them before you came to me." Which didn't hurt my feelings. My skills as a healer are slightly inferior.

Old Bones sent, This one was given the assignment by lot. He was suborned between his first and second visits to Mr. Dotes. A great deal of money was involved. He has done wicked things before. This is the first time his perfidy has been detected.

The old devil was gleeful.

Belinda said, "You have a lifesaving opportunity, healer. That life being your own."

The Dead Man stabilized the healer's vitals, denying him the escape of death. I'm sure he plundered the man's memories at the same time.

I said, "I'm feeling generous. I'm going to offer you a chance to save two lives." Playmate was asleep in a chair in the Dead Man's room. I would make this greedy idiot heal him after he turned Morley around.

This is remarkably difficult, the Dead Man sent. I cannot negate the full regime of posthypnotic commands. What we want we will have to get quickly. The self-destruct sequence has only been stalled. I may not be able to hold it off indefinitely.

I looked at Morley, at the healer, at Morley again, and could not find in myself any sympathy for the healer.

39

I called General Block back. He had drifted away, seduced by the siren of free food and beer. Plus, for the moment, he was a celebrity. Even he craves admiration.

"See if Kolda is still here."

"The poisoner?"

"He's a chemist. An apothecary. A natural extracts guy." Why was I making excuses for Kolda? Because I kind of liked him? He did try to poison me, once upon a time.

"Whatever."

"Never mind. Skipper, find Singe. Tell her I need Kolda."

One of the ratmen left. While I waited I filled Block in on what we had dredged out of the healer while he was away enjoying his back-patting. He was aghast. "And now he's doing his damned best to die before we can get anything else. While he's practically begging Old Bones to save his ass."

Block lost color. He swallowed a few times. That one of the Children of the Light could be so twisted was a shocker, apparently.

In this mean city we should find nothing darkly amazing. Even in the age of police protection.

Block gurgled, "He's awake. I thought he was asleep. I was promised that he was in a full, deep sleep."

I got it, then. It wasn't the twisted healer. It was the Dead Man. I laughed. "Somebody lied. But not to worry. He doesn't poke around inside people just because he can. And when he does he passes on only what is germane. In this case, what this man knows about what was done to Morley Dotes. Meantime, we're going to lose him if he carries out the hypnotic instructions driving him."

"That can't be. I know a little about hypnotism. We use it in interrogations. You can't make somebody kill himself."

"Old Bones tells me you can if your victim doesn't know that's what he's doing. You make him think he's doing something else."

Whoever prepared this man was a genius. He started with a typical healer and made the man over into an assassin without triggering any serious conflict.

"And quick enough to prep him for Morley?"

Pay attention. We have established that this man has committed other crimes. I suspect that similar mental manipulations were used on Jimmy Two Steps.

"There is a connection?"

Information in General Block's mind, compared with facts in the healer's, makes that seem likely. The puppet master evidently agrees with the Al-Khar about you. You need to be kept away. You are a wild card. The cascade of events so far suggests that they might be right.

"Interesting." I began making further connections.

Yes. The attack on you and Miss Tate took place soon after Miss Contague decided to ask you to protect Mr. Dotes. Then, on successive nights, attempts were made to get you at Fire and Ice.

"Me? Not Morley?"

You, I am certain. Mr. Dotes would be useful collateral damage but would be neutralized anyway once he started his medication. You, however, have a history of stumbling around and causing avalanches of unexpected consequences. It is what you do. Particularly in the mind opposing us.

"This is someone we've run into before."

I expect only obliquely, if at all, with us taking no notice. Aha! I broke the code. I found the key to the sequence.

"Huh?"

The healer. I can save him. I have cracked the progression of suggestions laid into his mind.

"Good. Once you have him calmed down and set to go, turn him loose on Playmate. Accept no excuses."

Of course.

Block asked, "Interesting private chat?"

"Yes. He figured out how to save our healer assassin from himself."

"Excellent. I do have some questions for that man."

"Go through His Nibs. Otherwise, you'll be wasting your time."

Block did follow. He nodded, admitted, "This isn't the first bad guy to turn up with no notion why he did what he did and no idea who told him to do it."

Intriguing. The General is reflecting on thefts of chemicals that turned up in that warehouse.

"Bring them around, General. Let Old Bones chat them up. Meantime, how about you see the Children of the Light about this guy? They might be able to shed some light."

He refused to acknowledge my clever word play. "Ooh! That sounds like fun. Deal will be all over that. We wouldn't even be breaking any recent rules. This would be a separate case. An attempted murder possibly connected to successful murders that had no obvious connection with a warehouse in Elf Town."

I started to ask if the Guard had canvassed the neighborhood. I got a caution from the Dead Man. That had been ruled out by Prince Rupert.

"How about hunting the resurrection men? Has that been disallowed?"

Block smirked. "Not yet. But they're damned hard to find. They've been told to lie low and keep quiet by somebody who scares them more than we do."

That figured.

Belinda leaned into the doorway, which was the best she could do because of the crowd in the room already. "I got Kolda. It took a while. We had to run him down."

40

Block had arrived looking for one thing. He went out with something else in mind, but happy and eager to get to work.

The Dead Man would give him additional information. Soon the Al-Khar would be a-bustle. No one but the Director and the commanding general would know that the Guard was violating the spirit of their orders.

Kolda joined me in with Morley. He was nervous. Our history, while limited, left him no reason to think that he was in a good position. I told him, "You're an expert in chemicals and exotic herbs. My friend, here, has been poisoned. It's not lethal, it just keeps him from waking up. And it makes him heal really slow."

Kolda gave me a big-eyed, frightened look but didn't say anything.

"The pudgy character with Dollar Dan's paw tangled in his collar delivered the poison. That was given to him, along with a lot of money, by a third party, after Miss Contague engaged him to heal my friend. She gave him a lot of money, too."

Kolda had a worse flair for fashion than me. He couldn't keep his hair combed or his shirt tucked in. He was always nervous. His social skills were negligible. But he was a genius in his field. And he owed me.

I had insisted, to Block, that Kolda wasn't a poisoner. But he did poison me, once upon a time. I'm still breathing and complaining. The evidence suggests that I found the antidote.

I said, "Healer, give this man the bottle you brought today. Then Dollar Dan will take you across the hallway. Your redemption begins when you start work on Playmate."

He didn't want to do that. Freebies went against the code of the Children of the Light. "I understand." His voice was slow and toneless. He dug out a little bottle identical to the one he had given us during his visit to Fire and Ice.

I asked the air, "What are the chances this bottle contains the same ingredients as the first one?"

Indeterminate. Ten seconds passed. Clever catch, Garrett. He did, in fact, consult a contact after he heard that you needed more medicine. The excuse we provided was of a sort to excite the suspicions of a paranoid supplier.

"We do still have the original philter. Kolda can compare them."

The healer surrendered his new bottle. Dollar Dan hustled him across the hall.

I gave Kolda the original bottle. "This stuff goes three drops to a two-quart pitcher of water."

"Potent, then." With commendable caution he unstopped each bottle and took a gentle sniff. Of the new bottle he said, "This is vanilla, a touch of clove oil, another of castor oil, in wood alcohol. There is something more that I don't recognize." After sniffing the original bottle, he said, "This includes everything in the other bottle, with less of the unknown odor and more of something that smells like death."

"Definitely different formulas, then?"

"Yes. But subtly. Both would be deadly, in different ways."

I asked the air, "What do you think?"

You may be on the right trail. Neither oil of clove nor oil of castor ought to dissolve in cold water but their presence, with the vanilla, might be there to suggest that the concoction is medicinal.

"The poison has to be something that is effective in amounts so small . . ."

The beans from which castor oil is rendered. They contain a poison so deadly that infinitesimal amounts can kill scores. The poisoner's dilemma has always been how to remain unpoisoned himself, then how to disperse the poison in an effective manner. It would appear that someone has found a way to use it, one customer at a time.

Ah! Friend Kolda has begun thinking along the same lines. I will spare you the admiration he has for the genius of his fellow chemist.

Kolda said, "Someone has done the impossible. Someone has achieved an unbelievable breakthrough."

I asked, "What do you mean?"

"Someone has found a way to extract the poison from castor beans."

"You dud. That's been known for years. What nobody does know is how to use the poison safely."

Kolda gave back an unhappy grunt. He might not be as ignorant as we hoped.

He was ignorant about the Dead Man. I'm not sure I approve but last time we crossed paths Old Bones added some trapdoors to Kolda's memory.

Kolda will never remember anything he learns while visiting us.

I was beginning to think my partner wasn't as swell as I claimed he was.

I felt a touch of amusement from outside.

41

With Kolda and the healer gone to see the Dead Man there wasn't much for me to do with Morley. And it was almost time for the ratwomen.

I decided to cultivate my atrophied social skills. But only a handful of guests remained. The healer, Kolda, and Playmate were in with the Dead Man. The rest were in Singe's office. Jon Salvation was talking up his next play. I checked the corners and under Singe's desk. Still no Winger. How did he manage?

The Dead Man's special student, Penny Dreadful, hadn't fled when I turned up. There had been enough witnesses for her to feel safe.

My, how she had grown!

You notice these things when you're male and still alive.

Morley's longtime associate Sarge was there, too. He looked lost. He looked like somebody just poisoned his kitten.

I snagged the last available chair, beckoned Sarge, indicated my willingness to share the contents of a pitcher clearly in need of refurbishing. Sarge was slumped on a chair in a corner not occupied by Saucerhead Tharpe's or Singe's office furniture. He brightened slightly and dragged his chair over.

"How is the restaurant managing without our boy?"

"We don't need no barkin' from Morley to make dat work, Garrett. We been in da racket so long da business rolls on like a mill wheel turnin'. But he's our frien', too. An' none of us know what we'll do if'n he don't make it t'ru dis."

"Belinda has probably made you crazy trying to figure out what Morley was up to when he got hurt, but . . ."

"Dat's for sure. But she don't listen to what nobody tells her so she ain't never gonna get nowhere. She's one a dem people what figures out ahead a time what dey're gonna believe, den dey don't never hear nothin' dat disagrees."

I'd known Belinda longer than I liked to remember and more intimately than the world needed to know. She had huge intellectual flaws. Willful disdain of facts was never one of those. "For sure? Like how?"

"Well, you know, Morley don't got a lot a use for his et'nic roots. He's a dark elf, but, yeah? So what? He's in business in a human city an' half da people dere, dey don't know dat, can't tell dat, an' maybe don't need ta know dat if'n dey're da kind what gives a shit about dat."

I nodded. Sarge's dialect was thicker than usual but I was following him. He was saying Morley wasn't one for living in the past. "Did something change?" He had been found in that zone where greater TunFaire fades into the neighborhood known as Elf Town. Folk there, who never saw a house in their home country, live in tenements twelve to a room and insist that they'll never put the old ways and old tongue behind them.

"Sumptin' did. Maybe dat bint what his folks arranged him ta marry came ta town."

"I thought he bought his way out of that a couple years ago."

"We all t'ought dat. Maybe he just wished he did."

Jon Salvation joined us, uninvited. He planted himself in front of me, hands on his skinny little girl hips. "Garrett, you have to help me."

Story of my life. "I can't afford to invest in one of your plays. And I'm busy, here."

"I don't need investors. I have people lined up to buy into anything I put on. I stick with the Weiders because they give me artistic control. But you're the only one I can count on to make my next project a success."

I forgot Sarge and Morley briefly. Pilsuds Vilchik had presented me with a grand conundrum. No way could a street operator like me assure the success of a stage drama. Unless he wanted me to sell seats at knifepoint. Or maybe he wanted Winger kept out of his hair.

"Where is Winger?"

"Getting into mischief somewhere." He shrugged. "What I want is for you to get Tinnie to come back. She's perfect for the lead in The Faerie Queene."

"You want to cast Tinnie as a fairy? Man, that's a stretch. She is way too substantial." That wisp Furious Tide of Light was far more suitable.

"That's the point. I'm not doing fairy-tale fairies. They won't be ethereal. They'll be like elves, only from a realm at right angles to our own. Tinnie's coloring and attributes, her stature and sharp attitude, even her freckles, make her the perfect Mathilde."

"Will this go on at the World?"

"Main stage, expanded. This will be my biggest hit yet, Garrett."

"Tinnie doesn't get along with Heather Soames."

"I'll make them get along."

I liked his confidence.

He said, "Tinnie is Mathilde but I will send her packing if she behaves the way she did before. You don't need to tell her that. I'll make it clear at first rehearsal."

Interesting times were headed our way. "Look at you getting all self-confident and assertive. What happened to the Remora we knew and loathed?"

"He found his passion. Are you going to pitch Mathilde to Tinnie?"

"No."

"What? Why not?"

"I'm committed to my own passion. That will keep me here with my injured friend. If you want Tinnie, head on over to Factory Slide. Or, better, catch her at work. Go in the afternoon. She'll be sick of accounting. I can give you a letter to get you past the guards."

"If that's the way it has to be. Would you be interested in a small role? I need a banged up hulk to play the faithful old soldier . . ."

"Jon, you need to come at me some other time. I was involved in an important discussion with Sarge when you horned in."

The playwright goggled. He had lost his appreciation of direct talk.

People did talk to the Remora that way, back when. They talked to Pilsuds Vilchik that way in the once upon a time. They didn't talk that way to the town's hottest celebrity today.

Sarge volunteered, "I'd make a good fait'ful old sojer what's been banged aroun' enough ta have some character."

And there was another reason Jon Salvation felt free to unleash his inner dick. People put up with it because he might cast them in a play.

42

Salvation did not get in a huff. He just went away, no doubt deleting my name from his roll of potential character actors.

"Sorry about that, Sarge."

"He ain't timid no more."

"No. Unless he was on the street."

"No shit dere. Dat attitude don't cut no nutin' wit' da brunos. If dey was any dat da Director didn't already ship off ta da work camps."

An interesting notion, that law and order had become so ubiquitous that smarmy little peckerwoods like the Remora could turn snotty and not have to pay with bloody head wounds.

What did Deal Relway think of that unintended consequence?

"Anyway, you were telling me that Morley's country fiancee might be in town hoping to dip into his pockets."

"Dat's just one t'eory."

"Are there others?"

"Probably. You gotta ast da Capa. Me, I don't t'ink so fast so I jes' follow along."

"I see. Don't put yourself down. You have a knack for doing the right thing at the right time." He saved my life, once upon a time. "Did you hold back anything from the Capa? Something you guys thought might upset her?"

A downside to being a sociopath, like Belinda, was that people walked on eggshells around you. They didn't tell you things that might upset you. You ended up operating in a bad news vacuum.

Belinda was smart enough to see that. She created ways around the standard distortion. But those ways would not work inside a closed and loyal crew like Morley's. Belinda might suspect that they were blowing smoke and leaving things unsaid but that would be outside her imperial reach.

"Any other time, Garrett, an' you'd be right. If Morley survivin' wasn't involved, we'd mix up a whole stew a half-troots an' misleadin' troots. We wouldn't let her know what was really what. But dis time it was himself as da table stakes. Dis time we had ta tell her true."

The dialect had weakened. I understood every word.

Morley's crew would not hold out on Belinda while she could do their friend and employer some good.

They would turn loose nothing that didn't bear on the immediate problem, though.

"You didn't hold anything back?"

"Nut'in'! We gotta get our Morley back--which I guess we sorta got, if'n he ever come outta dat coma--an' we gotta have a shot at fixin' whoever done whatever got did ta him. We figure you an' da Capa tagether are gonna see the blood spread where dat's gonna do da mos' good. An' I t'ink I better get on back down ta da place, now. Dey're gonna need me. Dis is da busiest night a da week."

"I wouldn't want to interfere with business. Get going. If something turns up that might interest me don't waste time letting me know."

Sarge nodded. "He's gonna make it, ain't he, Garrett?"

"I'm sure. Tell the others. Morley will be back real soon."

"T'anks, Garrett." He stared at me for several seconds. "Maybe you ain't da complete sponge we always t'ought."

Sarge, Puddle, and others of Morley's bunch had, back when, treated me like I carried a social disease. They had kept it in check only when Dotes was there, watching.

"I'm pleased to hear you say that, Sarge. It means a lot. Now go back to work and make Morley rich."

As Sarge headed out I realized that I could not remember what Morley called the place he had opened across from the World. What was wrong with me? Tinnie and I had eaten there several times.

43

A quick census revealed that the Garrett household had shed most of its visitors. Some, when the Dead Man showed me the roster, were folks I'd missed. Some I didn't know. "Tinnie never showed?" I asked Singe.

"Which means nothing," she told me. "She was informed that important matters would be discussed but this is the middle of the workweek and Amalgamated still suffers from explosively good sales. Note that the people who were here mostly aren't the kind who have ordinary jobs."

Yeah. True. She made it sound plausible.

Those who were still around sure fit. Saucerhead Tharpe, maybe passed out drunk, looked pathetic snoring in a corner. Jon Salvation was bold enough to use Singe's pens and inks to scribble in the bound book of blank pages he carried everywhere.

Then Salvation was up and reminding me, "You said you'd write a letter that would get me in to see Tinnie."

"So I did. Help me swing this desk around and I'll get on it."

I created a three-hundred-word masterpiece that would get Tinnie salivating over the prospects of what Jon Salvation might want to discuss. I kept me out of it. I said nothing about where I was, what I was doing, why, or even my state of health. She could squeeze that out of the Remora if she wanted to know. And he could let me know how interested she was.

If it went right I might try to sneak away for a peace conference.

And then we were down to Saucerhead, a few ratpeople, and the folks over there with the Dead Man. I complained, "I never got a chance to talk to John Stretch. I wanted to catch up on his adventures."

Singe said, "He's doing fine. Outstanding, considering he's still the boss of bosses in the rat underworld. After all these years."

"That would be about three, wouldn't it?"

"Only one as boss of bosses. The first of his kind, really."

She glowed with pride. Her brother was the undisputed overlord of crime amongst her species.

Her look dared me to disrespect her pride.

I'd never do that. Not to Singe.

Garrett. Please join us.

Though I did not hear Singe mentioned I was not alone in migrating.

It seemed there wasn't just one corpse in the cold room when Singe and I arrived. Nobody moved. You'd expect that from Old Bones but Kolda, Playmate, or the healer should have been doing something.

Singe went straight to Playmate, who, definitely, looked dead.

I had Mr. Kolda give him a measure of the medication meant for Mr. Dotes. We will put a bad thing to good use by keeping Playmate under while I battle the monster devouring him from inside. Singe, engage one of the Kerr tribe to take a message to the brother-in-law managing Playmate's stable. He will need to understand what is happening. Do not give too much detail. Do not suggest that we have any great hope. The brother-in-law will, almost certainly, find the prospect of Playmate's recovery disheartening.

From what I knew about Playmate's brother-in-law, I reckoned the Dead Man was spot on. Play's sister was his only heir. The idiot husband probably had a buyer for the stable lined up.

"So what are you actually doing?"

I am working inside Playmate's brain to shut down the pain that distracts him from handling the rest of his life. In parallel, I have been scanning Mr. Kolda's herbal knowledge in hopes of discovering a specific for Playmate's cancer.

"Any luck?"

Possibly. But it comes from the mind of Brother Hoto instead. He knows of a reptile venom that attacks tumor tissue vigorously.

"Where do we find the poison lizard?"

It is a tropical species. A flashily-clad critter something like an iguana with saber teeth appeared in my mind.

"I remember this guy from the islands. A bad actor. You went down if he breathed on you."

As always, you exaggerate where there are no witnesses to contradict you. Nonetheless, the venom is potent. A few of the lizards may live in TunFaire.

Somebody in Kolda's racket had a few hidden away. Or maybe the Children of the Light, selling miracles to the wealthy.

They are in the exotic reptile house of the Royal Zoo.

Oh. Yeah. The royals did collect odd critters. One of the princesses had a special building for moths and butterflies. None of us low-life types ever get to see that stuff.

You have a connection with a prince.

I did. Sort of.

Meantime, I am mining Brother Hoto for anything useful in developing an understanding of the who, what, and why behind Mr. Dotes' misadventure.

"Why not just pluck that out of Morley's head?"

Those fruits are not there to pluck. It could be that he was hit with a rock from the sky and will not be able to tell us anything when he does wake up.

"But he will wake up?"

Within two days. Possibly sooner. Assuming Brother Hoto knows his poison. You may go ahead now, Singe.

He had given Singe work without consulting me.

I was getting hungry. I hadn't seen Dean for some time.

You now know what I know. There is nothing you can contribute here. Check on Mr. Dotes. Go to the kitchen. Get some rest.

I took a good look at Playmate before I went. The man was one of my oldest and most reliable friends. We had helped one another countless times. He grumbled when I asked for something but never failed to come through. I would do what I could to be a good friend in turn.

Morley was sleeping normally. There was more color in his face. Dollar Dan told me he had said something, one word, but nothing the guards had understood.

Headway!

I found Dean in one of the chairs at the kitchen table, leaning on his folded arms, asleep.

I downed the last of a collection of tasteless leftovers. I had caught something from one of our visitors, several of who had had the sniffles.

Whatever it was, wherever I got it, it was aggressive. I felt weak as I headed upstairs. At that point I thought it was because I'd put away too much beer. Half dreaming already, I caught the edge of the Dead Man's concerned thoughts. He was worried about something. It was a generalized worry, about all of us, not targeted.

44

I wakened in the middle of the night. A cool breeze came in the open window. The Windwalker, Furious Tide of Light sat cross-legged on the corner of the foot of my bed, on the side where my feet weren't. I was stretched out kitty-corner from top left to lower right. She looked far more the fairy princess than Tinnie ever could.

She looked like the queen of temptation, too.

She had turned the lamp up. There was light enough to reveal her flash of a smile when she saw that treacherous flicker in my eyes. She could have had me then. If she'd wanted.

But I sneezed.

She thought that was funny.

"I can't help it." I prayed she wouldn't turn on the heat.

I had seen her reduce an entire construction crew to drooling idiocy, not even doing it deliberately.

I'm a committed man. I told myself. I can't jump into these things . . .

I sneezed again.

She produced a dainty handkerchief.

"Thanks." My head was full of stuff.

The bright side was, a man sneezing and clearing his head doesn't make that interesting a target for a vamp.

Still, I asked, "How about you get to business before I go crazy?"

Ghost of a smile. She was pleased. She had reassured herself. She was desirable.

She had serious issues but none connected to what we were into today.

"Business. Yes. I need that, too." She shut her eyes and made a conscious effort to become asexual. She wasn't entirely successful but it did get easier to consider something beyond the possibilities of our situation.

I blew my nose again.

She told me, "I visited Prince Rupert today."

"You sound glum. It didn't go well?"

"It went better than I expected, actually. It just didn't go the way I hoped. He named no names and pointed no fingers. He admitted that he's under pressure to stay away from the mess on the north side. He kept up a brave front but he's scared. I think the pressure comes from his brother."

"The King?" I sneezed. This cold could become ugly. The coughing couldn't be far away.

The King seemed an unlikely villain. Since peace broke out he had done little but party all night and sleep all day.

"I know. So, then, who has the power to move the King? I'm top ten and I don't. I can barely get in to see Rupert."

"Why would he go along?" I looked at her and tried to keep my gaze from roaming.

"Bless you."

Yeah. Bless the common cold. My honor saved by mucus.

I turned so I could look at anything but her.

She said, "One good thing came out today. I'm satisfied that Kevans isn't involved."

"I'm happy for you." I wasn't so sure. Her daughter had serious head problems that disconnected her from society and its rules.

"First proof is, nobody would cover for her like this is being covered up. And she has alibis for both nights when crazy things happened." She didn't sound happy about that.

She said she was estranged from both her father and daughter. Maybe her dad was Kevans' alibi.

Had to be. And that might not hold up.

The Windwalker really did not want to rely on her father anymore. She had pushed him out of the family mansion on the Hill.

Barate Algarda--who was, in every other way I'd ever seen, as exemplary a human being as you could hope to meet--had instilled in this daughter an insecurity so great she thought that her only real value could be as somebody's sex toy.

Which I was thinking when she said, "I'm one of the ten most powerful sorcerers in TunFaire." But the little girl inside didn't reckon her worth that way. "I know that here." She thunked her noggin with her fist.

"So the question would be, who scares Rupert more than you do?"

That drew a surprisingly adolescent grin. "Yep. But you need to remember that Rupert will still be his own man. Even if somebody has him wetting his pants. He's kind of like you, that way."

I felt a far, far sense of amusement.

She rambled on. "Without saying so he let me know he hopes I'll keep stirring the pot. He hinted that there are people on the margins who aren't likely to turn their backs because an authority doesn't want them nosing around."

That sounded like Rupert. He would conform to his instructions but would fail to notice insubordination. A toe tap here and there might encourage more noncompliance.

The Windwalker said, "I have to leave. I can't stand the distraction." She eased off the end of my bed, headed for the window more slowly than she could have done. I had no trouble sensing her willing me to stop her. I imagine she had no trouble sensing me wanting to do exactly that.

It didn't happen. It wasn't the time, even if it was fated.

She clambered out the window. A clumsy process, also slower than it had to be. But she turned divinely graceful once she started walking on moonlight.

She said, "There's something about you. . . . When your relationship with the redheaded woman falls apart, I'm coming for you. You'll be amazed. We'll be the talk of the town. We'll have the wedding of the year."

I gulped and gaped as she fluttered away, leaving no doubt that she meant every word. Hill folk do when they make a declarative statement. Even shy, socially inept Hill folk.

Which left me with extremely mixed emotions.

I lay back, sure I wouldn't sleep again for the rest of my life.

45

I've got talents. I've got skills. When my head gets too frothy with what-ifs, I've got a live-in (so to speak) Loghyr who steps in and shuts me down. I slept till midmorning.

Singe came to wake me. I came round in a good mood. "If it wouldn't get us both burned at the stake I'd pro--" My tongue froze. My jaw locked. Old Bones never touched me that way.

That he had needed no explanation.

Ratpeople weren't built to frown. But Singe could squint and demand, "What?" in her most puzzled tone.

"Singe, I was going to make a really bad joke that would've been way out of line. I'm sorry. I've been away too long."

Singe was bright but didn't work that one out. Thank God. Or the gods. Or maybe the old dead thing downstairs who saved me the taste of leather in my mouth.

So. Singe was a grown ratwoman and no longer entertained adolescent fantasies about us becoming lovers. She was the wondrous perfect business side of my business. But she still had emotion invested. She could be hurt deeply by what might sound like me poking fun.

By the time you reach two hundred we will turn you into a mature, thoughtful, sensitive adult who thinks before he says . . . Oh, sugar!

Oh, sugar? What the h-e-double-broomsticks did that mean?

While the mental stuff happened I dragged myself out of bed. My marvelous business partner, whose feelings I had just so bravely taken into account, sniffed around with increasing agitation.

"You had a woman in here last night!" There was an angry edge to her voice. After several bellicose sniffs round the bed, though, she relaxed.

Maybe the Dead Man brought her up to speed. Or she worked the whole thing out with her mutant nose. Garrett had avoided temptation.

Oh, sugar, because we are about to have unexpected guests. And you need to be here to help manage them.

An image of an angry band of Children of the Light formed in my mind. They made a big black blot in the street.

"What's the big deal? Ignore them."

I would rather not. More than most who come threatening grief or mayhem, these old men could cause us some discomfort.

Naturally, he didn't explain.

With Singe's assistance I made myself presentable and was ready before the hammering on the door commenced. I used the peephole, saw a lot of black clothing. I let the folks stew till the Dead Man thought they were ready.

My first impression was, wow! I'd better send Singe for Cap'n Roger. Half these guys were going to expire before sundown. Their median age had to be in triple digits. The youngest looked like he started yearning for the good old days when the Dead Man was a pup.

Four had reached my stoop.

"Howdy, fathers. How can I help you?" How had they survived the climb? "If you're collecting for your church I have to tell you we're Orthodox here." By birth. I hadn't been to a service in an age.

"You have Brother Hoto Pepper confined here. We have come to take him away."

The Dead Man sent, Pull the ugly one inside and shut the door. Lock up, then bring him in here.

Excellent. We had a plan. All I needed to do was to pick a winner.

Old Bones had no patience. One old man developed a halo. I grabbed, pulled, slammed, locked. Well, Singe did the locking while I held the door shut.

Our victim shambled dispiritedly off to the party room. The Children of the Light outside waxed enthusiastic in their threats. The Dead Man showed no concern.

I asked, "You need me now?"

Not right away.

I headed for the kitchen. I was hungry.

I didn't get far with correcting that.

You may allow our visitors to leave, now.

I pushed back from the table, marched off to do my duty. "You sure?"

There is nothing more that I can retrieve from any of them.

Two old guys in black and the poisoner Kolda--pardon; the apothecary Kolda--awaited me outside the Dead Man's doorway.

Kolda will be gone only a short while. He will gather some specifics to help with Playmate. Please make sure that Brother Hoto does exit the premises. He is reluctant to rejoin his own kind. He fears that they will ask him the same questions I did, but using tools.

I expected a hassle from the crowd when I released their brethren. That did not happen. The Dead Man had tamed or confused them. And they had worn themselves out chipping the paint off the door.

I closed up and went back to reacquaint myself with breakfast.

As I passed my former office I noted that Morley's only company was Dollar Dan. The caretaker ratwomen had come and gone. The other guards had gone with them.

We do not need them now that there are no outsiders in the house. Mr. Dollar can go once you finish eating.

I trekked on and in time assailed a stack of griddle cakes. Dean didn't make those often. He was in a good mood. I mentioned it.

"Perhaps because of the excitement yesterday. It took me back."

I looked at him askance.

He didn't change his story.

46

I shut the door behind Dollar Dan. He would come back later, to sit with Morley while I was upstairs snoring.

"And snoring it had better be," Singe told me, remembering the woman smell. She did not like Furious Tide of Light today. I wasn't sure why.

I can't quite work out how Singe decides who she likes and who she doesn't, nor why she will change her mind overnight. Her brain doesn't work like mine. I'm sure her sense of smell has something to do with it.

I settled in near Morley, a pot of tea at hand. The Dead Man filled me in on what he had learned from our visitors, including tidbits from the elders who had come for Brother Hoto. Of interest was the fact that Winger and the Remora were drifting apart, the drift mainly hers. She couldn't handle his success.

We do not know much more about the threat to the city. We do know who has been warned off it. We have eyes and ears watching and listening, now. We know we will get Mr. Dotes back. Additionally, we have set in motion actions that offer a chance of rescuing Playmate from the natural monster devouring him.

That was good news. "Did you get anything from the Windwalker?"

Vague amusement, presumably at my expense. That woman is the most simple-minded, empty-headed genius I have ever encountered. She can focus her entire being on the moment. You could do far worse.

"Excuse me?"

As a practical matter. She would provide all the fireworks--and more--with none of the drama of your Miss Tate.

"Uh . . ."

Miss Algarda is ready to grant her devotion. That would be unreserved and absolute. She considers you an ideal candidate. Although she is an immense and formidable power, and a genius professionally, her emotional world is simpler than that of Deal Relway.

"That's scary."

It is. She does not grasp nuance or shades of gray.

The answer to why me might be tucked inside what he had sent. A different kind of sociopath, she would not need time to work things out. Is/is not, with nothing in between. "She would be clever enough not to push me, wouldn't she?"

You could be right in considering her a special kind of sociopath. She is smart enough to show the behavior she has seen in courtships. But she will not be resilient if she is mislead, mistreated, emotionally abused, or blackmailed.

"I believe I get the idea."

Good. You are staring into the eyes of a big responsibility.

I had an uncomfortable notion that I knew what he meant.

Dotes' First Law. Keep your hands off a woman crazier than you are. Which I observed in the breach. Furious Tide of Light would be, "You Touch It, You Bought It."

But I didn't believe she was crazy. Not the way girlfriends usually are.

Her head worked different, sure. She had grown up sheltered from life. She coped now because she didn't go out much. When she did she dealt with people she scared so bad they couldn't imagine messing with her.

Hers was a unique emotional realm but it was the only one she knew.

Part of me did find her damned intriguing. It hunted loop-holes in Dotes' Law.

That was the part exhausted by squabbling with Tinnie.

"What do you think, Old Bones?"

I think it is none of my business. I think you are an adult now, and I should not tinker--unless, as was the case with Singe this morning, you start running your mouth with no thought to the consequences.

I was stunned. By making that carefully neutral statement he had told me something I'm sure he did not intend. He had doubts about Tinnie. After all this time.

I would have expected him to endorse the redhead and reject the Windwalker. I wasn't in her class and she came with a whole different drama. (I wasn't in Tinnie's class, either, but a different definition of class was operative there.)

Maybe he was tired of the drama, too.

Still, I carefully reviewed his communications since he had labeled Furious Tide of Light an empty-headed genius. I got a strange impression that he did prefer the Windwalker but would be careful not to say so.

Off I rambled into my own internal drama land, wondering what it was about the beautiful but weird sorceress that made her a preferable mate.

Morley tried to say something.

47

Morley was awake.

His eyes were halfway open, fluttering. He wanted to say something.

Having been in his position myself, I told him, "You're at my place on Macunado Street, being watched out for by me, Singe, the Dead Man, Belinda, John Stretch, the Civil Guard, and the godsdamned Windwalker, Furious Tide of Light. Somebody really wanted to close you down, buddy. Oh. You've been out for more than a week. They tried to poison you, too."

In retrospect, that actually helped. His wounds healed a lot while he was unconscious.

He tried to sit up. He got nowhere. His wounds were not healed enough. He felt them, too. And now had no strength left.

"Water!" was the first word I understood.

Then Dean was there, not only with water but with warm chicken broth. Singe was only a moment behind. She helped lift Morley so Dean could deliver the water and liquid chow.

After the stress level declined and the broth began to work, Morley croaked, "Tell me."

"Be easier for the Dead Man to . . ."

"You tell."

I told my part and what I knew to be true with the precision I used reporting to the Dead Man.

Morley did not seem much interested in who had stabbed him. He was intensely interested in all the whos and what happeneds after he went down. Singe and I added what we had heard from unreliable sources.

Everything given him, I moved on to my own curiosities. "What were you doing in that part of town, anyway? Not that you don't have a right to go wherever you damned well please. But, unless things changed lately, you don't have much to do with those people."

Sometimes I think he was embarrassed by his ethnic background.

He was not yet in any condition for real talk. He eyed me in disbelief. Then his handsome face collapsed into despair. "I can't remember!" Moments later, "He couldn't root it out?"

"No. Unless he didn't recognize it because it didn't connect with everything else." That was my theory. Morley had been involved in something else entirely when he walked blind into something deadly.

Morley frowned. I took that to mean he wanted an explanation.

"Sarge thinks you were up there paying off your fiancee's family."

Morley looked puzzled but I didn't feel any honest emotion behind that. I didn't pursue it.

Old Bones could fill me in later.

I did ask, "How do you justify Belinda Contague against Dotes' First Law?"

"There are twelve kinds of crazy, Garrett. Romantic attraction is the worst." His first complete statement, and, probably, one of the truest things he ever said.

I am getting nothing more now than I did while Mr. Dotes was unconscious. There is nothing there. Though it would appear that chunks of memory may have been lost to concussion or that drug.

"A pity."

Indeed. All that can be done now is to protect him till he can protect himself.

"He'll want to get after this before he's physically ready."

Should he be so inclined I will make sure he falls asleep on his way to the door.

I chuckled.

Morley scowled.

I explained. "Not to worry. We're just planning your future. You'll thank us later."

He hurt too much to be amused.

I said, "There's some silliness taken care of. What do you figure on doing?"

"I'm going back to sleep." And he did, just like that. And it was the best thing he could do once he was full of high-potency chicken broth.

Soon he would get full-bodied chicken soup with noodles and bits of bird.

The Dead Man suggested that I forget Mr. Dotes for a while. I should go relax with Singe, who could help bring me up to speed.

That made me feel like I had been cast as a spear-carrier.

I had few options if I wanted to stay close to Morley.

Old Bones didn't mind not keeping me posted, but Singe had to know stuff because she managed operations and handled the money.

She commiserated over my problems with the redhead. "Pack up your pride and go talk to her. Morley will be safe."

I hemmed and hawed but I'm no good at stalling while trying to find plausible excuses for avoiding something that could turn out ugly.

"Good gods, Garrett! What are you? Thirteen and an only child? Go talk to her. What's the worst she can do?"

I told her what the worst was.

"After all the time, trouble, training, and emotion she has invested in you?"

"Yes. After all that. She's turned into a pretty selfish girl."

"How did that happen? Who gave her the idea that whatever Tinnie wants, Tinnie deserves and gets it? Garrett, you are a first-class dum-dum. Tinnie has been in your life since my mother was a pup. She came and went a few times but she was always back after whoever was distracting you moved on."

That was harsh but essentially factual. Both ways. Tinnie had had some gentlemen suitors. I had had . . . Maya, Eleanor, even Belinda.

I scowled, hoping Tinnie's man friends had not gotten as close as I had to some of those ladies. Maya had been determined to marry me. She never managed to get me to hold still long enough. She had gone on to do much better. And I had gone gaga for Eleanor despite her having been murdered long before I ever met her. Her ghost and her memory were an important part of my life for a long time.

Singe told me, "You need to leave the yesteryear baggage behind. Get back to Tinnie being who she was when she was your special best friend who happened to be a girl."

I wondered if she was being coached from across the hall.

"Good stuff, Singe. Stuff worth thinking about."

She preened.

"What do you think of the Windwalker?"

"Who?"

"The Windwalker, Furious Tide of Light."

"The sorceress who tagged along when I backtracked to the warehouse where all the horror stuff was? The woman who was in your room last night?"

"Her."

"What about her?" She didn't have much of a ruff but it was up.

"You remember her from the thing with the ghosts and giant bugs?"

Several seconds of silence. "All right. That was the same woman?"

"Singe."

"What about her?"

"Singe, I'm asking your opinion of that woman based upon your exposure, interaction, and magical nose."

"I don't have an opinion. How could I? My personal exposure hasn't been enough to develop one. Probably less than an hour over both our lifetimes. Anything I said would be speculative. So. Why is my opinion important?"

That had a high bull-poop content. I didn't challenge it. "Because she's important to me. Because you're important to me. I'm extremely attracted to her, physically and intellectually. And she says she's going to marry me."

The Windwalker did say that, didn't she? Or did I dream it? No matter. It was out of the bag now.

Singe said nothing for several minutes, though she did spout the occasional interrogative sentence as she discussed this revolting development with our deceased friend.

Singe was, apparently, astonished by the Dead Man's positive attitude toward the Windwalker and his lessened enthusiasm toward Tinnie.

I must say that, though forewarned, I didn't understand him, either. And he offered no explanation.

I needed to think about that. The mix for consideration should include not just what I knew about Tinnie and the Windwalker--whose given name I did not yet know--but, also, what the Dead Man knew and never shared.

I should get Tinnie to visit. Old Bones hadn't burgled her head in ages.

I asked the air, "Do I need to be scared?"

I got no answer. Of course.

Then I got distracted by supper and Kolda's return. Then it was time to supervise the ratwomen who came to clean Morley. They were amazed and amused by a gallant salute that reared up while they changed his diaper.

He was on his way back for sure.

The caretakers gave way to a brace of armed ratmen. Singe's brother came with them. We settled in her office. We drank some beer. John Stretch had become an interesting person in his own right. I wondered how many more geniuses his mother had produced.

I wasted a lot of time wondering about nonproductive stuff.

48

Confusion. A lot of beer went down during the discussions with Singe and John Stretch. Then came bed, me thinking this was like the good old days. All that commotion about relationships was silly-ass fuss with no enduring real-world significance.

Singe had bullied me into reaffirming my commitment to Tinnie. She wasn't hot to have Furious Tide of Light as her stepmom.

So the woman had a few quirks. Didn't we all? The problem she had was breaking loose from her father.

As I noted, the Algardas might be weird and have dark secrets but they were still caring, kind people where others were concerned.

Such was my tangle of thought as I drifted off, not nearly as reconciled to the redhead as Singe hoped. I left the window ajar. I told myself that was because I needed the night air to cool my room.

More than air got in. And had done nothing to cool anything down.

Furious Tide of Light played more fair than most women. She knew she could turn me into a sock puppet with some eye-batting, heavy breathing, and a dash of suggestive dialog. Women understand these things by the time they're ten. Some just don't learn to trust their instincts.

A desirable woman who catches a man in bed in the middle of the night won't need to work hard to have her way.

The Windwalker was gentle, thoughtful, and careful not to unfairly exploit her advantage. She could have made the situation more chaste only by standing off and touching me with a ten-foot pole. Once I woke up all the way, though, I took over. The natural Garrett charm kicked in, made sure she found me completely unappetizing.

I had done honors to a lot of fine beer earlier. It now yearned to be free. My choices were to be embarrassed a little or embarrassed a lot.

I chose the chamber pot over wetting myself. Not behavior accepted in the drawing rooms of the upper classes but not utterly gauche and unacceptable in mine. Elimination processes are natural and necessary. And I was polite enough to step into a corner and face away.

Never mind. The Windwalker woke me up. I did what I had to do. Any romantic notions she brought along got put on hold. Still, she was a resilient fey. She might have bounced back had it not been for the interruption.

I was looking at her, determined to ask why she was here but getting entangled in the fantasy--wondering if I shouldn't have taken a bath--when she let out a baby squeal and slammed a fist down hard on the windowsill.

She had to leap to do it, and when I say hard I mean she shook the house. The wood in the window frame groaned.

A soft curse from the street followed. And I felt nothing to indicate that the Dead Man knew something dangerous had begun.

The Windwalker had not brought the lighting up brighter tonight. Yet. Only a candle burned, its wan light barely potent enough to reveal a blindly groping arm of flesh like the one that had tried getting in through the window at Fire and Ice.

I joined the Windwalker in an effort to punish that. Unhappy noises came from outside. I hurled raging thoughts the Dead Man's way. I slammed the window shut.

Furious Tide of Light used the candle to light my lamps, then applied the business end to the probe still oozing in through the crack of the window.

That caused some excitement.

Sudden as an explosion, an awful, despairing wail came from the street. The arm of flesh went crazy as a snake with a broken back. My friend kept right on attacking it. Something on the other end decided that it did not need to explore my bedroom after all.

Furious Tide of Light leaped into the air, slammed down hard on the double-hung.

A chunk of whatever two feet long and as thick as her wrist separated from what lay outside.

That was most remarkably unusual! Definitely a woman with potential.

I had nothing to say. I fell down on the side of my bed. The Windwalker landed in my lap. Our hearts were pounding. Our attention was on the severed tentacle. I croaked, "They found Morley again."

A shriek of rage and pain ripped the night outside. It did not stop. It headed away, uphill on Macunado, at no great speed.

The Windwalker did not get up to take a look. I did not have the moral fiber to set her back on her feet.

The Dead Man made contact but his thoughts had no form. I got the impression that were he a living being he would be puking up his guts.

His distress took me away from my dilemma, some, though the Windwalker kind of leaned back and made herself comfortable.

Old Bones needed time to pull himself together. Once he did I was in contact with a different being. He had dipped a toe into a darkness even he could not have imagined just a few days ago.

He was centuries older than me. That something contemporary would appear terrible to him scared the pants off me. Did I dare be pantsless in the presence of Furious Tide of Light?

If they are not on now, Garrett, get them on. You have to make a census of the people who were supposed to be watching.

I do? "What?"

Your trousers. You are not actually wearing them. Remove the Windwalker from your lap and put on your trousers. I want you both out in the street. Her I want aloft and following the thing that fled up Macunado. It was not traveling at any great speed. Let her catch up. If she can control it, have her bring it back.

I had questions. This was not the time. This was the time to move fast. Response times are crucial.

Singe will come collect the specimen.

"She'd better hurry. The one up north turned to stink and goo."

The Windwalker, prized loose, looked at me oddly.

I told her, "You know about my partner. He's why you're wearing the Kevans mesh. So he can't get inside your head. He wants me to ask you to do some stuff." I relayed the Dead Man's instructions quickly.

She understood immediately.

"I'd better get going. I don't think there's much chance I can control that thing. I don't have those skills. Get that window open."

I'd just finished when Singe bulled in, armed with a bucket and sour attitude. She turned sourer still as she watched the Windwalker float away. Which I wasn't watching because I had turned to face her.

As I pointed out the piece of monster flesh, she demanded, "Why isn't that woman wearing any underwear?"

"Damn! I missed that completely."

Lucky for Singe's peace of mind, I'd had my pants on when she charged in.

49

I went out the front door like people who can't fly. Singe had armed me up, though my lead-weighted head knocker was the only tool of mayhem obvious. I was feeling less confident than I ought, being fully aware that I hadn't done this stuff for a long time. My skills and instincts had atrophied.

The Dead Man filled my head with an itinerary. And, There will be much to tell once I have had time to reflect. Those things should not have been able to get close. They should not have been able to brush me aside so easily, though it may be a blessing that they did. I cannot imagine the mind of a master vampire being more filled with filth.

Five men representing as many interests had been posted to keep an eye on my place. No doubt they knew about one another. They might have pooled resources. Old Bones wanted a roll call. Men doing similar work had come to grief up by Fire and Ice.

This was nothing I wanted to do. Which might suggest that I was past the point where I should stop doing what Tinnie wanted me to stop doing.

If I couldn't handle the ugliness anymore I should get busy being the neutered door guard I'd seen myself as before this came rumbling down.

Among the Civil Guard, Belinda's friends, a guy from Morley's crew and one from the Children of the Light, I found six of the five people Old Bones claimed were watching. John Stretch's guys nabbed the extra.

First was a red top right across the street. He was uninjured but his mind had gone blank. Which was the story over and over. The last man, a tin whistle posted on the steps to Mrs. Cardonlos' house, was awake but deeply confused.

I found one dead man, a door up the street from my place. Nobody knew him. Probably an unlucky guy who thought he'd found a nice place to spend a homeless night.

I approached the Cardonlos homestead, wakened the widow. She pretended that I was disturbing her rest with my assault on her door. She had not aged well and had not handled that well. She had become a cosmetics huckster's dream, a younger man's nightmare, and an object of derision for attractive younger women.

I've seen so many like her that I suspected a disease strikes women of a certain age. Badly colored hair. Makeup laid on with a trowel. Perfume dense as a swamp's miasma. And a ready, pathetic simper for any man young enough to remember what it's like to stand upright.

She did not simper at me. She recognized me. "It's started, hasn't it?"

"Excuse me? What's started?"

"The death of tranquility." She freighted that with omen, like she was proclaiming the twilight of the gods. "There hasn't been any trouble here since you followed your trollop up the Hill."

She didn't have that right. My trollop was actually a lady. And she had nothing to do with the Hill. "I'm back. You should petition the Director to put you back on full time. Meantime, he needs to know what happened tonight. All his people were hurt. One man died. He'll recall what happened on the north side."

Mrs. Cardonlos gulped some air. She wanted to make that all my fault but didn't know how.

I pointed. "That one down there has lost his hearing."

The veteran lady gulped again. "The excitement is back."

"Get word to the Al-Khar. I'll be busy getting the casualties together and trying to help them." Extra info she could include in her report, to encourage a quick response.

Relway would want his troops exposed to the Dead Man as briefly as possible.

50

Furious Tide of Light returned before the Guard showed. She was morose and uncommunicative. I wasted no questions. The Dead Man would winkle out anything of interest.

I did suggest, "How about you help with these guys that got hurt?" I had three pulled together in one place. Keeping them there was problematic. They wanted to wander off.

Singe had gone to find her brother. She returned with a half dozen ratmen who helped collect the other casualties and wrangled those already rounded up. Singe was antsy. She wanted to get on the trail of the thing that had started the excitement. But she restrained herself in front of the Windwalker, at the gentle urging of the Dead Man.

Furious Tide of Light went through the motions halfheartedly, aiding the injured. She must have found something she had not wanted to find, following that whatever to its lair.

When she wasn't being her brother's surrogate on the spot Singe glared at the Windwalker and gave me looks, demanding, "When are we going to get going? The trail is getting cold."

I told her, "I don't think we will."

"Why not?"

"Three reasons. We are forbidden. My mission is to protect Morley. And Old Bones already knows."

She understood. But still she made hissing noises to express her exasperation.

The Windwalker's healing skills were basic. She reached her limits quickly. But she did stabilize everyone.

Nobody else died but the man I had found dead stayed that way.

The man who came out on behalf of the Guard was one Rocklin Synk, previously unknown to me. He was rational and reasonable. He didn't automatically assume everybody who wasn't him was guilty of something. He didn't treat people like they'd already been convicted of aggravated capital treason with a garlic pickle on the side.

We were headed into the graveyard shift when he showed. We had a smaller audience than seemed likely. Evidently people didn't get out of bed to be entertained by the misfortunes of others anymore.

The time and pitiful audience may have helped shape Synk's attitude. Maybe it wasn't worth the work, putting on a hard-ass show.

Still, any true believer in the Relway vision must start from the premise that anyone who isn't Deal Relway or one of his henchmen is likely an agent of chaos and a harbinger of the coming darkness. Investigations are built on such foundations, their function to find or create support for the initial supposition. Synk was the kind of guy who palled around with you till you handed him the end of the rope he would use to stretch your neck.

I kept him near the house while we talked.

Old Bones soon let me know why this man had been sent.

This is Mr. Synk's first field assignment. His functions at the Al-Khar have involved payroll accounting and personnel management. His task tonight is to learn as much as possible without revealing the Guard attitude toward this case.

Meaning the Civil Guard did have an attitude they didn't want expressed. "I don't care. All I'm interested in is taking care of my friend till he's ready for release into the wild."

By now the Guard had established an overwhelming presence. Ratmen were scarce. The Windwalker got inside before she was recognized. I was outside with nobody but Singe and swarming red tops.

I developed the suspicion that nobody interested in this mess was really looking the other way just because some unidentified entity insisted. Not privately.

I was a gracious host. I repeated my story over and over. Synk insisted that he had to have the fragment of a tentacle. Singe hustled off, brought it out. It was spoiled already. The bucket contained noxious brown soup with chunks of meat quickly melting. It did not smell like fresh seafood.

I didn't care. That was what I expected. I wanted to get back inside and find out why the Windwalker was distraught.

Rocklin Synk knew more about the Garrett friends and family than Garrett did. I started to give him hell for loading all the downed watchers into his Al-Khar wagons. He cut me off. "Will we be able to borrow your tracker?"

Singe was close enough to hear. "I don't have a tracker. One of my associates is a skilled tracker. If you want to avail yourself of her talent you'll have to work it out with her."

Synk did not like that at all.

Old Bones assured me that Synk was not a bad human being. My own impression was that he was about as decent as they came inside the Guard. But he was a definite product of TunFaire's human culture. He did not consider ratfolk people. There was a solid chance he didn't consider members of any of the Other Races real people.

The thinking underlying the whole Human Rights movement was unfashionable at the moment but it hadn't gone away. It could come back fast. It needed only one ugly nudge.

I added, "Though I wouldn't ordinarily presume to tell her what to do, I'd insist she got her fee up front because she's dealing with the Guard."

"Sir?" Taken totally off balance.

"Your runty boss has a habit of expecting people to help him for the sheer joy of participating in the process. It be-hooves those addicted to food and shelter to have the foresight to collect their pay before they do the work."

Synk honestly seemed bemused."You don't trust the Guard?"

"When money is involved? Consult your own experience."

Seconds passed. Then, "I see. Unfortunately, I wasn't given the wherewithal to undertake any negotiations."

Singe said, "You are on your own, then, Constable." She headed for the house. Where had she found that title? Pulled it from the air, perhaps.

I shrugged. "There you have it. The track may still be there in the morning." I watched Singe close the door behind herself. I told Synk, "On an unrelated point, you won't get much joy from arresting Belinda Contague's men."

Synk engaged me in a brief semantic debate, insisting that nobody had been arrested.

"You'll have a hard time selling that to folks whose agents you're hauling off."

"I don't have to sell anything." He might have been an accountant turned loose but he did have a full ration of Civil Guard conceit. He gave me some crap about protective custody for witnesses and about making sure material witnesses got the best of health care.

"Mr. Synk, I have to hand it to you. You are a prodigy of Guard bullshit and refined Relway-speak. You'll go far. As long as you don't have direct dealings with disgruntled folk like Belinda Contague."

Synk proved he was a complete desk weenie, then, by not being concerned that he might irritate a gang princess.

Let it be, Garrett. He is a good man who believes his goodness to be a shield in itself. I understand that you think you must look out for everyone, but the crushing this man is thundering toward might be instructive to the Civil Guard as a whole.

"That lesson being?"

That righteousness is not a shield. The good die more quickly than the bad.

It's also damned subjective but I did not bring that up.

I had reached a point where my hopes and ambitions swirled exclusively round the prospect of getting back to bed.

Still, some things needed attention. I had to see how Morley had weathered the last few hours. Which proved to be, he had slumbered on through. And I wanted to hear about what had the Windwalker so glum.

I had a suspicion.

The Dead Man told me I was wrong. He did not want to fuss about it tonight. I did need to get back to bed. I had a stressful tomorrow looming.

My plan to hit the sack had to go on hold while I convinced Furious Tide of Light that Singe was doing right by putting her into the guest bedroom. Though nothing would have happened if she had been allowed to snuggle in the warm with me. I was exhausted and so not in the mood. Singe's nose told her that. But there were proprieties to be observed, as far as she was concerned.

Splitting the difference, I kissed the Windwalker on the forehead when Singe wasn't looking. A minute later I was secure beneath my own blanket. The window was shut and latched. I warmed up the snore cycle.

51

The Dead Man was a perfect prognosticator. Next day was a nightmare of visitations. General Block came and went. Belinda Contague did the same, and mother-fussed Morley till he begged her to leave. Deal Relway his own self turned up, accompanied by Rocklin Synk. I thought we'd never get shut of him, though early on, for a wonder, he granted that he must be getting the truth from me.

It was hard to keep a straight face. Relway wore a custom metal mesh coif under silver mail. His freakish ears protruded through slits provided. Weird. I'd never seen his ears before. They'd always been hidden under his hair.

The headgear was guaranteed to shield his thoughts. The Dead Man assured me that the Director had been conned. It hadn't taken him thirty seconds to break through.

Relway got no warning from me.

I wasn't sure I cared to know what was hidden inside his head.

The Windwalker stayed out of sight, upstairs. She showed no inclination to leave. Singe stoically delivered her breakfast and lunch.

Sarge turned up. I joined him in with Morley. Not much got said. Sarge was just plain misty-eyed.

While I was in there other people came by with preliminary reports. Most just shambled past and let Old Bones pluck what he needed from their heads, thus betraying no connection to us.

The Dead Man touched me. I need you to catch Mr. Relway. He is a block east of Wizard's Reach, briefing some of his men.

I scooted out, chock-full of message and thrilled to be running free.

I was hacking and panting before I found the Director. He wasn't wearing his magical headgear. He looked like just another red top. Five more of who got ready to thump on me. But Relway had them hold off. No need to start right this instant.

"You should get in shape, Garrett. You're way too young to be wheezing after a quarter-mile trot."

"Old Bones says to tell you that four new watchers just moved into the neighborhood and he can't read them. Yours and the Outfit's he recognizes and considers harmless. This bunch are different. They showed up right after you left. There might be more than four, too, since they're so hard to spot."

Relway's ugly little face lit up. He asked where to look. I told him. "Thank you, Garrett. I'm going to take back some of the harsher things I've said about you. Go home. Get inside. Lock your door. Don't let anyone in after sundown."

"What? Why not?"

"Because that thing might be back and maybe has a shape-shifter side to it. Which guarantees some high adventure." He turned away, handed out assignments to his escort. Those men began to hurry off.

The Director noticed me standing there with my thumb in my ear. "Why the hell are you still here, Garrett?"

I headed for the house. It was uphill all the way. Not steeply but enough to taunt my flabby muscles. The Director's men snapped up their first victim as I climbed the steps.

Shouting and threatening attended the process. The captive considered himself exempt from the attentions of the Civil Guard. Relway disagreed. An application of nightsticks ended the argument.

The Dead Man felt so smug about it that I could feel it in the street.

But once I got inside: Double lock it, then see Dean about salt.

That was off the wall. "All right." I headed for the kitchen, where I found a disgruntled old man making supper for twice the usual crowd, with the added burden of two meals having to be suitable for consumption by invalids. He sucked it up and didn't complain so I didn't remind him how easy he had it, overall.

I expect he liked it better when Singe was the only one he had to feed and fool.

"Salt," I said.

"Yes?"

"Do we have any? His Nibs said see you about salt. I'm seeing you. He must have let you know. Damn! That smells good."

Something in the pan had me drooling.

"I have two pounds and a pinch. I picked up some last week."

"And I have some they gave me at the place where we stayed before." I thought I knew what Old Bones wanted done. He gave me a confirmatory nudge.

52

I ate. The main course was pork chops, for him and me. Singe and Dollar Dan Justice, in with Morley for the night, got sausages and that ratfolk favorite, stewed apples. I snagged a dollop of apples for myself. Dean makes them good. For Morley and Playmate it was chicken soup.

I hoped Playmate's brother-in-law didn't destroy Play's business while he was away.

We all forgot the Windwalker. At first. Old Bones nudged me.

I hustled up and let her know it was all right to come down. The outsiders were gone and we were having supper. Downstairs, Singe let her know it was all right for her to go home. Nobody would notice her leaving. I wondered if she thought the watchers had been stricken blind.

Singe's whiskers twitched in a way that said she was irritated--probably because she didn't like something she was getting from the Dead Man.

The Windwalker stayed close, which meant she crowded into the kitchen with me and Dean. She donned her vulnerable guise and conquered Dean immediately. In a soft, breathless voice she told me, "I don't think your associate likes me."

"My associate is scared of you."

"Why?"

"She thinks she knows me better than anybody but me. She thinks I'll get infatuated, will lose my sense of proportion, will grab the short end of something, and mess up everything for all of us."

Garrett. Really.

I meant it. That would be Singe's thinking, in essence.

"She might be jealous."

"That's possible, too."

"Are you infatuated?"

"Not quite. Definitely intrigued and valiantly trying to fight it."

She smiled slightly. Maybe wistfully.

"Don't you do whatever it is you do that makes every man in sight turn into a drooling wannabe love slave."

"I'll be all business. You'll see. You won't even know I'm a girl."

Yeah. Right. And then the pigs will come home to roost.

It would be impossible for most men and some women to ignore her sex in her presence even when she didn't want to be noticed.

I thought about letting her know that the Dead Man thought well of her, decided against it. She did not need to be reminded of his existence.

Dean poured fresh tea. We sipped. I said, "Singe was right about this being a good time to slip away unnoticed."

"I don't want to."

"Fine. Then you can help with the salt."

"The salt?"

"The thing that keeps trying to get in shows some characteristics of slugs or snails. Slugs and snails don't do well when they run into salt."

Furious Tide of Light was the victim of a sheltered childhood. She had no idea.

I told her, "They melt when you put salt on them."

"Gross!" But, seconds later, her attitude brightened. "I'll help with the salt."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"Why you were so down after you followed that thing home. But now you're not."

"I don't think so."

She really believed in that metal hairnet her daughter had invented.

It does work, some.

"I'm done here. Dean, you outdid yourself."

"Not really. You've been eating inferior cooking."

Ouch! He wasn't going to turn on Tinnie, too, was he? He'd always been a booster. Though, to be perfectly accurate, the redhead was not much of a cook. With her looks that hadn't been a skill she'd needed to develop.

"Salt," I said. "Time to do it. Dean?"

Thunk! A cloth sack landed in front of me. "Save as much as you can."

"I'll use my own before I break into this. Promise."

53

The front door was easy. I opened up. The Windwalker sprinkled salt along the sill plate. I shut the door carefully. We would have to redo that one because of traffic. For now it should stay shut till Dollar Dan and the cleaning ladies traded places.

We did the back door next. That got almost no use. Likewise, the transom and one barred window that let light in during the day. That was the only window left on the ground floor. The others had gotten bricked up during the heyday of lawlessness.

Then down we went into the dank of the cellar, me with the lantern, the Windwalker lugging the salt. The steps groaned under my weight. They needed replacing. They had begun to rot. I said, "This is nasty."

"Only if you're not a spider."

She had that right. Spiderwebs and cobwebs hung everywhere. They covered the surface of the foundation stone. There was dampness on that stone, too. The air was thick. Our passage stirred dust despite the damp. The floor, nominally tamped earth, was one cup of water short of becoming pure mud.

The door to the outside was in worse shape than the steps. I said, "Be generous with that stuff down here. Yuck! This is nasty! I can't imagine why Singe hasn't had it cleaned out and fixed up."

Singe didn't think about those parts of the house she didn't visit, that was all. She was conscious of appearances and utility but not maintenance. She would overlook the cellar till the house fell into it.

Once we emerged from the underworld I let her know. She looked me over, sniffed, said, "Definitely. Morley is awake."

"Ten minutes. We still need to get the upstairs windows. And I need to get this gunk off me."

I returned to the kitchen for tea. The Windwalker wasn't there anymore. "Where'd she go, Dean?"

He pointed up. "She went to clean up."

"It's really nasty down there."

"I like this one, Mr. Garrett."

"What?" I wasn't paying attention because I'd noticed that salt had been laid down along the bottom of the door to the cellar.

"This woman. I like her a lot."

"You do? What about Tinnie?"

"I like Tinnie a lot, too. Tinnie is entertaining and challenging. Because she's always there, there's never been a question if she is the best woman to be there. With this one, though . . . I'm relaxed and comfortable, despite what she is. I don't worry if she'll start barking about something I have no idea . . . You do see what I mean?"

I did. Still, I was flabbergasted. A great word, that. I didn't get to use it often enough. Flabbergasted. From a root word meaning he ate too many beans.

Dean had been a booster of Tinnie Tate since the day he finally accepted the fact that he would never hook me up with one of his homely nieces.

Did I need to get nervous? In no time, with no apparent effort, Furious Tide of Light had conquered Dean and the Dead Man both. It had taken Old Bones an age to accept Tinnie. If the Windwalker seduced Singe, I was in it deep.

"Dean, she is remarkable. Like you say, easy to be around. She just naturally seems to belong. But you have to remember what she is and the people she runs with. And I don't even know her real name. She's still just the Windwalker, or Furious Tide of Light."

"That might be cumbersome, socially, if you're making introductions, especially in your circles. But it won't be a problem much longer."

"Huh?" Caution: Giant Intellect at Work.

The Windwalker's shy little girl voice piped, "My name is Strafa. Strafa Algarda." She moved very close as she came for tea of her own. She bumped me gently, at the hip. I was pretty sure she'd overheard everything.

Dean grinned almost lecherously. He'd never done that with Tinnie. He'd always been frowns and disapproval when he thought we might be playing grown-ups.

I was in it now, definitely and deeply, riding it without reins or a saddle, at a gallop, straight into one of those narrow places every man hates to go: a time of decision.

How could I get out of this without somebody getting mangled?

The Dead Man was amused in the extreme. He didn't have the imagination I did. He couldn't picture a future where the Tate clan hunted me down and staked me out on a termite mound. Or where one of the top dozen operators in a city renown for black-hearted and cruel sorcerers had a bone to pick with a man who done her wrong.

Do not become hysterical.

And I couldn't respond because we were still pretending that he couldn't read the Wind . . . Strafa's mind.

I wished I could get in there and look around myself. I had questions. Chuckles hadn't given me much, yet. Too, I wanted to know what he learned from that thing in the street. He should have given me that a long time ago, unless it was too scary for somebody as young as me. And, as long as I was feeling left out, how about what he had gotten out of my best pal?

On cue, sourpuss Singe stuck her head into the kitchen. "You said ten minutes an hour ago, Garrett. He's fading now."

"I've told you a million times not to exaggerate. It hasn't been anywhere near an hour."

"The point remains. You are ignoring your most important task while you indulge in flirtation."

What was this? My cheeks got hot!

I headed for the cold well, grabbed a pitcher.

Singe took it away. "I'll handle that. You go see Morley."

54

They had him propped up in a chair. He wore clean clothes. Belinda must have had those brought by. He was fading when I arrived, but he brightened some. "They're promising me a real bath soon."

"Be like heaven on earth."

Strafa had followed me. Morley's eyebrows rose. The hunter light sparked in his eyes. He tried on his girl-killer smile, then looked at me, curious. His face collapsed into a mild frown.

"Morley, this is Strafa. She's helping find out what happened to you. Strafa, this is Morley Dotes, purported restaurateur and genuine crime victim."

Would he recognize her?

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am." He had made that fast a read.

More politely than seemed plausible considering her feelings, Singe eased the Windwalker aside so she could deliver my pitcher. Then she herded Strafa somewhere else.

Dotes asked, "Something special there?"

"Might be."

"Uhm." He asked none of the questions my conscience primed me to expect. "Interesting."

"Frightening. I'm getting lost. This shouldn't happen to me. I'm a big boy, I'm a good boy, and I've been in the same place a long time. The place I've always ended back at since way back when we went to the Cantard to fight vampires. But now this. And I don't know her that well."

"It happens, Garrett. How well did you know Maya? Or Eleanor? Eleanor wasn't even alive. And what about Belinda?"

"Belinda was the other way around. I was mostly trying to keep from getting my throat cut."

He didn't call me on that, probably because he didn't want to talk about Belinda. "Not to worry. You being you, you'll mess it up out of some compulsion to do what you think is the right thing. You'll end up back where you started even if it isn't what you want."

Not what I needed to hear. "Let's talk about you."

"My favorite topic, but why? Hasn't the Dead Man drained me dry?"

"No. He says you've got a brain like a rock."

"What can I say? When he's right, he's right. If I had the brains of two rocks I wouldn't be in this condition."

"You starting to remember things?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Truly. It's like whole weeks have been cut out of my memory. I have a vague recollection of waking up in a bed somewhere with you and Bell hovering. Or was that . . . ? Now that's getting murky."

"That could've been four different women. Belinda had you hidden upstairs at a classy hook shop."

"Yeah? That's murk. Before that, though, it's all a dark place. Not just vague but a big black obsidian chunk of nothing. Then murk before that. I know I was walking. Not sneaking but being unobtrusive. I don't think I was following anybody. I don't know where I was coming from. Something caught me from behind."

Morley, taken by surprise? Wow.

He jumped as though pricked. His eyes lost focus. He started speaking fluent incoherent.

Old Bones was feeling benevolent. He filled my head with Morley's recollections of what had set him off.

There was a woman, vague, becoming clearer as she approached. She was tall and slim and wore black leather. She moved with natural sensual arrogance. Her hair was big and almost old lady gray. She was far from old, though. She might be just starting her twenties. Her mouth was small but her lips puffed a bit. They were an intense red.

Those lips held the only stark color in the picture.

The vision faded. Morley's mind slipped into the murk, then plunged into the obsidian oblivion.

I collected myself. "I didn't recognize her."

Old Bones fed the vision back to Morley, who said, "Me neither. And I wouldn't forget those lips."

The one task I gave Jon Salvation, because he was desperate to be included, was to recruit an artist unafraid to work with me. Once we develop portraits we may be able to make identifications.

"Portraits? Plural?"

General Block has generously agreed to lend us Jimmy Two Steps.

Singe proved she was being included by calling from her office, "Why hire an artist? Let Penny do it. She has the talent and the materials. She lives close by and she could get started right now."

She is also insanely timid around Garrett.

"I will promise her to defend whatever virtue she pretends to have left."

Oh, catty!

Singe had a problem with Penny Dreadful, too? This was news to me.

Of course, after being away so long, everything was news to me.

"Do both," I suggested. "At least once. We'll see if two different artists see the same thing. And, while we're borrowing the King's property, why not take a look at Butch and his brother?"

I tendered that request. It came too late. The younger man was released because he cooperated fully. The other received a minimal sentence to the aqueduct project.

Then, Oho! This could be interesting. Singe, please stand by at the door.

55

My heart jumped into my throat. There was only one person this could be. Despite all my thought, I wasn't ready.

So while I headed into panic mode, the Windwalker contributed by coming down to see what was going on.

The amusement exuded by the Dead Man was overwhelming.

Singe opened the door. Kolda came in. "Hey, Garrett, I think I found remedies for both your friends."

"Good on you, Brother Kolda. Tell me about it." My relief was so huge I was about to pee my pants.

More amusement.

Kolda produced a half dozen small bottles. "These brown ones are for your poisoned friend. The one with the green stopper will help his memory. The one with the red stopper will work on the poison. The one with the clear stopper will make him piss. A lot. He'll want a lot of water. Let him drink as much as he wants. It'll flush his body out. The blue bottles are for your sick friend. I wrote the instructions out so you don't have to remember them."

Kolda was pleased with himself. I would have to give him some strokes. He had done good.

Singe was still standing by the door. I said, "You want to take these instructions? I'll lose them just going down the hall."

"Put the paper on my desk. I'm busy." She began sliding bolts back.

I panicked all over again. And with no more need. When I shambled back from putting the medicines and instructions on Singe's desk, with the latter carefully weighted down by the former, I found Kolda pressed back against the far wall of the hall, completely rattled. DeeDee, Crush, and Miss Tea filled the hall with bounce, beauty, and chatter. DeeDee was in a blood sport mood. She had Kolda picked for the weakest game on the plain and thought he needed tormenting.

I blurted, "What are you three doing here?" Ever the boy with the golden tongue. "I'm glad I made a good impression, but . . ."

Miss Tea moved into my personal space. I cringed back into Singe's office. She chucked me under the chin. "We have the evening off. We couldn't stay away."

Crush came in close, too, but she was just looking past me.

Strafa Algarda descended the stair again, drawn by the hubbub. She began to glower. Likewise, Singe, from the doorway end of the hallway. I said, "Morley is in the room on the left, right there."

"Thank you."

Crush asked, "This is where you live? You must do pretty good."

"I was lucky on a couple of jobs. And I work with people who are the best at what they do."

Singe kept scowling. She was seriously irked about something.

Crush looked at her, Kolda now getting his breath and color back, and the Windwalker. She saw something I didn't. She said, "I see books. Can I look?"

Singe gave a grudging nod. She may have gotten advice from the Dead Man.

"Sure. Come on. They aren't mine, though, so don't touch."

Some kind of joyful reunion commenced in the other room. Morley Dotes and Miss Tea were old friends after all.

Crush asked, "Are they the witch's books?"

"The witch?"

"The woman at the end of the hall. It's obvious."

"She might resent being called a witch. She's a lot more. Height of the Hill. A Windwalker. No. The books are Singe's. The one who let you in."

"Really?" Amazed.

"Truly. She is the smartest person I know, human or rat. I couldn't survive without her." No need to mention the Dead Man.

He had to be in heaven, slithering through the secrets buried in all these fresh minds. He'd never use what he found, likely, but he would feel good knowing.

He had to be in heaven, complete with this whole mess. He was learning a lot of the secrets of this dark old city. Or so it must seem after a long dry spell.

Be careful, Garrett. That crumpet will fall in love with you for Singe's books. More amusement.

I asked Crush, "Didn't you want to see Morley?"

"Not so much. DeeDee is enough competition for Mike."

I didn't follow. I heard the front door open and close. Now what? I went to look. Crush crowded up to peek past me.

Penny Dreadful had arrived. She was loaded with artist's stuff. She froze when she saw me looking. I couldn't resist. I winked. Her gaze shifted to Crush, who wasn't much older than she. She scowled. Crush glared. Penny headed for the door to the Dead Man's room. Kolda opened it. I asked Crush, "Do you know Penny?"

"Only by type."

"Kid has lived a rough life." I sketched it.

Crush was not impressed. She had some background of her own.

"Singe, how did Penny know we needed her help?"

"I have skills, partner. I sent a message." She gave Crush a look that should have caused bone bruises.

She was not feeling charitable toward any female today.

The Dead Man finally clued me to something he should have mentioned as soon as I came into range. It is her estrus time and today is its peak. She has taken drugs to suppress the effects. Those are not entirely efficacious where the psychological indications are concerned. I do enjoy these newcomers. I had quite forgotten how colorful some of your acquaintances can be.

Crush said, "She was jealous when she saw me."

"What?" The Windwalker? Singe? Penny?

That roused the logic beast and got it shambling. It fed on things that had been happening the past few days.

Singe no longer consciously entertained the adolescent fantasies she had suffered when first we teamed up but I was top rat around here. She might have formed a deep down attachment that got the salt in the raw wound treatment when she was in heat.

Time to be careful.

She was taking some potent drugs. The rat thugs who were in and out never responded to her. Dollar Dan had been nursing a yearning for Singe since John Stretch took over as number-one rat gangster. Dan would be watching for an opportunity.

All right. Singe didn't like anyone female right now because they were competition for the boss rat's attention. Tinnie must be way up on her transitory list. But Tinnie wasn't here. Strafa Algarda was. And Crush, who was just a kid.

Crush slipped past, stepped down the hall, glanced back, gave me an unwarranted "gotcha!" look that I would have expected from DeeDee first.

That had to be for her own benefit. She thought she had proven that I could be manipulated even when I was trying to be a good guy.

Singe smoldered.

How long would this last? Would this be her worst day? I hoped.

I then realized that she had not left the door.

Oh, God and all His Saints defend me! All I needed was for the redhead to walk into this menagerie. The only female in the place Tinnie would trust might be Penny. And that would change the instant she got a look at how Penny had grown.

Someone knocked. Singe started undoing bolts.

56

Kolda sort of half whimpered. "You don't got any more need for me, Garrett, I better get on out of here." Body language screamed that he was a liar. What he really wanted was to dive into the visiting mob. Team Fire and Ice could have their way with him till the stretcher bearers carried him away. "Trudi don't like it if she has to wait up."

Who was Trudi?

Fiancee.

That old devil time playing tricks again. Did Kolda have a wife back when he was trying to poison me? I thought so but couldn't remember for sure. Well, he didn't have one now. The woman he did have scared him, though not as much as the fantasies tormenting him here.

"If you got to go, you got to go. You wouldn't want to miss supper on account of these beasts. Are you having trouble, Singe?"

"That idiot out there keeps pushing on the door. This bolt won't slide if there's pressure. I had it made that way. Ah. I've got it now." She let the door swing.

In came Jon Salvation and a companion recently escaped from a homeless shelter. The latter lugged gear similar to what Penny had dragged in. His was seedier. He was seedier, by an order of magnitude. He needed to discover soap and water. He needed to steal some clean clothes. And he maybe ought to forego the next dozen bottles of ardent spirits.

His hair was a wild, gray tangle. I shuddered to think what vile livestock he was importing into my house. He was shorter than Salvation and a whole lot dumpier. He was the epicenter of a fierce medley of smells.

Jon Salvation said, "This is the Bird, Garrett. Bird, this is the guy who needs your help." He turned. "Singe, can you show the Bird where to set up?" He nudged me a few steps toward the kitchen, whispering, "You have any hard liquor? The Bird has a problem inside his head. He needs the stuff to keep the voices quiet."

I opened my mouth with intent to remind the Remora what he was known to be full of. I received a gentle cautionary brush from the Dead Man. "Voices? Really?"

"You need to see it to believe it. This guy is a genius. When he has just the right amount of firewater in him, so the voices are softer, he paints like an angel."

I believed Salvation. I had run into something like that before.

I asked Salvation, "You have any idea what Bird's real feelings about his madness are?"

"What do you mean?"

"Does he want the voices to go away?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"I would. Yes. But would you? If that meant that you wouldn't have the magic to be a playwright anymore?"

"You're thinking that the Dead Man might be able to shut the mental doors on his demons."

"Might. Come down here one more step." I looked into the room where Morley was taking the attentions of several beautiful women as his birthright. "Crush. Got a minute?"

Young Hellbore turned away from her mother and Madam Mike. She showed me a teen's practiced expression combining boredom, embarrassment, and disgust. "What?" Her expression did not improve when she glanced at my companion.

"I told you that if I got the chance I'd introduce you to Jon Salvation. This is him." I told the Remora, "Crush likes your plays."

The kid got mad. Of course. But she didn't make a scene.

I couldn't see the big deal. This here was Pilsuds Vilchik, the Remora, a weasel who tagged along behind a friend of mine. He whined a lot, got underfoot, and had a twist in his brain that left him unable to see what Winger really was.

I considered Winger a friend but had no illusions about her character.

The idea that this noxious squirt could become a major celebrity was entirely ridiculous.

Singe came out of the Dead Man's room. The Bird delivered. He should have no problem with Old Bones. He was used to having voices inside his head. She looked at me, Salvation, Crush, leapt to some evil conclusion. Shaking her head, she told me, "I'm going to have a cup of tea before any more complications come up. Guard my office."

I didn't get that, unless she was concerned for the sanctity of her books.

Crush and Jon Salvation got along like Hellbore and Pilsuds Vilchik. He was not the giant she had sculpted in her imagination. And she was just another empty-headed kid who asked the same nimrod questions he had heard a thousand times before.

Singe came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with a teapot, sandwiches, and cups. "Join me." Inside her office, she said, "This place is turning into a zoo filled with human exotica."

"You got used to the quiet life."

"I did. And I find the habit hard to break. Eat. This is likely all we'll get for supper. Dean is exhausted. The sorceress is going to help him get upstairs."

"She's good for something, then."

"Don't do that when I'm starting to not like her a whole lot less. I'm stressed enough. And it will only get worse. We have no hard liquor."

"Old Bones ask for it?"

"He thinks he may be able to create a similar effect but wants the real thing handy."

"We could send Salvation out."

"Winger drinks, doesn't she?"

"Yes. Do I need to have Belinda get us out of your hair?"

"She couldn't get here in time."

The poor girl sounded like she was about to slide away into despair.

"You want to head upstairs yourself, Singe?"

"I'd better stay."

"I can handle this crowd."

"Maybe now. How about half an hour from now? You're too far gone. I still love you but you aren't the man you used to be."

The Windwalker joined us. Singe neither protested nor betrayed any distaste. In fact, there was a cup for Strafa on the tray she had carried in. Was peace about to break out? Or was Singe just too tired to fight?

I asked, "Everyone out there still being civilized?"

Strafa said, "A woman and two girls are fussing over your injured friend. There are three men and a girl in with your dead friend. The three of us are here. And the poisoner is missing."

Singe said, "I let Kolda out after Jon Salvation got here."

So. Crush was in with Morley and Salvation was with the Dead Man. That was a brief romance.

Poor Remora. He couldn't be what his fan wanted him to be.

57

Though there was babble from next door and some sort of foreboding from across the way, all was calm and relaxed in Singe's office. Tea got sipped. Not much got said. Strafa, Singe, and I relaxed.

After a time, Singe said, "The caretakers and night guards should be here soon. I expect John Stretch will come with them. I'm going to draw a pitcher of the dark."

The dark was the most potent beer we had. I had been unaware of its presence till now. The cold well must have been modified to handle multiple kegs.

Singe's tail vanished round the edge of the doorway. The Windwalker said, "She doesn't like me."

"No. But she's mellowing."

"Why doesn't she like me?"

"She thinks you're trying to push into our lives. She feels threatened. She's fragile." I made no mention of her season. Maybe the Dead Man could explain that later in a way that made sense to a human woman.

The Windwalker sipped tea and frowned delicately. She seemed waiflike and vulnerable. "How could I injure her?"

I gave Old Bones a few seconds to caution me before I said, "She sees all women in the mirror of Tinnie Tate." The redhead had to come up sometime.

"The abrasive woman who was there for some of the excitement at the World Theater, back when."

"That would be Tinnie."

"You're still involved."

"You know my situation perfectly well."

She smiled a wan, forlorn little smile. "I might have looked into it."

"Singe never liked Tinnie much. She feels guilty about that. She thinks she should like Tinnie because I like her. So now she feels like she needs to be a voice speaking for Tinnie because Tinnie can't speak for herself. Today she found out that both Dean and my partner across the way approve of you. So she feels more pressured."

"I see." She glowed like a kid who had just won a tough race against outstanding competition.

"I was surprised, too."

"Yes?" The glow waxed stronger. The woman was amazing. She might be who she was, one of the dozen most powerful mortals living, with potential for growth, but she was as naive as a ten-year-old in some ways. She was starved for approval.

Strafa said, "She's right about one thing. I mean to steal you away."

She said that straightforwardly, without a hint of the fierce sensual aura she had used to taunt men, back when she was daddy's girl. She stated a fact and left it for me to digest.

"You're going too fast . . ."

Singe returned with two pitchers and four mugs. She meant to do some drinking and did not plan to do it by herself. I sniffed a pitcher. "I'm in." She had brought summer ale as well as the dark.

She told me, "You pour. I have to get the door."

My stomach plunged to the deck.

58

My panic went to waste again. Singe did not admit redheaded doom. Neither did she bring in her brother and the lady rats who nannied Morley Dotes. What she did admit was General Westman Block and two nervous villains so obviously low-life that they might as well have it tattooed on their foreheads. One was the younger of the pair who had come after me and Tinnie. The red tops had tracked him down. Reason suggested that the skinny, shaky little weasel must be Jimmy Two Steps.

Singe came back, took her seat, drank some beer. Crush came in. "Is it all right if I hang out in here till DeeDee and Mike get over that guy? I'll stay out of the way."

"Fine by me. Singe, all right if she looks at your books?"

Of course it wasn't all right. And any animus she felt toward Strafa she was willing to dump on tasty young Hellbore. But she said, "Please be gentle. And make sure your fingers are clean."

Then the General joined us. "Garrett, I hate to beg but, gods damn! I need to drink something."

Which reminded me, "Singe, how about fuel for that lunatic artist Jon Salvation brought?"

"Something will arrive soon."

How did she know that? She hadn't left the house and Kolda went before the Dead Man put in his request.

Old Bones must have sent word to someone outside. That was the only thing that made sense.

She continued, "General, would you like to try the Weider Dark Reserve? It's a limited production brew that few outside the Weider family get to taste."

"How can I resist? Count me in, Miss Pular."

Singe, Singe, you wonder child. Even the head of the whole damned tin whistle tribe considers you a real person. Which thinking I masked with a stone neutral visage.

Block was impressed despite having been around Singe since her adolescence.

It felt good, seeing my baby treated like one of the gang instead of a freak or half-wit vermin.

Big thumping at the door. I had heard the wolf cry so often that Tinnie and all the freckle speckled redheaded Tates in the world could be out there and I wouldn't raise more than a half-assed whimper.

Nor did I need to. Singe opened up for her brother, Dollar Dan, and two ratwomen. They brought distilled spirits enough to keep the Bird fueled for weeks. Singe hijacked a bottle. She poured a half mug for the General. "There's a real drink."

Crush volunteered, "I'll take some of that, please."

"No," Singe said. "You're too young for dizzy water."

Crush was startled. Then she laughed. Then, shaking her head, she went back to looking at Singe's books.

John Stretch joined us, looking Block askance. Dollar Dan and the ratwomen took up space in the hallway outside the room where Morley was holding court.

Singe told me, "I suspect that pretty young girls who ask for something that will impair their judgment seldom hear the word no."

Crush raised a hand in a gesture of agreement. She had found something to fascinate her. She handled the book reverently.

Crush fascinated Westman Block. But he would not cross that line.

Odd. Women definitely interested the General. I never heard of one getting close. No doubt there was a sad old story. There were plenty of those around.

He emptied his mug quickly and did not refuse a refill. He said, "The resurrection men are back at work." Like that dovetailed into the conversation.

Singe gave her brother her mug, filled with summer ale. He lifted that to me.

Strafa generated a squeak that drew the attention of everyone but Crush. I didn't find out why because, after another pull of the water of life, Block said, "Those men in the gray wool tights and pullovers with the wooden headgear from the incident on the north side? They were fix-ups made from pieces of dead people."

Jaws dropped. Crush let her book fall to her waist. Strafa made gurgling noises.

"Way to introduce a subject," I said. My mug was empty. I decided to give the dizzy water a try.