85

I stayed on the porch waiting for Sarge and Puddle. Let's hope those two never get into a last-man-standing ugly contest. The refs would call a draw after the twenty-seventh round.

"Hey, gents. What's up?"

"We just swung by to see how Morley was doing," Puddle said. Clearly nervous.

"The Dead Man is snoozing."

"You always say that."

"And it's usually true. Even if it isn't right now, you want to see Morley, you got to come inside. Plus, it's too late. You're already inside his range."

Up the steps they came.

Clever me, I scooted in, got Morley out of Singe's office and shut that door before his boys noticed General Block. No need having them wonder why the head tin whistle spent so much time at my house, close to their boss. I took them into the Dead Man's room.

Puddle told me, "I don't like it in here wit' dat t'ing. It's creepy. But da cool air is nice."

"I'm not real fond of being in here, either. But you're right about the air. Penny, my love, can you take a second to show these gentlemen the pictures you and Bird made?"

The girl had sass enough to mutter, "I know a gentleman when I see one. There aren't any in this room."

Sarge said, "Hey, she's cute. I like dat. You wanna sell her?"

Penny stood up to it. Having Old Bones right there fired up her confidence. She said, "We don't 'make' 'pictures.' " Last word gotten, she did do as I asked.

I leaned close to Sarge, murmured, "Little known fact. I need to keep it in mind myself. The kid is Belinda's half-sister."

"Ouch!"

Not that Belinda ever showed the least indication of caring.

The boys ignored the painting of the man entirely. Had a renowned shy girl not been holding the drawings of the woman in leather I'm sure they would have paid the model some crudely enthusiastic compliments.

Morley asked, "You guys know either of these people?"

Heads shook. Sarge stated the obvious. "I wouldn't mind getting to know her. 'Specially if she's got a t'ing for old guys wit' big bellies an' not much hair."

"Get in line."

"Dat figures."

Morley added, "The man is the important one. I've seen him somewhere but I can't remember where or when. He's the boss of a gang of resurrection men. His name is Nat, Nate, Nathan, something like that."

The henchmen shook their heads. Puddle said, "We wouldn't never have nothing ta do wit' dat kinda creep."

I believed him. The street climbed right up and proclaimed itself loudly in his speech. Along with abiding repugnance.

Good to know that Morley surrounded himself with associates who had moral limits.

My interest satisfied, I left Morley with his crew and went back to Singe's office. "We need to keep the door shut for a few minutes."

I stepped back out and went to the front door, where Jon Salvation was tap-tap-tapping.

86

"I won't come in, Garrett. I don't have time. These are notes I made during my rounds of the costume shops. They should be useful."

"Thanks. How is Tinnie doing?"

"So far, marvelously. But we aren't that far along. She'll have plenty of chances to be herself before we take the show live. I'm having Alyx Weider be her understudy. The competition should keep her focused."

"If you stick with Alyx."

"I know what I want to do for the girl. Crush."

"I'm listening." I used every second to look around. I was sure we were being watched but I didn't see anyone.

Morley, Sarge, and Puddle came out of the house, breaking my concentration.

Salvation asked, "Why are you sniffing like that?"

"Still fighting the cold." I lied. I knew a man who could be invisible when he was watching. He gave himself away sometimes because he never developed a sufficiently intimate relationship with soap and water.

I smelled nothing unusual.

Salvation, jostled by Sarge and Puddle, scowled as he said, "I'll have the actors sign a copy of the play and send her that. One of the rehearsal copies. Through you, so she doesn't take it the wrong way. I'll tuck in a pass to the premiere, in my box."

"That's overkill, Jon. She'll be absolutely sure you're out to get into her pants."

"Think so?"

"I think so. Crush may not have a lot of years on her but the ones she has have been rough enough to turn her completely cynical."

"That's too bad. She seems like a bright kid."

"She is. She thinks she's a complete realist, too. I know how you feel. I feel that way. She shouldn't waste herself the way she is. But I don't think she'd reach out to grab a helping hand to be rescued."

Salvation nodded. "She wouldn't because she would expect to be pulled into something worse."

"Exactly. But keep those options open. If I see her again I'll find out what she thinks. Subtly."

Morley had been waving to his troops and eavesdropping. He said, "You be subtle with a woman, Garrett? I find that hard to picture."

"You're probably right."

"Go for underkill, Salvation. Have Garrett pass the word she can come by and watch a rehearsal sometime, if she wants. Open-end offer. No big deal if she does or doesn't. Just an option. You're not buying anything that way."

Salvation and I gaped.

Morley said, "The way it sounds, you're interested in making an act of friendship. You don't buy friendship. Close your mouth, Garrett. A pigeon will fly in there and lay eggs."

He went back inside, leaving the door ajar.

I said, "That made sense, Jon."

"It did."

I thanked him for the notes. I followed Morley, pausing just long enough to add, "Tell your security crew to let Crush in if she shows up." Wondering if Mike would give a star that much freedom of motion.

"Yeah. It's Stage Two. Six in the morning till three. Then we clear out so they can set up for the early performance of King Kristine. We're almost always gone by one, though. Everyone has other things to do." He sneered.

King Kristine was not one of his. It was the story of a prince who was born a girl but her father hid the fact. A romantic comedy aimed at a female audience. As a newly crowned king, Kristine would fall for Waldon of the kingdom next door, just when her advisers wanted a war.

There have been numerous variations on the theme since plays got popular. It might turn out that Waldon was a girl, too. Or the princess the king was supposed to marry would be a pretty boy in drag. Along the way there would be lots of misunderstandings and mischief by friends.

Romantic comedies don't have legs but they sell well for a short while. They make nice fillers between the big dramas that draw the repeat customers.

The Faerie Queene would replace King Kristine about as soon as Jon Salvation had it ready to present.

I shut the door, went to Singe's office. On time. Dean and Playmate were delivering tea and sandwiches. The new drug had Playmate looking much better. He wore a smile that took no strain to produce.

I ate with one hand, read Jon Salvation's notes with the other, then passed them on to Singe. She kept a straight face, too.

"That something I should know about?" Block asked.

"It's mostly a lot of frustration. Plus instructions about what he wants Singe to put into a letter that he wants to go to a woman without her realizing that the letter came from him."

"He's going to do romantic comedy now?" Block gave me the fish-eye. He was ready to get all moody because I was lying. But I was only massaging the truth.

I said, "Here's a suggestion. Check around your shop. See if somebody has been buying a lot of costumes."

"We have been. We intend to put some patrolmen into uniform next quarter."

"That's a relief, then. I guess."

"You thought it was us behind all this?"

No. But I did want a brief distraction and Jon Salvation's notes did mention the Guard hiring costumers to produce uniforms for the troops and shiny outfits for their commanders.

I yakked. Singe worked some sleight of hand. Several sheets of notes disappeared. "Stop being a knee-jerk obstructionist and pass the notes to the General." She handed them to me, I handed them to Block. She said, "General, please pass those to the Windwalker once you read them."

So the notes made the rounds. And Block grumbled, "You were holding out. This tracking the costumes . . ."

Singe said, "You were informed, General. Your ability to comprehend what you were hearing may have been compromised by your determination to lay waste to our reserve of ardent spirits."

She made me chuckle. And it might even have been true.

I couldn't remember.

Block grumbled, "So I'm a little behind." He got up, did some mild twists to loosen up. "I'll catch up."

Singe gestured. I led the General to the door, asking, "How come you're always out by yourself? You ought to be tripping over escorts."

"When I go out alone I go where I want and see what I want."

"Damn. I didn't think of it that way. Well, go spank some bad guys."

I shut the door and scooted back to Singe's office. "Morley. Did you get a chance . . . ? No wonder he hasn't said anything for a while."

He was sound asleep.

"All right, Singe. Let's do it. Strafa, we held back a couple of things. I wanted you to see them first."

The notes Block had not seen named people who had ordered stuff that may have become part of the midnight road show.

A woman calling herself Constance Algarda had taken delivery of seven hundred yards of coarse gray wool fabric and a score of well-seasoned bracer logs twelve feet long. Bracer is a lightweight tropical wood prized for its workability. A younger woman calling herself Kevans Algarda had ordered two pairs of high-top black-leather fuck-me boots from a cobbler associated with the tailor who specialized in fetish wear. Said cobbler believed the same woman patronized a nearby wigmaker. The cobbler had waxed poetic about the Algarda woman's structure.

A man who claimed to be Barate Algarda paid for the goods in each case. In neither case had a delivery been made. These people transported their own goods.

Jon Salvation had worked wonders just by being Jon Salvation.

Strafa said, "This is impossible."

"I agree."

"As do I," Singe said. "That is why I hid the notes. As Garrett requested."

I told Strafa, "This part has to be on you. And you need to move fast. Block and Relway will be all over this. It puts them ahead of the busybodies from the Palace and the Hill." Only Saucerhead had gone round the theater support shops before Salvation.

"I'll start with Barate. I don't know where he'd get the money, but if he is the one . . ." She whisked out, turned left toward the kitchen and stair instead of toward the front door.

I looked at Singe. She said, "I don't believe it is those three. Well, maybe the old woman . . . We need to be careful."

"You think Shadowslinger would frame her own flesh and blood?"

"Most of those Hill monsters would. My concern is us getting tangled up in guilt by association."

"Oh." Maybe I picked the exact wrong time to get involved with a Windwalker.

Singe said, "It's too bad she is the only one who can go out. Someone ought to take the artwork to show the cobbler, wigmaker, and fetish tailor."

Scarier and scarier. "You should have thought of that before she left."

"I will talk to her when she gets back."

87

Playmate leaned in the doorway. "Dean says come and get it. You lot first."

Singe and I were up and going immediately. She said, "You'll have to wake him up."

Morley had not responded to the mention of food, though he had been making up for lost time lately.

"I'll do it when we get back."

We left Playmate setting up folding tables.

Dean had reorganized. The kitchen table was set up so customers could come in, grab a plate and tools, circle the table taking food from platters and bowls, then snag a ready-filled mug of beer or tea and be gone. Playmate held the door due to our lack of extra hands.

Singe again suggested that I waken Morley. "We should start getting him onto a normal schedule."

I set my mountain of fried chicken down to cool. I went after my best pal.

"Don't make a passion play out of it, Garrett. You can see he isn't going to wake up. Go ahead and eat."

Playmate arrived with a pitcher as I chomped on my first drumstick. Then he crossed the hall to collect the crowd over there. Dollar Dan, licking grease off his whiskers, passed the doorway, headed up front.

Penny and the Bird sounded excited about supper. I expected that Bird didn't eat well normally.

Dollar Dan reappeared with John Stretch. "Just in time for supper," Singe said, her tone critical.

"Not this time, sister. I had a nice cheese pie before I came over. I can afford to feed myself, you know."

Singe had taken mostly vegetables. She attacked a baked yam, no apology to her brother or the yam.

"Got news?" I asked with my mouth full.

"Bad news that is good. We have located three places that smell of death and chemicals. Two are much like the warehouse in Elf Town, particularly in the way they fit into their locales." He gave rough addresses.

I said, "Neither one is in a human neighborhood."

"Exactly. Though with so many dwarves gone back to the mountains their neighborhood is mostly human now. But all foreigners who don't speak a word of Karentine."

"Wonderful. Wonderful. What about the third place?"

"That one is different. Death and chemicals smells are there, too, but not as strong. The stench of human madness and terror overrides all that."

"Where is that one?"

"In the Landing. Another abandoned warehouse. My people could not get close. There were guards out."

I said, "We're getting somewhere, Singe!"

Playmate showed up with another pitcher and a mug for John Stretch. He left again but was gone for less than a minute. He brought his own supper in and joined us.

"Too busy in the kitchen. I'm not barging in on secret stuff, am I?"

"Not hardly. You're part of the game. How are you feeling?"

"Better than I have in years. That Kolda is high up on my good guys list."

"Let him know when you see him. He doesn't get many strokes."

Singe and John Stretch kept quiet. They were among the folks who had reservations about Kolda.

John Stretch asked, "What should we do with this information?"

Considering the constraints on me, and Morley's condition, the logical course was to pass it onto the Civil Guard. But they were operating under restraints of their own and might get warned off before they could do any good.

"Did your people notice anyone else poking around?"

"No. Why?"

"I have trouble believing that we can find out stuff before the people who are supposed to be doing the digging."

Singe, thumbing through papers in search of something, said, "Do not overlook the fact that we have not been trying to make something go away by sweeping it under the rug."

"They are not looking very hard," John Stretch opined.

Morley made a noise like he was choking on phlegm. He got over it before Playmate reached him. He opened his eyes for a moment but was not awake or seeing.

"Here it is," Singe said.

"What's that?"

"The list of properties registered to Constance Algarda. There are no matches with the properties Humility has located."

"Be interesting to find out who does own them."

"We have no one we can send to find out."

"I could go. Dollar Dan and his crew can manage here."

Singe reflected. "You may be past caring but . . . how would that play with Tinnie? You leaving the house for a title search but not for her?"

"I'll do what I always do. Apologize later."

"It's too late to do it today. I'll put it on the list."

Now I had a young-adult ratgirl telling me what to do.

When God scribbled my fate on my forehead, He included a glyph saying I had to be a toy of the yin half of the universe.

Morley mumbled something.

Playmate popped up. "I'll get him some dinner."

I went over, lifted Morley's chin.

"I'm fine, Garrett. I was just asleep. Now I'm awake."

"And cranky."

"And eager to break some bones. I had a dream."

I held back on the wisecrack. This might be important.

"It's trying to get away, now. But the guy in the picture the nut job painted. He was in it. He had me chained up in a bad place. Hypnotizing me. I wasn't the only one there. There were lots of others. But their situation was different." He raised a hand because he saw me getting ready to ask questions. "That's all I have."

"It might be from when you were a prisoner."

"I must have escaped. Maybe I got stabbed when they caught me."

"That makes sense." I recalled that Belinda still hadn't found that witness again. "Hey, Belinda has one of those wooden masks and some scraps of gray cloth she found where she thinks you were attacked."

Morley and Singe both said, "What?"

"When we talked about what happened to you, first or second time, she told me she visited the place where you were attacked. A witness took her. She found the mask when she was looking around."

"So?" Singe asked.

"So we have some evidence that nobody knows about. The other stuff got confiscated."

Morley said, "That's interesting, but does it matter? With what John Stretch found, this shouldn't go on much longer."

Good point. Maybe I just wanted to feel clever. Maybe I just felt a need to do something.

Were we getting close?

We didn't know who the real villains were. We didn't know what they were up to. The Director's theoretical conspiracy to overthrow the monarchy seemed weak. A lot of people thought it was political, though. Maybe because politicians thought everything was.

We didn't know why Morley was full of holes but I thought I could guess.

He had seen something he shouldn't have. For that he had been snatched and locked up, probably with other prisoners. Somebody had tried to hypnotize him. Being Morley, he had found a way to escape. His captors had resented that. They had chased him. He had headed for Elf Town thinking he could shed them there. Outsiders threatening someone with elf blood wouldn't last long in that quarter.

He had never gotten there. Maybe forewarned folks from that ugly warehouse had intercepted him.

Those people and the gray things had left him for dead. His body had no value because it wasn't human. Later, they had heard that he had survived. Belinda and I had led them to Fire and Ice. They had tried to get him there. Failing that, they had bribed Brother Hoto. Hoto would have brought out the news that Morley hadn't yet said anything.

Eventually they undertook the raid on my place. That did not go well.

Now they were hunkered down. False trails had been laid and red herrings dragged.

The more I reflected the less likely it seemed that the mess was political.

What else it could be I had no idea.

"Garrett? Are you still with us?" Morley demanded.

"I know you aren't used to witnessing it, but I was thinking. Somewhere inside your noggin, though you don't know what yet, is a nugget of info that can ruin the lives of the folks involved in the resurrection scheme."

"They think so. But what? I still have only a general impression of the place where they penned me up."

Singe pounced. "Penned?"

"That's probably not exact. It was more like a filthy cellar. It stank because it was so crowded . . ."

"You weren't alone."

"I told you that."

"Did anyone else escape when you did?"

"I don't know."

Singe said, "If they did and talked, word would have gotten around."

I said, "How about this? Maybe our villains aren't waiting for people to die to use them."

Morley reminded me, "That many people disappearing would cause a big uproar."

"No. We figured that out. Block was going to look into it."

"The operation in Little Dismal Swamp," Singe said. "The convicts. As good as dead when they're sentenced. Nobody expects them to survive. If you were in charge you could sell them and put them on the books as having died in the swamp."

I said, "They don't have to produce the bodies." Then, "Some whats and hows might be falling into place. It would be nice to stumble over an occasional why."

Singe said, "Just be patient. It will all bubble to the surface--unless the cover-up crowd shoves Block and Relway into their own cells."

Morley growled. He thought he was more ready than he was. Now was when he would be most dangerous to himself.

Singe said, "Think before you do anything, boys." She pushed her chair back, rose, left the room.

88

Singe called, "Garrett, you better come see this."

I went. She was at the peephole, looking out.

I took her place.

The view wasn't great but it was broad enough to be disturbing. "Let's go upstairs and get a better look."

I was huffing and puffing by the time I reached the window that was Strafa's preferred entrance. Singe leaned past to look out. "Your loose lips did it this time."

A big coach and a covered wagon had parked across the street. Teamsters were unhitching the horses. Men in strange uniforms meant to stick around for a while.

There were twelve of those.

Another big wagon and a more modest coach arrived with another dozen men. Teamsters got the team for the wagon out of harness.

An officer stepped down from the smaller coach. He surveyed the street, then my place, nodded, unfolded and consulted a large sheet of paper. He barked. A guy who looked like a career sergeant major joined him after bellowing at four men putting up an awning beside the big coach. That had a chimney. Smoke began to drift out.

The sergeant major stood beside the officer. He poked the map with a beefy forefinger. The officer nodded. Moments later ten armed men had been distributed around my house. The rest went on making the big coach and two wagons into a home away from home.

"What the hell are they up to?" I muttered.

"They want to isolate us."

"But those are Palace Guards. Probably most of them. Why are they here?"

"Gee, Garrett, what did I just say?"

"Really.This is ridiculous. Prince Rupert wouldn't go all hard-ass because I didn't come running like Good Dog Nagel."

"You think? You want to consider the time factor? Somebody else sent them. Say, like, I don't know. The guy they actually work for?"

"The King? Well, he is the one they're supposed to protect. But why me? He can't have any reason to come after me. He's never heard of me."

Singe asked, "Are you sure? He wants the man-building mess left alone and his cronies on the Hill agree. Where do all the noseys get together? Here."

"This makes sense if Rupert is under pressure."

"Dinklebrain. Forget Rupert!"

"All right." Prince Rupert didn't have that small a mind, anyway. Narrow, certainly, but not petty.

And this was beyond his budget.

"First thing we need to do is find out what's what."

She demanded, "Do you have shit in your ears?"

"What?"

"I just told you. It's a blockade, blockhead. Nobody will come in. Nobody will go out. People could get arrested for the crime of knowing you. Eventually, we will get hungry."

"You'd better wake the Dead Man up."

"I'm considering options already."

I said, "Oh, crap!"

Belinda's big black coach had turned onto Macunado off Wizard's Reach. It was accompanied by the usual footmen and outriders.

Singe said, "This could prove illuminating."

"Or disastrous if she's been drinking."

Belinda had not been drinking. She remained respectful and courteous in her exchange with the officer, who did not recognize her. I could see she was in a seething rage. "We're good for now, but let's hope she doesn't drink anything stronger than small beer before she calms down. The Crown's armed gang is bigger than hers."

Singe grunted. She said nothing till Belinda's coach was out of sight. "Miss Contague is astute but dangerous. She will make this personal between herself and the Palace Guard. And they are not a gang bigger than hers."

I said "Crap!" again. The Palace Guards would not number fifty men if they had every slot filled. Twelve would be assigned to the Crown Prince, the rest to the King. Meaning most of the King's share were outside now.

Belinda might think she could handle them if she got some firewater in her.

I asked Singe, "Do some of those guys look like they might not be real soldiers?" Some uniforms did not fit right. Some faces were not as cleanly shaven as they ought to be.

"You are correct. Nice catch. If the Windwalker were here, I suspect she might recognize men from the private patrol on the Hill."

If that was true Belinda could get herself into even deeper poo.

Those people might declare war if she yanked their beards. But that prospect wouldn't give her a moment's pause even sober. She lived her life on a bull's-eye.

"This could get ugly."

"Yes. I am going down to see Dean. We will take inventory. Then we can plan for the siege."

"I wish I had a crossbow. I could pick those guys off."

"Are you serious?"

Not really.

"Because it would be just as easy for them to sneak around back and set the house on fire."

"I was joking, Singe."

"Be a little less deadpan, then." She stomped out.

Bright as she was, she had trouble grasping the full range of human humor.

Of course, she wasn't the only one who didn't get me.

I moved my little nightstand over so I could settle my butt while I watched the King's men work.

89

Those guys weren't even real soldiers, let alone Marines, but, despite themselves, they even kept a miserable, drunken, fighting-mad Winger from getting to my front door, without getting physical.

Those guys might be candy-asses in a fight but as public-relations operators, they were smooth.

That left me feeling optimistic.

Somebody would come along and ruin their day.

Strafa appeared outside. This time, for whatever reason, she sat astride a great, honking broomstick. She wore dark clothes that did not flatter, but she had disdained the traditional pointy hat.

I opened the window wide.

Down she swooped, face aflame with adolescent mischief. She spun, plunged, tugged the sergeant major's mustache, then sideslipped and swiped the commander's fancy hat.

Hands grabbed at her. She shot straight up. The hat drifted down, carried by the breeze. Strafa followed but leveled off at the height of my window. She stretched herself out on her broomstick, shot forward into my room.

There was almost no clearance but she came through unscathed. "That was fun." She laughed. It was the first time I heard her let it all go. She was totally happy. She was totally at peace. She rolled off her broom, bounced into my arms. "Did you see the looks on their faces?"

For one instant I saw the face of a redheaded woman. I felt pain, guilt, then a sourceless admonition to do the right thing.

Strafa's simple joy over having thumbed her nose at gloomy functionaries changed things more in a moment than had the physical connection earlier.

I was lost. I was hooked.

I was miserably guilty. I did love Tinnie Tate, but I had been ambushed by something hugely more potent. Something that Strafa had sensed and been frightened by way back when our paths first crossed. She had teased me then, but that was all she had risked.

Strafa shared some psychology with DeeDee: neither looked or acted her age. Both were more simple and innocent than seemed plausible. Each had a daughter more touched by and in tune with the real world.

Crush, though, was better equipped to survive there than Kevans was. Kevans lacked sufficient cynicism.

"Damn, darling, that was as good as you making me groan! Why are those buttheads out there, anyway?"

"Your guess would be better than mine. You know the people who tell them what to do."

"Kiss me."

I did so, to the best of my ability, with considerable enthusiasm.

"Wow! That was all right. I forgot the world completely." She went to the window. "You have to wonder who was thinking what, sending them out to harass subjects in the city. You bad man. Keep your hands to yourself. I'm trying to think."

She had more to say, mostly playful, but I didn't pay attention. One final shard of rationality was trying to figure out what had happened to us and why it had happened so fast.

Then I recalled any number of friends, across the ages, telling me I think too much.

This time Strafa was the responsible one. "Down, boy! I'm as eager as you are, but we have bigger issues to deal with."

Strafa saw things through different eyes. Olive, at the moment.

She leaned out the window. She waved. She blew kisses. I caught the back draft as she stoked up the girl power. Any man down there who wasn't moon-eyed and holding his hat in front of his fly was in serious violation of the most draconian prohibition of most of the thousand and one religions plaguing . . . er, gracing our great city.

I looked over her shoulder. It was amazing what she could do to men.

"You are a wicked woman."

"I could be. But I'm too lazy." She retreated just far enough to become invisible to the soldiers.

"You could be queen of the world by now."

She said, "We're going to do some things now, beloved."

"Yes?"

"I'm going to go see those men. I'm going to cloud their minds. You get yourself and your friend ready to move somewhere else."

"Where?"

"Your province. Mine is to fix it so those men besiege an empty castle."

"You lost me. But I'm so infatuated, I trust you completely."

She looked startled. "Pular Singe told me I should wear old, high-top boots if I really want to spend my life close to you. Maybe she wasn't just jealous and teasing."

"Strafa, whatever it was, I take it back. I don't want to be the guy to you that I seem to be to everybody else. I just want to be your guy, no games. No ifs, ands, or bullshit."

90

Strafa rode her broomstick out the window.

I hustled downstairs. A grim Singe told me, "We won't last long if they try to starve us out."

"We won't be here. Strafa will fly us out, me first, then Morley, then you, and Dean."

The more I reflected, though, the less likely it seemed that those men could sustain a long siege. What they were doing was illegal.

Legality aside, those clowns might leave once they saw us fly away.

Which made me wonder how serious they were. If they broke out the longbows and started sniping . . .

That would make me unhappy.

Singe said, "I know your mind doesn't work that way, but why not just flit over to the Al-Khar and let them know what is going on?"

"Clearing them off could get ugly."

"I'm just a simpleminded ratgirl. I cannot grasp the political ramifications. But I cannot believe that anyone would start a civil war just to keep embarrassing sorcery hidden."

I had begun to wonder how committed Block and Relway were to the rule of law. Would they go to war on its behalf? Against the Crown?

I hoped they never found themselves forced to decide.

"I'll be upstairs. Have Morley get up there as soon as he can."

Morley clumped into my bedroom. He looked grim. "Garrett, I'm not quite ready to go on the warpath. Just getting up here kicked my butt." He joined me at the window. "What's up?"

"She's putting the girl magic on those guys."

"The what?"

"I call it girl magic. Remember when she came into the World the first time, back in the day? She's doing that, only at full power."

Thank the gods she turned it off before she came back. She told me, "I'm ready. But where should we go?"

"Let's catch Belinda. She doesn't have a huge head start." I leaned out the window, lifted a leg to start working my way through. There was no way Strafa and I would fit at the same time. That big-ass broomstick took up too much territory.

The roof of the stoop was four feet down. I hoped it was in good repair. The pitch was steep enough that loose slates might go slip-sliding away, taking my favorite former Marine along.

I completed my part without disaster, though that might yet come. The Palace Guards had their brains scrambled but they noticed me anyway. Some still had a vague notion that they might ought to commence to begin to fix to get ready to keep people from getting away.

They knew I was a runner when Strafa darted out and had me drag my dead ass onto the broomstick behind her.

She began to climb, not nearly as fast as I liked. Several of those guys were immune to girl magic. Sling bullets burred around us.

The sergeant major roared like a bear who'd broken a tooth while gnoshing on somebody's skull. I made out no distinct words but in all the history of the universe sergeants major never have been required to be coherent to be understood. This one did not want to have to answer questions about why a Windwalker, from the rarified air on the Hill, had been struck out of the sky by men in full uniform, fully armed, operating illegally miles from the venue they were supposed to protect. Only in the King's own presence were they allowed to take their show on the road.

That gave me a killer idea. I'd have to try it out on Jon Salvation.

Disguised thugs from the Hill helped the sergeant major make his point. Masquerading, they would not enjoy the legal umbrella protecting the real Guards. Guardsmen had to take orders. Their superiors had to worry about legalities.

Strafa said, "Hang on tight."

"You're preaching to the choir, sweetness. Go high." I had flown before, during other adventures. I never liked it. "Head north along Wizard's Reach."

Belinda could follow that only so far, though. The street dropped down, crossed Deer Creek, climbed again but dead-ended at Handycot Way, which marked the southern boundary of Woodland Park, from which every scrap of wood had been stolen.

Strafa said, "It would be a huge help if . . . That looks like her over there, almost to Grand."

Who else would be out with so large a convoy?

Strafa's eyes were better than mine in these circumstances. She had been flying since she was little. I bet they worked her half to death doing recon in the Cantard.

Say that for her class. They all did their time in the war zone, boys, girls, and everything in between. Most did multiple tours. Strafa's father had.

We tilted downward and streaked toward the coach. I shut my eyes. The roar of air passing made it hard to talk.

Strafa ended up floating alongside the coach. That caused enough excitement for Belinda to look see what was happening. I told Strafa, "Keep an eye on the guy beside the driver." Joel looked like he was tempted to do something that I would regret.

91

"You won't like this but I don't care," Belinda told me. "Go back to Fire and Ice. Mike will cover you. You." She spoke to Strafa. I hoped she remembered who Strafa was. "Once Garrett shows you where to take him I would be most appreciative if you would move the others to the same place, Morley first."

I said, "Dean won't leave and Singe will want to stay to wrangle the Dead Man."

Belinda shrugged. "You can't force people. You and Morley are the souls that matter to me. Hole up there and wait. I may be a while." She told Strafa. "I'll be ever so grateful if you'll let me know when my boys are safe."

"Certainly."

Strafa felt no further need to converse, nor did Belinda. I did but everyone ignored me. Nobody disagrees that I over-think and overquestion--then, after the fuss, go hey-diddle-diddle straight up the middle.

Strafa did say, "Let's go, darling." Belinda's crowd surged into a big U-turn. My old pal Joel shot me one last poisonous look.

Strafa went up only a little above the rooftops this time. Curious bats swooshed around us. A huge, elderly owl flapped alongside for a while, hoping we would startle up something tasty.

We followed Grand all the way. We were spotted several times. There would be talk tomorrow but no popular excitement. Dozens of sorcerers, great and small, infest TunFaire.

I asked Strafa to set down in the street beneath the window of the room where Morley and I had stayed. I meant to go in the back way. But that window was wide open and no light burned behind it.

Someone had undone my masterful carpentry.

"Pop up there and see if anyone is in that room."

"All right." Up she went, then inside. She came back out and down. "There is no one there. The furnishings have been changed."

"Good enough. Pop me in, then go get Morley. Please?" In case she thought I was getting presumptuous and bossy.

"Just this once. Get on."

I straddled the broom. Up we went. Strafa hovered while I tumbled through the window. When I got up to say something she was gone.

My night vision was not acute. I felt my way through the unfamiliar layout, found the door, listened, heard nothing. I opened up a cautious crack.

Two small sconces with their wicks turned down illuminated the empty hallway. Enough light got in to show me the new layout. I spotted a lamp.

I lit that off the nearest sconce, got back inside the room, shut the door.

The furniture was all new. Paint had been applied to the woodwork, especially the windowsill. The door now had a bolt on the inside. I threw it, began a detailed inspection. I was still at that when Strafa brought Morley. He clambered through the window. She darted away.

Morley plopped into the only available chair. "What the hell are you doing? Why didn't you just walk in through the front door?"

"Being sneaky seemed like a good idea at the time. But you're right. Using the door would mean fewer misunderstandings when they find us squatting up here."

"You think? I'll go find Mike in a minute. Maybe I can talk fast enough to save you some broken bones."

"I'll be counting on you, buddy."

"Sure. Meanwhile, you want to explain why we're even here?"

"Belinda's idea. Because the house is under siege, the Dead Man is sleeping, and there was only food enough for a few days."

"Somebody panicked."

"They did?" I had been thinking exactly that since I stopped moving.

"I didn't think about it, either, till I was on my way. But, really, your house was not under attack and that crew was there illegally. How long are they likely to stay?"

"If the King stays stubborn about the law being whatever he says it is . . ."

"I bet the point of the exercise was to get the reaction they got. They wanted us to run."

"You'd better see Mike. If that was the point . . ." I recalled seeing a barn cat pick off mice startled into flight by another cat.

"On my way." He got up and went. "Sit tight. Whatever happens, sit tight."

"Will do."

I worried, though. He was bone pale. He wouldn't last much longer.

Strafa came back. She gave me no chance to say anything this time, either.

She dropped Penny and skedaddled.

92

Miss Tea preceded Morley into the room. DeeDee followed. Mike scowled at me, at Penny, then said, "You can't bring your own beer to the theater, and you can't bring your own playmate to Fire and Ice."

Penny turned a ferocious red. She made a pitifully small squeaky noise. I thought she would melt down to a puddle of goo.

I said, "That was cruel and uncalled for, Miss Tea." I whispered, "And she's the Capa's little sister."

"You're right. I shouldn't take it out on the kid. You're a plenty big target yourself."

"Morley already told you this is the Capa's idea."

"I can't take my anger out on her. What were you thinking, climbing in the damned window? Which I ought to charge you for getting fixed."

"I wasn't thinking. I admit that."

"You could have ended up with more holes in you than this other idiot had. Then what would I do?"

I shrugged. "Pay a specialist to get rid of the bloodstains?"

"It would've put the kibosh on our future together, that's for sure."

I said, "Huh?"

Penny squeaked in dismay.

Morley made a snorting sound. He collapsed into the only chair. He would have giggled if he was a girl.

DeeDee took up the slack. She thought that was hilarious.

And here came Crush, uninvited. Her excuse was a tray with tea, six cups, and a pound of frou-frou cookies so thin you could read through them. She was taken aback by Penny's presence, too. "I don't have any appointments for a while."

Mike grumbled, "So you thought you would be nosy."

"Yeah. I did think I'd stick my honker in."

A hint of a smile flickered on Mike's lips. There was a streak of affection for Crush hidden inside Miss Teagarden.

I said, "I'm glad you did, kid. I have a message for you." I glanced at Morley. He had no advice to offer. His eyes were shut. A fussing DeeDee was in the way.

Mike eyed me suspiciously. Crush looked at me askance.

"It's nothing huge. I introduced Crush to Jon Salvation at my house, the other day. He was having a bad one. She asked questions he was tired of hearing. He was rude to her. He felt bad about it later. I told him I'd apologize."

"That was after he found out what I do, right?"

"He has no idea what you do. He wouldn't believe me if I told him. You aren't anything like what he would expect . . . No. You're not what . . . Mike, can you save my dumb ass here?"

"Suppose she was a shop girl? Men. Just say what you have to say."

I knew that. But it's hard to remember, sometimes.

Mike added, "You don't need to walk on eggshells. We know what we do."

"All right. Jon felt bad about being a jerk. He knows Crush is a big fan because we both told him. So he said, if you're around the World sometime, when they're in rehearsal, you can come in and watch them work on his next play. Which means you get to see it before anybody and you get to see how a play gets put together. And, I figure, you'd get the answers to your questions."

"That's it? That's all?" Mike demanded.

"That's all. Her virtue would be safe."

"Smart ass. I should ought not to believe you just because it's you."

What was that? "You don't know me that well."

"I probably know enough. Out of curiosity I had a long talk with the Capa one night. She does know you that well."

Crush demanded, "Is that for real?"

"Which? What Mike is on about or the invitation?"

"The invitation. Mike flirting is too cerebral to be interesting."

"Yes, then. Jon Salvation is a good guy. He's desperate to have people like him. Most theater people are. So, if you have the time, and you want, go by there."

Crush looked to Mike, perhaps asking permission.

Mike said, "DeeDee, you should be getting ready for your next appointment." Once DeeDee went away, Mike told Crush, "That might be good for you." To me, tapping herself on the left breast, "Heart of gold." Then to Crush, "You don't go giving it away just because this scribbler is famous."

Crush was horrified. "I would never . . ."

Through all this Penny's eyes just kept getting bigger.

Mike's heart of gold ran maybe eight carat.

She said, "Crush, go back down to the parlor. You don't need to take any random clients. Just sing a few songs."

With Crush gone, she said, "She has a marvelous voice. She might not be in the life if she had found that out first."

"Probably not as much money in singing."

"Not with her looks. So. What's the plan?"

"Belinda said come here, hunker down, and sit tight. That sounded like a good idea at the time but once we got here we decided it was stupid. We should have stayed where we were."

Mike had a black look for me but the one she laid on Morley was special. Crisp chips of seared Dotes should have flaked off him. Penny's presence saved us some ugly language.

She said, "I don't know what I did to bring this stuff down on myself."

"We can leave."

"Of course you can. Any time you want. With wonder boy asleep and the Capa likely to turn up any second to ask if I'm bending over and taking it like a good girl."

"Are you really that bitter?"

"Only on days of the week ending in 'day.' I have a nice business here. We like each other, mostly. We look out for each other. I do everything by the numbers. I pay off the right people without complaining. So is it really too much to ask to be left alone in return?"

"Probably not. So why not just go back to work and forget us?"

"Best idea I've ever heard from you." She stamped out.

Penny said, "She isn't very nice, is she?"

"Don't let her fool you. That was all show." I had seen a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"So what now?"

"We wait. That's mostly what I do. Sit. Watch. Wait. If you're tired you can have the bed. I'll get a folding chair out of the corner."

"I couldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"People use it for . . . Well, you know."

I knew, but I was a jaded old cynic. "A bed is a bed, girl, with some more comfortable than others. When you're tired whatever else happened there doesn't matter. Though you might be smart to see how big the bugs are before you take the plunge."

"Mr. Garrett! Do you have to be a jerk all the time?"

"You bring out the worst in me. Do you want the bed or not? Because if you're going to be all bluestocking, I'll snag it for myself. I'm not the gentleman you think I am."

"I believe that would make you exactly the man I think you are, sir. I will sit out the night on a folding chair, thank you."

"Suit yourself. Turn the lamp down when you're ready. And don't lock the door. People will come to see us at some point."

Yes. I was that way with the kid. She wanted to be part of the household on Macunado Street, I would treat her like family.

I climbed into the bed.

It was a far better bed than the one it had replaced. It was miles better than the cot.

It was a comfortably cool night so I just stretched out on the covers. Despite the excitement, the strange bed, and the fact that I had had nothing to drink, I fell asleep immediately. Despite the fact that even after she turned the lamp down I could see a sour-faced teenager scowling my way if I cracked an eyelid.

93

"So what is this?"

Was that Belinda?

"Do you believe this?"

The question died in a great, roaring snore from Morley Dotes.

I was on my back, the right side of me pressed against the wall. I did not feel inclined to be awake and sociable so I pretended I was asleep.

Strafa said, "I thought yours would give in to temptation first."

"Obviously you thought wrong."

I detected some amusement in both voices.

I rolled toward them, away from the wall.

All right.

I got it.

I wasn't alone.

Penny had her back to me. She was balanced precariously on the edge but she was in the same bed. And the old women were having fun with that.

That folding chair must have gotten awful hard.

When I rolled she moved too, both of us into the slight depression in the middle.

Belinda and Strafa each said something that did not flatter me.

But for Penny I would have said something juvenile to irritate them.

Then Strafa won me back. "We'd better get Penny up first. Carefully. Otherwise, she'll die of embarrassment."

"Really? She's snuggled up to him in the same bed."

"Please. Be empathetic for one minute of your life."

Wow. That was my girl telling Belinda Contague to develop a human side. A-maz-ing!

Belinda bowed to Strafa's demands because Strafa was the Windwalker, Furious Tide of Light, who could turn her into a pond's worth of frogs.

I went on pretending to be a sleeping frog in need of the kiss of a princess. I did nothing while Strafa extricated a muzzy Penny from a situation likely to cause a panic attack.

DeeDee and Mike turned up before the ladies started on Morley and me. They brought a meal suitable for the empress of the Combine and her dearest henchfolk. DeeDee fussed over Morley till Mike, high on surviving the night, herded her out.

Miss Tea had little to say, otherwise. She stood by looking grim. She was extremely unhappy.

Strafa read her perfectly. "We'll clear out shortly, ma'am."

Belinda nodded. "As soon as Mr. Dotes is fed and ready to travel."

Strafa said, "We blundered. We misread a situation completely, then panicked."

"Misread, huh?" I said. "Like how?" Her angle might have been different.

"The Palace Guards were all for show. Prince Rupert wanted somebody to see that he could come down hard on busybodies."

"Rupert didn't send them. The King did."

"Whatever, Rupert is at the house now." Strafa's laughter was pure music. "Wait till you see his headgear. He is determined not to have his mind read." She described a monster rat's nest of silver mesh and tangle. "We never told him that the Dead Man is asleep."

"We?" Had there been a party while I was away?

"Easy, boy."

Belinda said, "You'll have to get used to him getting his exercise by jumping to conclusions."

Strafa said, "If we hurry, lover, I can get you there before Rupert's men finish cleaning up."

"That doesn't sound good. What happened? What did you do?"

"Well . . . After I moved Penny and Playmate, Bell and I started picking off Palace Guards. You were right. Some were patrolmen from the Hill."

"Picking off? What does that mean?"

I was a little loud. Mike had to pop out to the hallway to reassure her security goons.

Belinda said, "Is it too much to ask that you just relax and listen, Garrett? What possible use is there to you bellowing and stomping like a bull in rut?"

"It helps me pretend that I have some kind of control over my own life."

Miss Contague let loose a championship sigh. She looked at Strafa. "And you really want to partner up with this dope?"

"He'll be all right. You'll see. He just needs a chance to relax. He's been away for a long time." She gave me a big happy puppy dog look.

How the hell can you go on being grumpy when a beautiful woman looks at you like you're the culmination of the man-creation process and she just adores you? How, when you look back at her, get caught up in a little heavy breathing, and she gets just a hint of virginal blush to her cheeks?

Belinda muttered, "I think I'm going to puke. So. Let's move out. Let's go storm the ramparts of reality."

Strafa said, "Garrett and I will go ahead so he can see the Crown Prince. Please bring the young miss with you and Mr. Dotes." She turned to Mike. "And thank you so much for your hospitality, Miss Teagarden."

Belinda agreed. "Yeah. Twice, now. You've won a special place in my heart, Mike. You want some special considerations, ask. Just don't be unreasonable."

Miss Tea inclined her head in a ghost of a bow. "A bit more flexibility in the way we are permitted to operate wouldn't be amiss."

The upcoming negotiation should be fascinating.

I got no chance to find out. Strafa dragged me to the window. I whined, "Why can't we go out the front door like regular people?"

"Because we're special people and the regular people need to be reminded."

I glanced at Penny as I clambered out, twisting, turning, picking up scratches and scrapes. The girl seemed forlorn but she had not melted down in shame.

94

Westman Block and a clutch of red tops infested my stoop and the street in front of my house. Strafa, a broom, and I slid down through the morning air. They spotted us as Strafa eased up to my window. Block had a lot to say down there but I couldn't hear him over Strafa's grumbling. I gave him a big grin and a bold thumbs up.

Strafa was exasperated. "It's shut again."

"What is?"

"The window. Somebody keeps shutting it while I'm gone." She made gestures and muttered sourly.

I could guess who had done the shutting. I wasn't sure why.

Did Singe want to sabotage the new order?

The window slid upward. It made no sound.

"You'd make a great second-story man, woman."

"Sweetheart, please climb through. Same as when we left."

I dismounted without losing my composure or footing. I focused on the window. I have trouble with heights when I'm just standing around, looking down, from a place whence I could actually fall if I did something stupid. The fear is more manageable when I'm doing something implausible, like riding a broomstick with a witch.

I got inside without discovering a need to change my underwear.

Strafa darted in before I finished celebrating. The tip of her broom handle bonked me in the back of the head.

We treated ourselves to a few seconds of kissy-face huggybear; then the grown-up half of the crowd said, "You'd better go downstairs and see if Prince Rupert is still here."

"That bed sure looks inviting. And I mean for sleeping."

"Downstairs. Go. Barate used to say, 'We can sleep as much as we want after we're dead.' "

"Yeah. He missed his calling as a top kick in the corps."

Always literal minded, Strafa said, "He was a counterespionage specialist in Full Harbor. He did two tours, one before I was born and another after my mother died."

No comment. One more hug. One more kiss, me having trouble believing this was happening. Then downstairs we went.

We found the Crown Prince asleep in Singe's office. Singe was not there. She was in bed. So was Dean. The number-two man in Karenta was being entertained by Dollar Dan Justice to the extent that the ratman was in the same room. He was asleep, too.

I wakened both gently, Dollar Dan first. He muttered something about making tea and shuffled out.

Rupert wakened with an exaggerated start, obviously unsure where he was or why he was there. I found keeping a straight face to be a huge effort.

He had the most ridiculous, wonderful confection on his head, a massive ball of silver thread, wire, ribbon, and nonsense. It dropped down to his shoulders in back, his neck on the sides, and even covered most of his face.

"Did something tickle your funny bone, Mr. Garrett?"

He had the voice of a lord, I'll grant that. It was a rich deep voice made for command.

"Your chapeau took me by surprise."

"Now you're going to tell me I wasted my time."

"You did, Your Grace. Himself is asleep." I should make some cheat cards. I don't spend enough time around royalty to know the proper forms of address. Rupert didn't puff up and turn red so Your Grace was good enough for now.

"So I understand. It probably doesn't matter, anyway. I came here to keep my brother from making a big mistake, trying to use the Palace Guard that way."

I shrugged. "I don't know what his thoughts were, either."

"I sent word that I wanted to talk to you."

"I've been busy." I thought I had my mouth under control. Strafa, though, shuffled uncomfortably. "But here I am. Let's do it quick. I still have things that need doing."

I should not have added that. His time was precious. Mine was the worthless property of a trivial subject.

He did glance at Strafa, plainly wondering if she was what was distracting me from becoming an instrument of his will. "All right, then. I've already missed a night of sleep because of my brother. A while with you won't make any difference."

"What do you want from me, then?"

"Two things: this business of the thread men, then a renewal of my offer of employment. Tribune Felhske isn't working out."

"He's a better investigator than I am. And he wants the job."

"He is better than you only in a limited sense. What you lack in specific skills and ambition you make up in honesty."

"Felhske is a crook?"

"He takes excessive advantage of his position. He isn't yet aware that I know about his bad behavior."

"I'm disappointed. I recommended him. But I'm still not interested. I like my life the way it is."

"Talk it over with Strafa. She ought to have some say."

"I'll do that. Though . . . Never mind. There was another matter?"

"The important thing. I want you, Strafa, and all of your friends, to back off and stay backed off of the thread men thing. And I do mean it."

"Why?"

"Because I told you to." He frowned, puzzled by the fact that I would even ask.

"Ain't gonna happen."

"Excuse me?" He lurched forward in his chair, as though his ears must have betrayed him because of the distance between us.

"You've been telling lots of people to back off. You won't say why. Has even one of them listened? I don't think so. Some maybe try to be less obvious but they're keeping on keeping on. I'll keep on myself till I get my hands on whoever tried to kill my friend."

Strafa made a hissing sound, trying to caution me.

Rupert reddened till I feared he might have a stroke. He was not accustomed to hearing straight talk.

I said, "It isn't about you. Or your brother, which is where this must be coming from. None of the people working on rooting out the thread men . . . Why did you call them that?"

"Because they're sewn together."

"Oh. Clever. They aren't so much of a problem. It's the people doing the sewing that we want."

"It is necessary that those people be left to their peers."

"The villains who run the Hill? I saw their thugs out there masquerading as Palace Guards. Makes you wonder who's in charge."

Prince Rupert's eyes bugged. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Strafa asked, "You didn't know? You didn't see them?"

I said, "They blend in like gorillas in skirts."

"That isn't possible."

"Talk to your commander. Talk to your top kick. They had to know."

The Prince got a grip. "Be that as it may, I have my orders. I will execute them."

"Even if they're illegal? You're the great champion of the rule of law."

"The Crown is the law, Mr. Garrett."

"I don't think so."

Strafa said, "Garrett!"

"Even an ignorant peasant like me knows divine right don't click anymore. If your brother starts thinking he can make up laws as he goes along he won't get to make very many. Add up how many kings we've had in our lifetimes. You might have to take off a shoe to count them all."

Strafa said, "Garrett, that's enough."

Prince Rupert was furious. I, being tired and twisted, was reverting to contrary Garrett. I saw me doing it but could not engage the governor on my jaw.

Singe arrived with the tea that Dollar Dan had gone to get. There were some yesterday biscuits and hard-boiled eggs. "Please pardon Mr. Garrett, Your Grace. He suffers from a congenital defect that makes him say stupid things when he is awake." She deposited the tray on a folding table beside Prince Rupert, then faced me. "You. Come with me." Over her shoulder, "If you will excuse us for a moment, Your Grace?"

We crossed the hallway to the Dead Man's room. I spotted the Bird snoring on the floor in a corner. I had thought he had left a long time ago.

"What the hell is the matter with you? That's the godsdamned Crown Prince of Karenta in there. You're acting like he is . . . Like he is another Bird." She waved a paw. "Don't you have the sense the gods gave a drunken goose? Are you bucking for a career in swamp drainage?"

"If I could get a word . . ."

"You don't need to get a word in. It will be some godsdamned absurd excuse. I have heard you state that excuses are like assholes. Everyone has one, and they all stink."

"I . . ."

"Grow up, Garrett."

"But . . ."

"Ten years ago . . . Five years ago you could indulge in all this obnoxious, stupid shit you wanted. It did not matter. No one but you got pounded over the head. You do not have that luxury anymore. Making yourself feel big by being a dick toward people in authority is no longer an option."

Wow! Singe was well and thoroughly pissed off. And she was just getting warmed up.

"Go back in there. Go on being a jerk. But before you start, tell me what will come of it after you get your moment of strutting around congratulating yourself on how you showed somebody?"

"All right, Singe. I get it. I'll jump in there and kiss his ass and lick his boots and beg him to use a little lard when he bends me over."

She slapped me.

That stunned me silent.

Her arms were not long enough to let her get a good windup but the impact stung plenty anyway.

My little girl was seriously upset. I might want to invest a few seconds in trying to work out why.

I had told Prince Rupert that things were not all about him. I suppose Singe wanted me to recognize that they were not all about me, either.

That unhappy man across the hall had the power to make me and everyone I ever met extremely unhappy. And he was just one breath away from having the power to make that unhappiness eternal.

Rupert might be a fool but he was not just some passing moron that I could sneer at and disdain to his face.

"I get what you want me to see, Singe." But I couldn't surrender completely. "I'll go kiss the idiot and make it better."

The way Singe moved then, I feared she might be looking for a club big enough to pound me into a shape she found acceptable.

95

"I want to apologize for my antagonistic attitude, Your Grace. I have been under a great deal of stress. I shall do my best to defer to your wisdom henceforth--except in the matter of going to work for you, which you should not view as any reflection upon yourself."

Singe showed me her teeth. That was not good enough, apparently.

Other than being renown for having promulgated his First Law, Morley might be most famous for having observed that the world would be a better place if we just had sense enough to kill the right people.

I don't disagree--so long as I get to make the list.

Prince Rupert was determined to become a featured name.

He said, "I expect some social gaps are too broad to bridge even with the best intentions."

I started to open my mouth. Singe lifted a knickknack off her desk and wound up.

I said, "That's true. Before you leave, couldn't you indulge us with just a hint as to why General Block and Director Relway can't pursue the mission . . ."

"Stop. There are times . . . There are special circumstances . . ."

Perhaps. But he, Block, and Relway had been savagely diligent about crushing that justification. Till now. "If you want to change the rules suddenly you need to support it with something more than, 'Because I said so.' Because that is total bullshit. Which you have said a hundred times yourself."

"My brother needs it. He'll die otherwise. I don't want to be King."

What the hell was that?

Singe had that bookend thing in hand again.

Rupert sputtered some, then said, "Even more, I don't want my brother Eugene or nephew Kansa to be king. Either would be a disaster. As has been this visit. I must go."

I escorted him to the door. Before I could shut it behind him, he told me, "Stay away from this, Garrett." His tone said he didn't hold out much hope that he would get his way.

I told Singe and Strafa, "There's a political angle after all."

Strafa said, "It's one that turned up, for Rupert, only in the last few days."

"I'll buy that. We have a little night left. I'm going to go catch a nap. Singe. No luck with the Dead Man?"

"Not yet. That last incident really wasted him."

No shit.

96

I did not fall asleep right away, though not because Strafa crawled in and snuggled up. She went away instantly.

She had worked hard.

My mind had snagged on the possibility that the King was involved in the bad stuff to the point of trying to protect the evildoers.

Though there was no testimony yet I was sure the bad guys were buying prisoners from the Little Dismal operation and using them to build their thread men. Why, though, was beyond my imagination. The thread men were not aggressive unless driven. They were less dangerous than the zombies they resembled.

I reviewed each attack, over and over. I came up with nothing new, except that the lines of flight from Fire and Ice not only headed toward the Hill, they passed Knodical, supposedly currently untenanted.

That deserved investigation. The plunder from the Elf Town warehouse had gone there.

Were the Hill folk treading carefully because the King was entangled in something dark?

Waking was brisk but intense. Strafa Algarda turned loving into a religious experience. She whispered, "I can't wait till we can take our time."

"Me, neither." I became part of a strange and wonderful beast when I failed to show character enough to say no.

"So get yourself up, love. We have work to do."

"For example?"

"Today we are going to confound the Crown Prince and all the instruments of the night."

I glanced out the window. It was raining.

"Let's go, sourpuss!" She giggled. "Put on a smile. It will make itself at home. It's going to be a wonderful day."

I didn't want to be that guy who spins around and looks to the past as soon as the future hits. But I wasn't sure I could survive a diet of cheerful, happy, and positive--all before noon--for the rest of my life. And I knew, with no need for an outside consultant, that I'd signed on for the duration.

Strafa was perfect. She was everything a guy wove in his fantasies. Her sole flaw was that she lacked a sense of despair. She couldn't work up a good gloom to save her own delectable patootie.

I nearly laughed. And then found out that I could be wrong.

As we dressed, I said, "We never got a chance to talk about what you found out when you visited Barate. And the kids."

"Nothing useful. Their names may have been used but they weren't the ones wearing them."

The cheer had gone right out of her.

"Barate said he was going to check out some family legends."

"He did. Though they were more like rumors to the effect that some of the old people weren't actually inside their coffins when they went into the ground. The only way to be sure would be to dig them up."

"I don't think it will come to that." I moved behind her and pulled her back against my chest. "What's wrong?"

No artifice. "I saw my grandmother, too."

"Shadowslinger?"

"Yes. She wishes us well. You and me, together."

That came out of nowhere. "She knows?"

"Everyone seems to. I'm not sure how." She pressed back and crossed my arms in front of her.

"Is that a problem?"

She found some slight bounce. "It's a weight off, actually. I was worried about how to break the news."

"Then what's the problem?"

"My grandmother has been under a lot of pressure to use her influence to get me to back away from all this."

"That's it? You have to stop? You can. It's all right. But I won't."

"Neither will I. And nor will my grandmother."

"Then what . . . ?"

"My grandmother Constance felt obligated to relay the anxious desires of her class. She decided she was on our side only after I described Bird and Penny's artwork. She may come by for a closer look. She wouldn't explain but its obviously old family history. Probably to do with what Barate had in mind."

She seemed small in my arms right then, like a frightened little girl.

She said, "What we're doing may change the city as much as the end of the war did."

"How so?"

"I don't know. I'm not one of the insiders caught up in a froth of anxiety. But I feel the shift lurking out there, waiting to pounce. Why don't we forget all that stuff I said we need to do and go back to bed. Right now I'd be much happier if the world was just you and me."

"It's a temptation. But you know Singe will walk in just when . . ."

Singe arrived early, as usual without knocking. "Good. I don't have to throw cold water on you."

And so the workday began.

97

Dean was in a glowing good mood when we got downstairs. I grumbled, "Can't you see that it's raining?"

"Isn't it marvelous? We really need it." He went on to tell me how fresh the air would smell later.

Didn't he realize that the humidity would be torture?

Strafa poured mugs of something that wasn't tea. It smelled monstrously good. I said, "Definitely tasty but I wouldn't go out of my way."

Dean said, "I tried to follow instructions but I think I missed."

Strafa said, "It's a novelty. Dean's hard black tea is fine, robust daily fare."

Dean and I looked at her askance, having trouble remembering that there was no need to read between her lines.

Singe came to the kitchen doorway. Strafa asked, "Did you see anything?"

"Rain. There isn't a soul out there. It's like they got washed away with the offal."

Being a trained detective--albeit home-schooled--I detected something odd. "What's going on?"

Strafa said, "There were Palace Guards going and Civil Guards arriving when we went to bed. General Block wanted in. We ignored him."

Singe said, "I didn't see anyone through the peephole so I went out to check." She was damp. Soon she would develop a pong. "They're gone. Every last man. There aren't any watchers. A ratwoman told me they all got excited and charged off somewhere just when it was getting light."

That wasn't right. Block's mob wouldn't suddenly change their minds. Odd connections clicked. "What did we do when we bailed out of here last night?"

Strafa laughed. "We wasted time that we could have used getting to know each other. And made ourselves look like fraidy cats."

"And we told anyone who cared to think about it that the Dead Man really is asleep."

Singe gasped. "If he was awake we would not have run."

"Exactly. Where are Morley and Belinda? Why aren't they back yet?"

Strafa muttered something like, "Uh-oh." She reached across and squeezed my hand. "I'll go look."

Singe warned, "You'll get soaked."

"I'll go naked, then."

We all stared.

"Come on, people. I can joke, too. There must be rain gear around here somewhere. Darling, you check the salt. In case we outwitted ourselves." She clumped away fast. Dean went and dug out his rain gear for her.

Singe said, "We may have pulled a major stupid, right?"

"I don't know how much 'we' there is for anybody besides me and Strafa. I do think we got snookered." Dean came back. "Did you buy more salt, Dean?"

Wasted breath. He had his nose in a cupboard already. Out came a ten pound bag of pickling salt. He wasted no breath admonishing me to be frugal.

Singe got stuck with helping me. The cellar got her talking to herself. She told me, "As soon as it is safe I am having this cared for."

"Can we afford it?"

"The annual gift to Tholozan House arrives next week. I have not tapped that fund since I took over your finances."

I didn't know what she meant. "What's Tholozan House?"

"That is where I invest the gifts you get from your lapsed vampire girlfriend."

"Oh."

Kayean Kronk. The first woman I had ever loved and gotten close enough to touch. Morley and I had rescued her from vampires in the Cantard while the war was still raging. For the Tates. Two of who, Tinnie and Rose, had tagged along. Yesterday and tomorrow, when Kayean had been lost and Tinnie started looking like more than my pal Denny's incredibly hot but unattainable cousin.

"You still here, Garrett?"

"I haven't thought about Kayean in ages."

"She thinks of you. She still sends the gifts she promised."

She had inherited a fabulous fortune because of me. Her first gift had helped me buy my house and rehabilitate it around the Dead Man.

Singe asked, "Can you see who is at the door?"

I went despite not having heard a thing.

Kyra Tate. She came in looking like the proverbial drowned rat. "My umbrella blew away." Singe arrived with a huge towel. I wondered when we had acquired that. Kyra said, "I don't know why I'm out in this weather, anyway. Except that we love you."

"Let's get you back to the kitchen where we can get you warmed up." Ever clever Singe was headed that way already. By the time Kyra and I arrived she had hot tea poured and Dean had brought the cookies out of hiding. I planted the girl, then asked, "So why are you out in this?"

"All the usual, plus I remembered where I saw the woman before."

"Who?"

"The one in Penny's sketches. I said I thought I saw her before. I did. But only once. It was at a party on the Hill. I was eleven. Our family got invited because they were part of some conglomerate including the people giving the party. The group had just gotten a huge army contract. Everybody was going to get a lot richer. The girl's name was Jane something. She was only sixteen but she was already somebody's mistress. She was so awful that the girls running with her were embarrassed. I never saw her again. I never heard anything about her again. Probably because Hill don't socialize with people who actually do creative stuff."

I smiled, did not comment other than to ask, "How can any of that help us now?"

"Other than to tell you Jane Whatsit is unpleasant? Not much. Except that I've gotten myself some pretty nice boobs since then." She was too wet and had too limited an audience to flaunt the niceties. "And she hasn't changed at all."

I glanced at Singe. "Six years? In the dark we might not be able to see much difference."

"Yeah. Well. Too. I saw Kip and Kevans yesterday. We talked a lot. Us girls ganged up on him. I think we got it worked out. Kevans tried hard to make Kip understand that she doesn't need him protecting her all the time, anymore. That she's fine with the life she's living."

"I'm thrilled to hear that. I hope you are, too."

"I am, Mr. Garrett. Since he doesn't have to worry about Kevans he can focus all that devotion on me."

Yeah. A familiar echo there. "He will if he's got any sense at all."

"I don't know where you and my aunt are anymore."

"Neither do I."

"Kevans' mom knows, though, don't she?"

"She's never confused."

Kyra shut her eyes. "Can't believe I'm going to say this. You're really a good man. You do good for everybody you can. So I think you should be with Kevans' mom."

"Kyra?"

"I know. I sound like a traitor. But Tinnie is never going to be anybody but who she is. Only getting more so, according to my uncles, who figure she'll be hell on wheels in ten more years."

"Thank you, Kyra." I didn't want to talk about it anymore. I didn't want to think about it.

Kyra said, "They grew up with her mother. They knew her grandmother."

Kyra was dried out, warm again, full of tea, and Singe said the rain had stopped. Singe found Dollar Dan napping on Morley's cot. She wakened him and bullied him into walking Kyra home. After taking time to let Kyra know that young girls should not be roaming the city alone, however unappealing they made themselves appear.

"That was wicked," I said after Singe closed the door.

"She is concerned about her looks. It will have a positive impact."

"Now that she's not here to hear me say so, I'm seriously worried, Singe."

"As am I. Strafa has been out there far too long."

Strafa. So. The final heart had surrendered.

I suggested, "You go nag Old Bones. I'll sit here and worry enough for both of us."

98

Strafa returned, dripping. The rain had started up again. She asked Singe, "Why is he so glum?"

"He is remembering the sad times before he found you. How bad is it?" She produced a twin to the towel she had used to dry Kyra.

A glance at Strafa told me she had bad news.

"There was an attack on that place we went last night. They burned it to the ground."

"Oh, shit. Crush! DeeDee. Mike."

"It started just after Belinda left. She heard the racket and went back. There was a huge fight."

It must not have gone well. "Penny?"

"I don't know. They were just starting to pick up the pieces. The fire wasn't out yet. They were concentrating on that. The Guard turned up in time to get into the fight. The woman in black leather was there. She did some sorcery. Her thread men got wiped out. I counted eighteen. The woman and the cart took off. There was a running fight with Specials armed with military weapons. They stopped the cart by killing the goats. The woman got away. So did the thing that was in the cart. Nobody would swear it, but the talk was, a giant squid thing crawled out and turned into a naked man that ran off with the woman. She was wounded. Singe, could you track her?"

"In this weather? Not likely."

I asked, "How about Belinda? How about Morley?"

"I don't know. They wouldn't let me get close. It looked like most of Belinda's escort went down. Their mounts, too. The coach is on its side in the street, the team dead in the traces. On the upside, it didn't look like the people from the house suffered much."

"What should we do?" I asked the air.

The air did not reply.

"Singe, we have got to get him awake."

"I have a job to do, as Strafa just said."

"And, as you pointed out, it's raining."

"I am going to give it a try. The squid man should have a serious reek."

Getting feisty, my little girl. Her charming adolescent deference and diffidence were fading.

"If you're sure that's what you need to do, go for it." I asked Strafa, "Are you going to take her?" Hoping the prospect would turn Singe's bones to jelly. If a shape-changing guy who turned into a giant squid didn't do the trick.

"I have to go back anyway, to see about our friends."

They were my friends so they were her friends. "I guess you do. Bless you, Strafa Algarda."

"Garrett?"

"Just a sentimental moment. You are too perfect. Too precious. It's frightening."

And she didn't get embarrassed by mushy stuff. She just laughed like wind chimes. Her eyes turned a violet shade that made me want to kiss each lid about a thousand times.

"The next few years could get really saccharine around here," Singe grumbled. "Are we going to go, Strafa? Or would you rather stand around with a goofy expression, twisting Garrett till he looks like he's mentally challenged?"

"That one for sure. But I was raised up to honor my civic responsibilities first."

"Yes. Yes," I said. "What will all this do to the political situation? They got everything calmed down once. Prince Rupert thought the cover-up would stick. But another attack could rip the head off a butt of chaos."

Strafa kissed me. She made it clear that she meant it when she said she would rather stay and make me crazy. Then she headed out, with Singe right behind.

I asked the air, "Did the evil genius behind everything deliberately create a new crisis?"

Dean showed up. "Do you think it's too risky for me to go out?"

"Yes, I do. There are people out there who want to commit murder for no obvious reason. Is there something we need desperately? Have Dollar Dan make the run when he gets back. Or go wake Bird up and promise him a bottle."

"We face no critical shortages. I wanted a couple pounds of beef to slice for a dish I want to try. And I was hoping to swing by to see how Playmate is managing."

"He took his medicine with him?"

"He did."

"Strafa can check on him later."

"That is best, I expect." A pause. "I'm having trouble adjusting to the excitement being back."

"I'm sorry."

He chuckled. "I wasn't fishing for an apology." He made a search-and-capture sweep of Singe's space, collecting rogue cups, trays, pots, and flatware. "It should all turn tediously domestic once this insanity gets sorted out."

"Really?"

"The only challenge I foresee is you deciding if you'll go live in the Windwalker's mansion or if she'll move in here. I'm thinking this place will get cramped with a gaggle of little Garretts underfoot."

"Gleep!" Or, maybe better said, "Gleep?"

"I'll give odds. You'll be a daddy inside a year. And you will awe and amaze us all by turning out to be a good one."

I couldn't answer that. I didn't have the words. "Gleep?" That stuff didn't sound absurd when he said it.

The redhead, with her usual steadfast self-assertion, entered my mind. Hands on hips. Head cocked to her right. Chin lowered. "Well?"

The question never came up. Not even as speculation, excepting in the lateral sense of prevention. We'd never discussed our attitudes toward children let alone thought about making our own. Which surprised me, in retrospect.

I muttered, "God, strike me down now. I can't possibly be old enough to be a parent."

Dean broke out in the biggest shit-eating grin I ever saw on his ugly old clock.

"You prick."

His grin got bigger. "We should move to her place. There'll be room for your own kids and strays like Penny, too."

"Penny isn't my stray."

We exchanged troubled looks. Hanging around our house might have gotten that girl into the worst trouble of a short, troubled life. And we might have gotten Crush, DeeDee, Mike, and the gang at Fire and Ice into the worst trouble of their troubled lives, too.

I said, "Well, for now let's just be gay bachelors--the way we were before the females began to accumulate and complicate."

"Yeah," Dean said, with a marked absence of enthusiasm. He headed for the door. A moment later I heard Dollar Dan ask why he looked so glum.

Rain was falling again. I got a strong whiff of Dollar Dan as he followed Dean to the kitchen.

99

I went out onto the stoop. I'm not sure why. Maybe some vague notion about seeing for myself if all the watchers had been chased off by the rain. Or maybe I just wanted to enjoy the sound of rain on the stoop roof.

It was an odd rainfall, not heavy but steady, with big drops.

The street was empty. No people. No animals. The Palace Guard vehicles were gone. The air was cold and it was clean. For a moment all was right with my world.

Dean came out. "Can you come back in? We have a problem."

I gripped the cold, wet, recently painted balustrade. I did not want to leave contentment to deal with whatever had him upset.

My imagination was capable of encompassing only one terrible possibility. The Dead Man had given up the ghost, for real and forever. Henceforth my life would revolve around removing a quarter ton of moldering corpse.

Dean did head for the Dead Man's room. "Here," he said, indicating the Bird with the toe of his right shoe.

"I know. I thought he went home, too."

"That's the problem."

"Huh?"

"He's dead. He'll start smelling pretty soon, no matter how cold we make it."

I knelt for a closer look. A voice not Bird's told me, "Get your boot out of my back, asshole, unless you don't want to keep them ugly teeth."

I touched Bird's neck. No pulse. "Penny was right."

"Apparently. But how can they use him after he's one of them?"

"I don't know." I was upright again and oozing toward the door. "But this strikes me as a sound reason for procrastination. Suppose we just let dead Birds lie till Strafa gets back? She'll know what to do. Or she can tell us who does."

Dead Bird said something obnoxious. How? Voices came out of his mouth, not like the Dead Man talking inside my head.

Dean said, "Perhaps I was hasty when I pronounced him dead. Look. He's breathing, now."

He was, but only to collect wind to mutter and snarl in several voices, squabbling over how best to use the artist's corpse.

I said, "Just to make sure we don't get any unhappy surprises, how about we tie him up?"

"Clothesline is on the way." Dean headed for the kitchen.

The quarreling voices stilled. Bird's body began to shake. Then one voice shrieked, "Oh, shit! What's that?"

Another squealed in pure terror.

100

So there I was. My witchy girlfriend was gone. My sidekick was sound asleep. My trusty ratgirl assistant was far away. And something I was not going to like was about to happen.

A solid boom came from up front. Somebody my size and about as bright had just charged into the door at full gallop.

I went to take a look.

Dean yelled, "Garrett!" as I bent to the peephole. His holler preceded an inhuman shriek so violent the house shuddered on its foundations. Something crashed in Singe's office.

I finished my peek, sprinted for the kitchen.

Stuff had fallen in there, too, but I didn't take inventory. Dean and Dollar Dan were staring out the back window, into the barren space that had been an herb garden back when Dean was young enough to wrangle one.

"You have got to be shitting me," I said, in deadpan awe, without inflexion.

The world's biggest and probably only land-going kraken was out there thrashing megatentacles and making hideous messes while casting a mad yellow eye at the snacks behind the glass.

Several tentacles had been truncated recently. They oozed ichor, or whatever you call implausible monster blood. The beast's body quivered like an epileptic dog suffering a grand seizure. "The salt. It works. Dean. Salt. Get ready. Use it if that thing gets any part of itself inside."

I had seen that old man stressed a hundred times. I had seen him hopping mad and slow-burn, sullenly angry. I had seen him everything but outright panicky. I did not see him panic now. Nor did Dollar Dan, though ratfolk are notoriously flighty when straits get tight.

Dean retrieved the remaining pickling salt. He collected two small pots and started sharing it out.

I asked, "What did Singe do with the family arsenal when you started having youngsters underfoot?" There was a closet upstairs that once boasted an enviable collection of illegal weaponry. At latest check it contained two backup head knockers, a rusty throwing knife, two worn-out brooms, and several saps that were actually memorabilia. They had been used on me before I took them away.

"Singe didn't. I did. Penny is fascinated by things that are sharp and pointy. The dangerous stuff is in the black wooden case under my bed."

He wanted to say more but time was tight. There had been three more huge blows against the front door, of a magnitude that promised to break through eventually.

Then would come the fire.

Getting the case out from under Dean's bed required maneuvering. It was six feet long. It was two and a half feet wide. It was eight inches tall. It was freaking heavy. I grumbled, "What the hell is this, old man? You been holding out on me?"

He had, indeed. All my illegal weaponry was in the box but that was a minority of the tools of death stashed there. Where in the hell had Dean gotten light infantry pilea? There were four of those. There were three classical javelins, two halberd heads, a variety of swords (some of them mine), two finely crafted longbows with bundled arrows beside and strings presumably handy. There were spearheads and lots of knives.

I wanted to stand there marveling and wondering whence it all had come but they hadn't given up on the door and I didn't hear any tin whistles.

There were three crossbows to choose from. I assembled a standard Marine Corps heavy piece in seconds. I hadn't lost the knack. I grabbed a twelve-pack magazine of iron-tipped bolts, added a selection of other deadly tools, then got my beautiful young behind to my bedroom window--just in time to greet a slow-moving thread man who had climbed up with the intention of chucking firebombs inside. Somebody down below tossed one up, not quite high enough. The villain missed it. Down it went. I heard it break, then heard a whoosh! as the fuel ignited.

A roil of fire and smoke headed skyward.

I used an old time pileum to evict the thread man from my roof. He staggered into the arms of demon gravity while trying to pull the business end of the spear out of his cold chest.

I stopped watching. I was looking down the length of my crossbow at the woman who had been created to glamorize black leather. Tonight she wore a pink wig in what they call a pageboy cut. Her eyes were enormous. Gods, she looked good!

But I was in the soldier zone. It didn't matter how good she looked. I squeezed the trigger just the way they taught me. The bolt flew true but the woman moved in that exact instant when it became too late to shift my aim.

The bolt missed her heart. It went in where her left arm joined her shoulder. The impact spun her. She grabbed at that bit of bolt still protruding. Her feet tangled. She fell, making an inarticulate yelp of surprise.

People do not get shot in the TunFaire shaped by today's Civil Guard. Especially not villains.

By the time she managed to look up at me, from her knees, while still falling, I had the crossbow spanned and another bolt laid in. I might be out of practice on the mental stuff but operating one of these things had become a part of me. I'd still be able to span, load, and shoot on my deathbed.

The woman was trying to get up when my second bolt arrived. It ripped into the left cheek of what had to be the sweetest female behind ever minted.

She squealed like the proverbial stuck pig. She tried to run. Her left leg didn't want to engage in that enterprise. She shrieked something high-pitched, incoherent, and desperate.

A thunderous thud marked another attempt to break my front door. Obviously, I had been smart to get the work done on that, back when.

The incredible vision in black had not come just with thread men and a monster. Her shrieking summoned a goat cart. I thought she had lost that at Fire and Ice. Only later did it occur to me that the baddies could have more than one.

The goats trotted up. I loosed my worst shot yet. It missed the women entirely, grazed one of the critters. Both animals said something foul in goat and took off.

Leather, ever so tasty woman lunged, snagged the back of the cart, hung on and let herself be dragged out of the kill zone.

The thread men and thing out back were on their own.

Wishful thinking had me hearing whistles that weren't really there.

I backed off the window, grabbed up instruments of mayhem, scuttled back to Dean's room. I broke the crossbow down, put everything back in the case and pushed the case back under Dean's bed. Then I headed downstairs.

The monster had broken in through the back window. Dollar Dan had two tentacles nailed to the windowsill with kitchen knives. Dean was delivering salt to any other part that came in range.

I said, "Excellent. You've got it under control. Just don't go out there after it. I'm going to see what they've done to the door." I grabbed a long, two-tine fork Dean used when turning a roast. At the same time I saw something I had not noticed before.

Our kraken had no suckers on its tentacles. One side looked just like the other. I don't think I ever saw a squid or octopus that didn't have suckers. Some had suckers with teeth.

I found the front door frame almost free of its anchor bolts. Despite its massive design the door itself showed cracks. Splinters littered the hallway.

The peephole still worked.

I saw bits of fire burning. I saw two thread men, one down and the other ambling in a small circle, constantly turning left. Easing my head to the right I spied one more just standing in one place.

I tried the bolts and locks. Every one worked, though the one Singe had complained about before had to be forced. The bottom of the door hit the floor when it was halfway open. It would go no farther. But that was room enough for me to get out, heavily armed with a custom club and a cook's fork.

I didn't want to be seen with anything more useful at a time when some of my betters would appreciate excuses to lock me up.

I saw nine thread men: three down, four standing still, one smoldering, and one circling to his left. Then a tenth fell out of the sky, firebomb in hand. Fire oozed out from under him.

I was about to go galloping back inside when I spotted the goat cart just standing in the street up near the Cardonlos place. A dark lump lay ten yards closer to me. It moved.

Oh, yes! Time for that sweet thing and me to get friendly. I ducked back into Singe's office and conscripted a small lantern to share patrol duty.

The door would not shut all the way again.

The woman had trouble making headway with her left arm and left leg damaged but she was stubborn. She almost caught up with her cart before I caught her.

I found the pink wig about two thirds of the way there.

"You dropped something, precious. Here. Let me give you a hand." Odd. She no longer made that outfit look as good as she had just minutes ago.

She turned to see who was talking.

"Goo!" That face was a good forty hard years old. "This a magic wig?" I tossed the wig into the back of the cart.

A big uproar broke out behind my house. A cloud of brown dust rolled up, illuminated by the burning thread man.

Several thread men got motivated and started our way.

A big scream came from behind my house. It was a lost soul kind of yowl.

The woman gasped, "This can't be happening!"

She was determined to get up without help. Her now drooping posterior betrayed her. Down she went, leading with her chin.

The thread men did the same.

The woman now looked a hard rode fifty.

"The more you move around the more the barbs on those bolts will chew you up inside."

"Can't let go now." She started to get up again.

I tucked my tools into my belt, set my lantern down, stepped over to the cart, yanked the canvas cover off. That released a pocket of stench so pungent it almost laid me out. Even so, I hoisted the woman up there and stretched her out on her right side. "Hang in there. Neither bolt cut a big vein. I'll get them out before they do lethal damage." Where the hell were the tin whistles? I got busy eliminating evidence that might suggest the use of illegal weapons in a civil confrontation. "Grit those teeth, girl. This will hurt like hell."

I started with the bolt in back. Its head was peeking out already. I could just push it through. "Thanks for coming by. You helped me figure it all out."

Shouting erupted down the street. A ratman wanted my attention. Other ratmen were with him, making sure the thread men would not get up again. The work apparently required the use of hatchets.

The ratman screamed at me. It couldn't make out what he said.

I slipped the bloody bolt inside my shirt. "One down. Now for the one that's really going to hurt." She had been a trooper during the first removal. She had an old truce with pain.

Several ratmen were yelling now. Two were headed my way. I turned to see what their big-ass problem was.

Something hit me with all the enthusiasm of a haymaker delivered by a truly pissed-off war god.

101

There were faces all round me, looking down, when badly blurred vision began to return. I tried to say, "Hey! You guys are all right."

Unless I was hallucinating, the circle included Morley, Belinda, Penny, John Stretch and Dollar Dan, Dean, and Strafa shouting down a long tunnel about how leaving me unsupervised was worse than leaving a three-year-old home alone.

Penny was crying. I heard General Block and several others yammering farther away.

Singe hove into view armed with a pitcher and mugs. She said something about how it was too damned expensive to have me live at home anymore. Mr. Mulclar was already at work repairing the door.

I'm not sure how my head was working. I wondered how long I had been out but what came out was, "The Bird?"

"It has been handled," Morley told me. "You have been unconscious for sixteen hours." Which meant it was the middle of the night, now. Why were all these people here in the middle of the night?

While I was thinking that Crush and Mike poked their clocks in to check the status of my breathing. I heard DeeDee giggle somewhere, apparently at a joke Saucerhead told Playmate.

Dean reported, "The monster did it. It shape-shifted into the man Bird painted, only in awful shape. Big chunks were missing. He looked like he'd been rotting. But he was in good enough shape to go pound you. He took off with the woman and the cart."

Singe said, "I tracked them to the Knodical. The woman who hit Fire and Ice went there, too. They wouldn't take these two in. They headed up the hill from the Knodical. I lost them. They poisoned the trail again."

Strafa said, "I checked my house. They didn't go there."

"Don't matter where they run," I tried to say. "I know what they're doing. I think I know where they're doing it."

So there I was, with people crowding in, eager to hear the big revelation.

I went back to sleep amidst a great fuss about concussions.

I wakened to a remixed set of faces. This set included Deal Relway and Westman Block. The latter was in no mood for foreplay. "We've been fired."

I made noises.

"Can they do that? They can. For cause. Strictly speaking, for actually doing the kind of corrupt stuff they're insisting that we do. In a broader sense, they have to make it stick. Right now it doesn't look like they have the horses."

I made more noises while wondering why they were here instead of out doing something useful.

"The public temper is fragile right now. People are nervous and upset. Two attacks in one night by monsters and zombies is a little excessive. Dismissing the Civil Guard officer corps for trying to deal with it may be too much. We have every man out trying to keep the head on the barrel."

"How come you're here?"

"Because the King's men don't dare come after us here. Word is out that the Dead Man is awake and extremely unhappy."

He was not. I got no sense of Himself at all.

"Last resort, we will let out the truth about the thread men."

Several people helped me up, including Morley. "Trying to play Little Dead Man, eh? Going to sleep right after dropping a big hint that you had it all worked out."

They moved me to Singe's office, installed me in the best chair. I could not help seeing the empty doorway during the journey. I whined.

Singe told me, "Mr. Mulclar will have it fixed by this time tomorrow."

Mulclar had been maintaining the door for several years.

"What happened to the F and I girls?"

"Gone to watch a Jon Salvation play rehearse. Then they'll head for Strafa's. She's going put them up for a couple nights."

I glanced at Strafa. She nodded. "You'd better get over there and lock up your valuables. How about the Bird?"

Block said, "In a cell at the Al-Khar and still bitching. Forensics is trying to figure out how."

"Thought you were fired."

Relway said, "Only in theory. The King and Crown Prince are isolated in Knodical. The Specials have kept them from communicating with the cavalry barracks."

Some bright monarch, having attained the throne with the assistance of the city garrison, had bought insurance against a repetition by moving all the barracks outside the city wall. Now the troops were in no position to put down a mutiny by the tin whistles.

"That's a big risk."

Block said, "We know. We took it because the Windwalker told us you figured the mess out and can tell us what we need to do to restore order."

Strafa made kissy lips from across the room.

Now I had to deliver.

"I still don't know how Morley fits. Maybe the gods just wanted to get our attention. He'll remember eventually."

"Time is wasting," Block said. "Don't go wallowing in it the way your sidekick does."

"What's been happening is, villains from an old branch of the Algarda family tree, armed with the family talent for sorcery, found a way to stay young and beautiful--and to make dramatic physical improvements."

I had them. Everybody wants to be beautiful forever.

"I don't know how they do it. Your forensic sorcerers can figure that out. But it has to be the cruelest sorcery ever. They started out using dead people. Resurrection men have been around for ages, keeping a low profile, stealing corpses to sell to sorcerers for their research. The bodies could be patched together to use as . . . We don't know what they used them for, back when. Maybe illegal stuff that a live villain couldn't survive. We may turn up answers to a lot of old questions before we're done."

"What changed?" Relway asked.

"Several things. The most important was, the cost of staying young kept going up. The longer they lived, the harder it got to stay beautiful. Gilded latten."

"What does that mean?" Relway demanded.

"Remember Belle Chimes? The Bellman? No? Doesn't matter. He apprenticed in a jewelry shop. He told me about an alloy called latten. It has four or five metals in it. There is no fixed formula. The main ingredient is zinc. The point is, latten makes a perfect base for cheap jewelry, candlesticks, and whatnot, that look like something rich. The gold in one sovereign can coat more than a hundred pieces of latten jewelry--every one as pretty as a piece crafted from solid noble metal."

"Gilded latten?"

"In this case, gilded latten bones."

Block and Relway both scowled at me.

I said, "Their real troubles started when they took on clients outside the family."

They rewarded me with a nice little stir.

I thought I understood the Dead Man a little better.

"Demand for bodies outstripped supply even after they made a deal with the Works Department for its dead."

"You think they started buying them still on the hoof?"

"I do. Live bodies should have a lot more of whatever it was they were taking." I looked to Strafa. She offered an uncertain nod. It was not her area of expertise. "They probably only took the dying to start. But they got hungry. And maybe greedy."

Strafa said, "Note that the undead have always favored live victims."

The Director made a weird noise. "We can invoke the Undead Protection Acts! The King himself can't overrule those because the King could be a vampire covering his own ass." The ugly little man stamped around chuckling and rubbing his hands together.

Block said, "You're scaring the mundanes, Deal."

"Maybe. Maybe. But that has got to be our angle. Once we proclaim the invocation on the steps of the Chancellery, everything stops till the King proves he's not undead."

I said, "I think that might be something like what's really true."

"He's a vampire?" Relway asked.

"No. He's a horndog fool who charged in with eyes wide shut. Anybody who's seen the women in black has to know they can get anything they want from most any man alive. One broke the heart of a nancy tailor when she was getting fitted."

"You saying there's more than one?"

"Has to be. One was wounded at Fire and Ice. She couldn't possibly have healed up in time to come at us here." But if she had quick access to the life-magic she used to stay young . . .

Singe reminded me, "That one is holed up in the Knodical with Prince Rupert and the King."

Morley asked, "You think they were taking turns being the old woman and the young woman?"

"Something like that." I hadn't thought it out that far.

"Where does the King fit?"

"I think he saw and decided he wanted. They might have set him up. They could do themselves a lot of good if they controlled the head of state."

Morley didn't say anything but I could practically hear him wondering how he had gotten involved.

I said, "The Little Dismal notion came up before. You said you'd look at it. What happened?"

Block said, "Arrests have been made. More will follow after the bean counters go through the records. Specials have taken charge. The wicked won't tap that pool again."

"Excellent. Then all we have to do is to go down to their place of business and root them out."

"Their place of business?"

"That abandoned warehouse on the Landing."

"Which abandoned warehouse?"

"The one I sent John Stretch to tell you about the other day."

Relway growled, "You sent a ratman with a message?"

Said ratman was in the room and he was not happy. "The message was delivered to the Al-Khar, at the door. The duty constable assured me that it would be passed along. She and the guards there would not let me deliver the message in person."

Block told a scowling Relway, "We just found our volunteers for the Bustee patrols."

Relway said, "It's time to go into action."

Before anyone could suggest a better or more cautious course those two were clambering past the crippled front door.

I was aggravated. There were matters in need of discussion and resolution.

Even my new sweetie took off, claiming a need for face time with colleagues on the Hill.

That angle of our thing scared the crap out of me. I could relate to Furious Tide of Light, no problem. But hobnob with her class? I didn't think I had it in me.

102

The ladies from Fire and Ice stopped by. Jon Salvation floated in their wake. Crush bubbled. "It was so exciting, Mr. Garrett!" Mike sneered over her shoulder, silently pointing a fat red arrow at that "Mister."

Salvation declared, "This child can sing!" Both a statement and an expression of wonder.

I said, "You should write a play with lots of singing."

"And dancing," DeeDee said. "I'm a good dancer, Jon."

Salvation shuddered. He looked like he might melt.

Mike continued to be amused. DeeDee's dancing probably involved a progressive movement toward her birthday suit.

I told Salvation, "I had an idea the other day you might think about. Suppose you send your understudies out to put your plays on in other towns and cities? You could keep them going for years."

He stared at me for a while, then said, "I think Tinnie is going to work out. She's really dedicated. It's like she's trying to lose herself in something." He glanced at Strafa, just downstairs after returning from the Hill. She shook her head at me.

She looked the girls over, never down her nose, which left me that much bigger a fan. She had no problem being around the kinds of people who can be found around me. I had to make an effort to get along with the kinds of people to be found around her.

This was going to be an unusual relationship.

Strafa asked Mike, "You ready to go to my house?"

Mike nodded. "Mr. Salvation. Are you sure it's all right for us to take the coach?"

"No problem. I'm used to walking. And I need to talk to Garrett."

Yet another of Mike's secretive smiles.

She figured Salvation was taken with one of her charges.

She asked Strafa, "Can we stop along the way? None of us have anything but what we left the house wearing."

"Of course."

DeeDee and Crush were not in their work clothes but DeeDee's taste tended toward flashy trash.

"Before we go," Mike said. And dragged me back to the kitchen. Dean and Dollar Dan scrunched up and let us in, Dean automatically beginning to rattle teacups. He had gotten the window fixed already.

Mike pressed up against me tight. I said, "I'm flattered but . . ."

"You ought to be. That Salvation."

"What about him?"

"Is he really as naive as he seems?"

"Oh, yeah. More so. He's good at faking being cool."

"So he doesn't know about us?"

I understood. "Actually, he does. He thinks it's all kind of romantic."

She shook her head. She sneered a little. Part of me was proving not to be loyal to any one woman. "You're alive after all." She relented, stepped back. I was not as flustered as she had hoped. She asked, "What's his interest? Guys his age, it's usually Crush. But he treats her like he doesn't know she's a girl."

"He knows. I guarantee. But he doesn't want her to think that's what's on his mind. If he's interested in anybody that way, I figure it's you." Which I said for the hell of it.

"Which is why his drool is all over DeeDee's shoulders, I suppose."

"He's shy. He doesn't know how to interact with a refined lady."

"Wiseass."

"He's good people, Mike. Don't mess him up."

"We never mess first. It's one of my rules." She turned to the door but had a wicked thought. "But I'll let me break it just this once."

She stepped back against me, wiggled a little. "You and the Windwalker split up, stop by." Chuckling, she winked at Dean, pushed off, and left the kitchen.

Dean said, "You don't want her, I'll take her."

"You old villain." I took half a minute to catch my breath and let the swelling subside, then headed up the hall to make my farewells.

103

Morley told me, "I have to be in on this. I won't contribute, but . . . It will be historic."

This was next day. Mr. Mulclar had finished fixing the door but it remained open in honor of the man's special faculty. He has a digestive disorder. It doesn't improve if he eats gravel. His leave-behind here suggested a diet exclusively of fermented beans and thousand-day eggs.

Over the past twenty-plus hours the principals dealt with personal issues, political issues, squabbled over turf, and behaved like a pack of four-year-olds. The Director and General Block got heads together with some senior military people and talked them into staying out of the way unless there were disorders the Civil Guard could not manage.

The people inside the Knodical remained stubborn. Strafa's peers on the Hill made excuses for doing nothing, though they did agree to deal with any villains who came their way.

I was convinced that a witch hunt was a sure thing, but the peace held.

Block and Relway had every man helping keep the lid on.

Belinda was in the woodwork somewhere, licking her wounds, sulking, scheming bloody retribution--and helping keep the peace.

She had all her troops called up, too.

The battle at Fire and Ice had gone her way. Some good guys had survived. Everyone from the sporting house escaped. Belinda owed her own continued existence to the superhuman efforts of Joel, who had proven his love.

Joel was alive but not expected to stay that way.

I suffered mild episodes of grogginess and was unsure of the boundary between reality and fantasy. Still, I boarded a coach hired by the Guard and rode it down to the Landing. The Landing is called that because some old-time explorer first set foot in the city there. The city already existed, but was savage, pagan, and uncivilized. Its people neither spoke the explorer's language nor worshipped his god.

The neighborhood swarmed with Civil Guards and Outfit soldiers.

I told Singe, "I don't think this is the smart thing to do."

"Then call it off."

"You're kidding. You think I'm in charge? Besides, it's too late."

"You could stop this cold by presenting a reasoned argument for holding off till better evidence is collected."

Me deliver a solid argument for restraint? Hopeless. Besides, a lot of people wanted to make something happen. It didn't have to be a good something so long as some fur flew.

Singe stayed close, on my left. So did Strafa, to my right. She snuggled up close enough to make me regret having left the house.Then she gave herself some space and became the Windwalker, Furious Tide of Light. The change was impressive.

General Block, Director Relway, and Belinda Contague all were in sight. Morley was close by, surrounded by his old crew. John Stretch had brought a dozen of his hardest men, three of who screened Singe and me. The rest were out sniffing, which was unnecessary. The air was still and heavy. I could smell it myself.

The Windwalker drifted upward. Singe and I caught up with General Block. He said, "The guards have done a runner."

"Think the villains have cleared out, too?"

Morley squeaked something from a few yards away. "What's up?" I asked Sarge.

"He's remembering something."

"The smell," Dotes said. "And that place straight ahead. Made with the odd color bricks. That was the place."

The bricks in question were gray. Most bricks used in TunFaire are some shade of red.

The scouts agreed. The gray brick building was the place. The smell increased as we got closer. There was a taint of death in it overridden by the stenches of urine and feces.

The Guards, Outfit thugs, and the rest collapsed inward till we established a cordon round three and a half sides. The rest of one side faced the river and consisted of a pair of concrete-walled, silted channels where once upon a time army barges had been loaded from the warehouse. Someone had begun making an effort to clear the silt.

I said, "That's what you do with your thread men when you aren't using them to set fire to people's houses."

"There," Morley said, indicating a small, broken, wooden door that opened on the divider between channels. A wooden ladder in a dangerous state of disrepair clung to the side of the warehouse nearby, leading to the roof. "That's where I got out."

Singe asked, "You climbed that ladder?"

"I did. All the way. In the rain. I stayed on the roof for a day and a half. I should have stayed longer. They heard me coming back down because I said something too loud when I slipped. I got a head start but it didn't do me any good."

Directing Guards by gesture, General Block asked, "And how did you get in there in the first place?"

Relway announced, "We're set at all the entrances. Say when."

"When."

Morley said, "I don't remember that part yet."

I asked, "How are you doing now? You able to keep going?"

"I'll have Puddle piggyback me when I can't manage anymore."

Puddle expressed his opinion about that rather pithily.

Civil Guards broke down doors. Outfit bone breakers rushed inside. Somebody yelled something about idiots not forgetting the godsdamned colored lanterns so friends wouldn't bust the skulls of friends in the dark.

I looked up.

Strafa was way up there, watching the whole neighborhood. Her clothes faded into the background overcast. She was hard to spot.

Singe gagged.

"What?"

"They opened something in there. I have to move back. It's too much." She headed toward the coaches. Most of the ratmen were doing the same. John Stretch went a few seconds after Singe. "It's too foul."

Too foul for a rat?

I smelled it. It was everything that had been there before, but a hundred times worse.

Guards stumbled out of the nearest doorway, desperate for clean air. One headed toward Block. He had thrown up on himself.

Block asked, "Is it really that bad?"

"Worse than you can imagine, sir. Way worse." He threw up again.

I said, "I suggest we don't send anybody in that we don't have to."

Morley, using a stick for a cane, asked, "Remember the smell when we raided that vampire nest?"

"Yeah. This may be worse."

Ten minutes later a pair of red tops emerged with a limp figure between them. The man screamed when they brought him into the light.

"More stuff like that nest," Morley said.

There wasn't much light for those of us used to the surface world. The overcast was growing heavier. It would rain again soon.

The Windwalker plunged like a striking hawk. A bolt of actinic light preceded her.

104

I started to yell at Block. That wasn't necessary. He grabbed able bodies and headed out. I told Morley, "I'll be right back."

"Take your time. I'll be here."

Strike point for the Windwalker's bolt was two blocks away. I was winded when I joined the circle. The Windwalker remained upright, right foot planted on the throat of the woman in black. The latter wore a silver wig and was at her absolute peak of perfection, fully recovered from my brutality. She was singed and had a bad case of the shakes.

The Windwalker growled, "Can't any of you stop staring at her tits long enough to do something useful?"

I have mentioned how good the woman looked going away. With her top torn open the full frontal view was even more striking.

I rolled her over. That helped. The red tops bound her hands behind her and hobbled her. Relway took her wig. That helped some more.

The Windwalker said, "Stuff her into a gunnysack if that's what it takes." She stepped close to me, shut down the Windwalker some and hit me with a minor dose of her own magic. "You did good. I'm proud of you. You might find a little something special in your bed tonight."

A big racket broke out back whence we had come. The Windwalker reestablished herself. She floated upward. "Yeah! I am so ready for this." She shot that direction, did a loop and plunged. I charged after her, huffing and puffing. She swooped and darted like a smaller bird harassing a raider raven.

Something below her screamed and screamed.

Morley's mention of the vampire nest reminded me that I had heard that kind of scream before. It was rooted in the agony of knowing that immortality had been betrayed.

Tentacles whipped at the Windwalker. She dodged them easily.

Coming into the last hundred fifty feet of my run I saw that the monster had only two tentacles free to fend off an aerial attacker. The rest all had hold of people, the most notable of who was Morley. Several men threw things ineffectively. Nobody had come prepared to deal with this. But it could not flee while in squid form.

I was fifty feet away, lungs afire, wishing I'd had the stones to bring something lethal to the fight. The Windwalker made a quick run.

She pelted the beast with precisely delivered handfuls of rock salt.

It stopped trying to fight. It began to shudder, to shake. It turned loose of Morley and the others. I got in close, grabbed Sarge's arms, and started dragging. Other guys got hold of other victims, some of who had gotten thoroughly squeezed.

The Windwalker dropped down beside me. She turned into Strafa Algarda again. She was not breathing as hard as I was. "I ran out of salt!" She was exasperated.

"But you had enough."

She slipped her right hand into my left hand and pulled me forward.

The monster ripped through one final, violent, screaming convulsion, followed by a bizarre, noisy death rattle. It relaxed into the Nathan of the Bird's portrait, only looking as he might have at twenty, improved by a vast suite of cosmetic enhancements.

This was the male equivalent of the sweet thing in black leather--except for proportional wounds where its alternate form had been showered with salt.

Block caught up. He clamped his right hand on my left shoulder, facing me, while he fought for wind. "We got 'em. Finally."

"Not all of them. Not yet."

Morley stumbled over and hung on to Block. He could not take his eyes off our prisoner. "I remember most of it." He pointed at Nathan, who was getting the hog-tie treatment despite his poor health. "Him. He was the one who locked me up down there. I think because I saw them bringing prisoners off a barge over there." At which point he became completely confused.

I asked the question that was troubling him. "What were you doing here in the middle of the night?"

"I don't remember." But he did before he finished saying that. And it was something he dared not discuss with Westman Block close by.

This near the river, after dark, meant smuggling. In Morley's case, undoubtedly to avoid import duties. He donned a broad, weak grin.

Block said, "We won this round." His men had Nathan cocooned in rope in case he decided to come back to life. "But we still have work to do."

105

They picked me to step up to the Knodical door and ask for Prince Rupert. Strafa went along. The door opened. We went inside.

Other than the servants who admitted us there were no visible staff. The place was halfway a ruin. Maintenance had been neglected for years.

I went in all worked up to protect my best girl. A few minutes later I was thinking more rationally. I understood who would be protecting whom.

The servants led us to Prince Rupert. He was the absolute antithesis of happy. My message was brief. "The people outside want you to see something before this situation gets any uglier."

He had no choice. We had seen the inside of the Knodical. We would take that information back with us. And go we would because the Windwalker would make it happen.

"What?"

"You need to see it with a virgin mind."

Strafa said, "You have no choice, Rupert. See what you must see. Then we'll put this trial to bed."

He asked, "Is it still raining?"

Prince Rupert shared our coach. We reached the Landing. General Block had the army setting up a field hospital. Morley, Belinda, and Deal Relway were still on site and getting underfoot. The ratpeople were all gone. Nobody offered the Crown Prince a welcoming smile.

Rupert was fresh out of smiles himself. Life was a nightmare that was sure to get worse.

The rain picked up.

As we approached it three valiant red tops emerged from the nearest door with a liberated prisoner. The man was just barely alive. One of the Guards said, "This is the last live one, General. There's still a dozen corpses."

"Leave them. Your Highness, do you smell that?"

"I do." Making no pretence to misunderstand.

"It's worse inside. I won't force you to experience it. I don't want to give you any more reason to hate me. This was their headquarters. This was where they made themselves young. One level down is another laboratory like the one on the edge of Elf Town, a tailor shop, and a woodshop. Below that are the cellars where they kept their human resources."

Relway joined us. "I told Berry to break through the back wall so we can flood the cellars."

"That should help. Windwalker, Mr. Garrett, His Highness grasps the true enormity of the situation. You may return him to the Knodical."

I wasn't part of the in-group here. I was day labor. "Yes, sir."

Block and Relway eyed me with immense suspicion.

Block said, "Day after tomorrow we'll open this to the public."

Rupert said, "You don't want to do that."

"You're right. I don't. But I will. I remind you, it was Crown Prince Rupert who proclaimed a new Civil Guard and an era when no one would be above the law."

Rupert had nothing more to say. We returned him to the Knodical, at which point we had to give up the coach. The Windwalker flew us back to my house. In a downpour.

Though it was not yet late everyone but Penny had gone to bed. Penny helped slap together a half-assed supper. There were loose ends to the day but I didn't care. All I wanted was a full belly and a warm bed.

Strafa was more exhausted than I was. She had put in a heavy, hard day. I carried her upstairs. We collapsed on top of the covers in our wet clothes. Singe and Dean would raise hell in the morning.

106

I woke a couple of times, used the pot, shed some of the miserable wet clothing, went back to sleep. Hunger brought me out after fourteen hours.

Strafa remained dead to the world. She hadn't moved since I laid her down.

The night did tell me one more thing about her. She snored like a longshoreman when she was exhausted.

Dean fed me an indifferent meal. He was distracted. He foresaw a crowd gathering. I told him, "If you don't open the door you won't have to entertain them."

"No doubt true. However, I lack your facility for pragmatic rudeness." Muttering, he headed out to answer a knock.

He was back in a minute with Playmate. I said, "That wasn't so bad. Put him to work. How goes, Play?"

"Screaming fine. But I do need to find Kolda. I'm almost out of medicine."

"We'll hunt him down as soon as . . ." Done eating, I was moving into the hallway. Penny was at the peephole. She looked rather nice.

I am still alive. I do notice things.

Penny opened up. John Stretch and Dollar Dan trundled in. Singe was right behind. She had the boys doing porter work. She had looted a stationery shop.

"What the hell?"

"I was out of paper and low on ink. What did the Dead Man say?"

"How much paper do you . . . ? He didn't say anything. He tends not to talk in his sleep."

"He woke up hours ago, Garrett. Definitely dragging, for him, though. What did you do?" Suddenly suspicious.

"I didn't do anything. I just got up. Why do you need so much paper?"

"I'm recording the family history."

Garrett. Please join me.

He was back. That was the difference I'd felt. The place just fits different when he's awake. Though Singe had it right. This was just barely.

I stepped into his room. A handful of candles burned there. The cold was a shock. The light was for Penny. She had a painting going.

Saucerhead had arrived at some point. He sprawled in a corner, snoring.

I told Penny, "That's really good. You even got Sarge's wart."

The kid flinched but beamed. She was doing a collage of faces, working from memory. I had no trouble recognizing anyone.

You managed without me.

I sensed both pride and disappointment. "I worried every minute of it, too."

A virtual sneer. So I see. Nor have you fully worked out your woman issues yet.

"That's a little harder. I want to do the right thing."

Really? Or might it be that you do not want people seeing you as the bad guy when the crying starts?

"There is that."

It is safe for Mr. Dotes to go when he wishes. The threat no longer exists. The Royals gave up the last villain. Fear of the mob moved them. The King, when glimpsed by General Block, appeared to be a scant sixteen. The antiaging process must be highly unpredictable. Though he has been aging since before you and Mr. Dotes became involved, he remains a decade younger than was his target.

It is probable, by the way, that Mr. Dotes was taken originally not because he saw prisoners being shifted but because he might have seen the King's coach. I found a glimpse, never noticed or recognized, in a backwater of what he has been able to recall of that night.

"Dramatic age shifts? Could that explain the child's room in the Elf Town warehouse? Did one of the female villains get pushed back all the way to childhood?"

A plausible theory. I expect that the wild unpredictability began when they started using live bodies. The dead would be at a near ground state and much alike but the living would sprawl across a vast range.

That sounded good but didn't make much sense. I stopped listening. Nor did I harken to Dean and Singe squabbling about the work involved in throwing a victory party. Strafa had come into the Dead Man's room. She had cleaned up and dressed herself fit to kill. She didn't have to turn on the girl power.

So. I believe that issue has been worked out, too.

Maybe. A choice had been made. Questions remained. And I still had to summon the guts to face Tinnie and tell her there was nothing more she could do. I had to say good-bye.

I didn't want to see that being brave, sad, resigned look. But I couldn't disrespect her and what we had been to one another by just turning my back.

I wished there was a way we could stay friends. But that wouldn't work any better for us than it had for Kevans, Kip, and Kyra.

Old Bones settled back virtually and included the entire household in the warm glow of his approval.

He had gotten his boy all growed up.

Even Penny gave up a grudging smile.

About the Author

Glen Cook was born in 1944 in New York City. He has served in the United States Navy, and lived in Columbus, Indiana; Rocklin, California; and Columbia, Missouri, where he went to the state university. He attended the Clarion Writers Workshop in 1970, where he met his wife, Carol. "Unlike most writers, I have not had strange jobs like chicken plucking and swamping out health bars. Only full-time employer I've ever had is General Motors." He is now retired from GM. He's "still a stamp collector and book collector, but mostly, these days, I hang around the house and write." He has three sons--an Army officer, an architect, and a music major.

In addition to the Garrett, P.I., series, he is also the author of the popular Black Company series.