Durge found himself grinning as he rode, although the expression felt oddly tight, as if the muscles of his face had all but forgotten how to work this way. Then an image flashed in his mind, and it wasn't of a big warhorse. It was of a regal young woman with dark hair and sapphire blue eyes.

Durge's grin shattered like glass.

You are a fool, old man. You are a doddering fool if you hope one so young and fresh can love you.

Yet he did hope, didn't he? Much as he wished he could deny it, the old Mournish woman who had read his fate was right. He loved Lady Aryn, foolish as it was, and he could sooner stop autumn from turning to winter than stop himself from feeling such tenderness for her.

Then maybe it is better if you do not return to Eldh.

And even though he knew that was a lie, he held on to that idea, letting it armor his heart. Because never seeing his home or his horse again was better than seeing the horror in her blue eyes when she discovered the truth of what he felt for her.

It was early afternoon by the time Durge rode back into Castle City. Elk Street bustled with people and animals like the bailey of a great castle, but for all its activity there was a pall that hung over the town like smoke. By now everyone in town knew of Lord Barrett's beating. And while few seemed to care for the Englishman, many feared who this so-called Crusade for Purity might see fit to punish next.

Durge returned the horse to the livery, then walked to the sheriff's office. He entered to find the front room empty; neither Sir Tanner nor young Deputy Wilson sat behind the desk. Perhaps one of them was in the jail?

As Durge started toward the back, a glint of light caught his eyes. He knelt. On the floor next to the desk lay a small glass bottle. It was empty, save for a few drops of some dark residue at the bottom. Durge picked up the bottle, then moved to the door to the jail and peered through the bars.

In one of the cells, on a wooden cot overlain with Maudie's feather bed, lay Sareth. The Mournish man seemed to sleep more each passing day. Durge was no healer, not like his noble mistress Lady Grace, but he knew Sareth's sickness was growing worse. If he stayed in jail much longer, Durge feared he might die.

Then again, if Sareth left the jail, his death was all but certain. The vigilance committee would hang Sareth by the neck the moment he was freed. Nor would any of Castle City's folk stop them. Many of the town's people had come to Sir Tanner these last days, asking him to release Sareth. Folk whispered that it was because Sir Tanner kept Sareth locked up that the Crusade had made its presence known by harming Lord Barrett. They believed things would only get worse until the Crusade lynched Sareth for the murder of Calvin Murray. Durge knew they were right on one count: Things were indeed going to get worse.

Other than Sareth, the jail was empty. There were no lawbreakers to imprison these days-no thieves, no swindlers, no drifters. The Crusade had run them all out of town. Or, Durge supposed, had shot them and pushed their bodies into ravines or off cliffs, even if their crimes were as simple as public drunkenness or petty theft. Durge believed men should be punished for their crimes. However, the Crusade for Purity seemed to offer but one penalty for any transgression, no matter how slight-or how imaginary.

Where was Sir Tanner? Surely the sheriff would not leave Sareth alone. Then Durge heard a faint sound: the clink of glass against metal. It had come from the shed tacked onto the side of the jail, where coal for the stove would be kept if it were winter. Durge moved to the narrow door; it was open a crack, and he peered through.

Sir Tanner stood in the shed, his back mostly to Durge. He bent forward, his narrow shoulders hunched as if in pain. Durge could just see two objects in his hands: a tin cup and a small glass bottle like the one Durge had found on the floor, only this one was full of the dark fluid. Tanner was trying to pour some of the liquid into the cup, but his right hand shook violently, and the bottle rattled against the rim. At last he managed to hold the bottle steady, and he poured several drops into the cup. Tanner lifted the cup, draining it. He stood perfectly still for a moment, then-his hands finally steady-he stoppered the bottle.

Durge knew he had just seen something he shouldn't. He slipped the empty bottle into his pocket and stole quietly to the front door of the office. Duplicity ran counter to his nature, but all the same he opened the front door, then shut it again loudly. He walked toward the desk, making certain his boots stamped on the floor.

Tanner stepped from the side door. "Hello, Mr. Dirk," the sheriff said in his calm drawl. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon from the Dominguez place."

"I believe I saw all there was to see," Durge said, and he described the three mauled lambs the rancher had shown him.

Tanner's eyes were sharp as he listened, although his face bore the shadow of weariness that was always present. It seemed he had grown thinner these last days; his suit hung on him as upon a tailor's rack.

You should talk to Lady Lirith about it later, Durge told himself. If there is something wrong with Sir Tanner, no doubt she will have seen it.

The afternoon was long and troubling.

Not long after Durge returned to the jail, Deputy Wilson arrived, his round cheeks flushed from running. There was some sort of commotion over on Aspen Street.

Leaving Wilson at the jail, Durge and Tanner jogged several blocks. They saw the crowd first, then pushed their way through to find a disconcerting sight. One of the storefronts that lined the street was completely gone. Only the rear of the building remained; broken planks and shards of glass littered the ground. Smoke drifted on the air, and Durge caught a sharp tinge of sulfur that reminded him of his alchemical experiments.

After questioning people in the crowd, Durge and Tanner managed to piece together what had happened. The building housed a gambling establishment run by a family from the Dominion of China, offering a game of chance called paigow. The building had been torn apart by an explosion-no doubt worked with the same volatile black powder that was used to make fireworks and break apart rocks in the mines.

Astonishingly, no one had been seriously injured in the blast. A few people passing on the street had suffered scratches from flying glass, but none of the members of the family that ran the establishment had been inside. Durge spoke to the head of the household, a tiny old man with a long white braid and eyes that were all but lost amid wrinkled skin.

According to the old man, a pair of men wearing black masks had entered the gambling parlor, which was closed at the time, brandishing guns. One of the men had forced the frightened family out back. After a few minutes, the second man had come running out, and the two strangers rode away, laughing and discharging their pistols into the air. Before the family could enter the building again, the explosion had ripped it apart.

"My daughter found this just before the men came," the old man said, handing a paper to Durge. "It was nailed to the door, but I cannot read it."

Durge looked at the paper. It read simply: Thou shalt not steal. So it was another one of their commandments. But had not the Crusade just stolen everything from this family? It seemed the crusaders wished only for others to follow these commandments; they felt no need to follow the rules themselves.

"What does it say?" the old man said.

Durge crumpled up the paper. "It says these were evil men who did this."

The old man nodded, eyes sad, and returned to his family. Tanner gave Durge a curious look as they headed back to the jail. "I didn't know you spoke Chinese, Mr. Dirk."

Startled, Durge realized the old man must have been speaking in a different tongue than the one spoken here. However, with the fragment of the silver coin in his pocket, it seemed to Durge that everyone spoke the tongue of the Dominions, even though he knew they weren't.

Unsure what to say, Durge settled for saying nothing. Once at the jail, Tanner sent Deputy Wilson off on a number of errands, making sure the Chinese family had a place to stay, and arranging for workmen to clean up the debris left by the explosion. Durge wondered what Tanner intended to do. Surely the sheriff could work against this Crusade now that they had acted in such an open manner. However, Tanner said nothing, except to tell Durge to go home.

"I believe I would like to keep watch at the jail tonight," Durge replied, eyeing Tanner's weary face. "You can relieve me in the morning."

"What about your supper, Mr. Dirk? And sleep?"

"Mrs. Vickery always makes food enough for two." That wasn't entirely true, but Durge knew Sareth would eat little. "And I feel I have no sleep in me tonight."

Tanner looked like he wanted to protest, then he sighed, and it seemed weariness won out. "All right, Mr. Dirk. I'll stop by the Bluebell on my way home and let Maudie know not to expect you. She'll fret otherwise."

Just as the shadow of Castle Peak fell across the town, Mrs. Vickery's husband brought a tray to the door. (After the bottle was thrown at Durge, Tanner had begun paying Mrs. Vickery extra to have meals delivered.) Durge took it back into the jailhouse, woke Sareth up, and uncovered the tray.

As usual, it was beef and potatoes-the former every bit as overdone as the latter were undercooked. Durge dragged a bench forward so they could sit close and share food, and it might have been like a meal at the boardinghouse save for the bars between them. Sareth picked at one of the potatoes but ate none of the beef. Durge ate what Sareth did not-although his jaw ached by the time he finished chewing the beef-then rose to take away the tray.

"I'm not going to make it, am I, Durge?" Sareth said.

Durge stopped in the doorway, turning around. Sareth sat on the edge of the cot, hands clasped. His face was lost in shadow, although Durge could see the glint of his coppery eyes.

"Lady Lirith is a capable healer," Durge said. "I am certain you will not perish under her care."

Durge had meant the words to comfort. However, Sareth winced as if he had been stung.

"That's not what I meant." The Mournish man's voice was low and hoarse. "They're going to come for me soon. Gentry and Ellis and their gang. Promise me you won't let yourself get hurt trying to protect me. Lirith needs you, and so does Travis." Sareth stood, gripping the bars of the cell. "Don't fight for my sake. Promise me."

Durge's voice was stern. "I will promise you no such thing. I am a knight and lord of Embarr. It is not your place to say how I shall employ my sword."

Without further words, Durge left the jail, locking the door behind him.

The horned moon rose outside the window. Midnight came and went like a ghost. Durge sat at the desk, back rigid, eyes forward. It was no burden for him to keep watch all night; he had done it countless times over the years. Sometimes younger knights would ask him what his trick was, how he stayed awake as the hours passed. It was simple, Durge told them. The will to do one's duty had to be stronger than the desire to sleep. Durge's will always was.

Or always had been.

There came the crystalline sound of shattering glass. Durge snapped his head up, and only as he did this did he realize it had been resting against the desk.

You are getting old, Durge of Stonebreak. Old and feeble. It is time to spend your years wrapped in a blanket by the fire, drinking soup from a wooden bowl held in trembling hands. If you don't get killed first.

Despite his lapse, he was up and moving before the shards of glass finished tinkling to the floor. He made out the scene in the lamplight. One of the panes of glass in the front windows was broken. Lying on the floor was the stone that had done the deed, and tied to the stone was a small piece of paper.

Durge moved to the window and peered outside, but the street was deserted. He bent, knees creaking, and retrieved the stone. The message on the paper was printed in a neat hand: Release the gypsy or prepare for all Hell to break loose.

Durge set the paper on the desk, then opened the front door and stepped outside. He knew he would be silhouetted against the light inside, making him an easy target. However, he also knew he would not be harmed. Not tonight. They wanted to send a message, that was all.

The sound of far-off laughter and the tinny music of a piano floated on the air. And there was something else. A low whuffling sound. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Durge caught motion. He turned his head in time to see a shadow dart toward the mouth of an alley. At first he thought it was some kind of large animal, for it seemed to run on all fours. Only then the shadow rose onto hind legs, moving with a loping cadence, and he realized that the figure was a man's.

Or mostly that of a man.

Just before the shadow reached the mouth of the alley, it passed through a stray square of light that fell from a secondfloor window. The man wore ragged, filthy clothes, and his feet were bare. Encircling his left wrist was a bloody line, and below the wound, instead of a hand, his arm ended in a large paw, its curved talons extended.

Durge let out a low oath. The figure turned its head, and for a heartbeat Durge glimpsed its face. Green eyes gazed at him beneath a shock of red hair, but where a human mouth should have been, instead there jutted a long snout filled with sharp teeth. Black lips pulled back in a rictus. Then the thing moved out of the light, vanishing into the alley.

Durge staggered back, his blood cold water in his veins. Only it wasn't because of the figure's claws and teeth that he gripped the rail of the boardwalk for support. It was because, despite the horrible deformities, he had recognized the man behind the face of a wolf.

And that man was Calvin Murray.

Travis lay in bed, letting the sunlight that fell through the attic window warm his face. As long as he stayed there, as long as he kept his eyes shut, he could pretend he was still dreaming.

It had been a wonderful dream. In it, Jack Graystone had finally come to town, gray-haired and professorial just as Travis remembered him. Travis had shaken Jack's hand, and with a sound like the crackle of lightning, all the power in Travis had coursed out of him, streaming back into Jack. When Travis lifted his right hand, there was no trace of the silvery rune embedded in his palm. He was just Travis again. Harmless.

The bedsprings squeaked, and Travis felt a weight on his chest. He opened his eyes and found himself gazing at a delicate, feline face.

"I suppose you're trying to tell me that it's time to stop dreaming and wake up?"

Miss Guenivere only licked a paw. Travis sighed and sat up. He cradled the little cat against his chest and rolled out of bed, then set her back down in the square of sunlight. She curled up next to his pillow and promptly went to sleep.

"So that was your plan all along, you charlatan."

Travis dressed in his daytime clothes-denim jeans and a calico shirt-and splashed some of last night's wash water from the basin on his face. As he moved to the door, he noticed that Durge's bed was still neatly made; the Embarran hadn't come back to the Bluebell last night. Travis swallowed the lump of worry in his throat and headed downstairs.

He was too late for breakfast. The miners who stayed at the Bluebell had all headed off to the silver fields. He could hear Maudie humming in the kitchen as she washed dishes, and Lirith was just folding up the tablecloth. To Travis's relief, Durge sat at the table, hands gripping a cup of coffee.

"Good morning," Travis said.

Durge looked up. The knight's face was haggard and careworn. Travis's relief evaporated. He glanced at Lirith; the witch wore a tight-lipped expression.

"What's happened?" he said.

"You'd better sit down," Durge said in his somber voice.

Travis did so. He listened as Durge told what had happened at the sheriff's office last night. A wave of sickness crashed through him, so strong he feared he would vomit, and he was glad he had been too late to get anything to eat.

"You're sure it was really Calvin Murray?" Travis said when the knight finished. He didn't doubt Durge's words; they were just so hard to comprehend.

"It was." Travis had seldom seen the knight shaken, but there was a haunted look on his face as he spoke. "I recognized him despite...what had been done to him."

Travis shook his head. "But Calvin Murray died at the Mine Shaft. You checked, Lirith. You said he was dead."

"He was," the witch said. "And I would warrant, despite what Durge saw, that he still is."

Travis shuddered. How could a dead man throw a rock through a window? Better yet, how could that dead man have the paw of a mountain lion and the jaws of a wolf? One thing was certain at least: Now they knew what-or who-had been mauling livestock around town.

The kitchen door swung open, and Maudie came through, leaning on her cane, spurs jingling. "There you are, you layabout," she said to Travis. "I saved back a couple of biscuits for you. I'll bring them out with some gooseberry jam. Was it a long night at the saloon?"

Travis nodded, even though it hadn't been. The Mine Shaft had been nearly deserted. After what had happened at the paigow parlor on Aspen Street, folk seemed reluctant to visit any business establishment. Travis couldn't blame them. There was no telling who the Crusade's next target would be.

Maudie brought the biscuits and jam, then returned to the kitchen. Through the door, they heard a long fit of coughing.

Travis asked Durge more questions about what he had seen the night before, but there was nothing that explained what had been done to Calvin Murray. Or how. The only thing they did know was that, in death, young Mr. Murray was still working for the vigilance committee.

"Can I see the message that was on the rock?" Travis said.

Durge pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and handed it to Travis. Travis smoothed it out on the table and sorted the letters out. Release the gypsy or prepare for all Hell to break loose.

"My lady," Durge said to Lirith, "there was something I wished to show you, but after what happened last night it escaped my mind until just now."

Along with the piece of paper, the knight had drawn a small glass bottle out of his pocket. He handed it to Lirith.

"What is it?" the witch said.

"I'm not certain. Some kind of medicine, I think. There is a drop or two left at the bottom. I thought you might be able to tell me what it was."

Lirith unstopped the bottle and held it beneath her nose. She ran her finger around the mouth of the bottle, then touched it to the tip of her tongue. Her eyebrows rose.

"This is a powerful and dangerous potion," Lirith said, setting the bottle on the table. "A small amount can dull pain and bring pleasant dreams. Too much can bring dark visions, or even death. And the more one takes of this drug, the more one's body will crave it."

"What is it?" Travis said.

"It's a tincture of poppy."

Durge's brow furrowed. "Tincture of poppy?"

"Laudanum," said Maudie from the kitchen doorway. "You mean laudanum."

They looked up as Maudie stepped into the dining room. Next to her was Sheriff Tanner, his expression thoughtful behind his handlebar mustache.

"That's a devil's brew," Maudie said, her voice hard. "It did in too many of my girls. A customer would give them their first drop, and once they had a taste for it they couldn't stop. At least not until they set aside the camellia for the lily and were laid in the cold ground. Where did you get it?"

Tanner stepped forward and picked up the bottle. "I believe Mr. Dirk found it in my office."

The others stared at Tanner, all except Lirith, who nodded. She rose and moved to the sheriff, her dark eyes intent.

"How long have you been taking it?" the witch said.

Tanner stared past them at the wall. Then his watery blue eyes focused on Lirith, and he sighed.

"Five years. I've been taking laudanum for five years now, Miss Lily. Every day I wake up and tell myself I'm going to stop. Sometimes I even try. But by noon I'm wet and shaking like a newborn foal, and it feels like there's blasting going on in my head, digging a mine deep into my brain. And then it's all I can do to get the cork out."

All of them stared at the sheriff. He sat at the table, placing the bottle before him. Lirith hesitated, then rested a hand on his shoulder.