I asked, "Is your buddy's ident.i.ty a secret?"

"He's the Stormwarden Perilous Spite."

Never heard of him, I didn't say because Max got in the first word. "Why?" He seemed distinctly unfriendly now. Could this be somebody he knew and disliked? Did everybody know Spite but me? I'm supposed to know things. It's what I do. Know where to make connections. But I couldn't connect this glorified witch doctor to anything.

"Because the Stormwarden is extremely knowledgeable in matters having to do with ranger, commando, special forces, and covert operations inside the Cantard. He was involved. He has unfinished business. He's been following this since he heard about the dragon tattoos."

How did he hear? I wondered. Would Colonel Westman Block be saddled with standing orders to report certain discoveries to certain interested parties? Might such reports be a condition of his appointment? Why, Garrett, how could you be so cynical? You developing a case of creeping realism?

Block surged onward, ingenuously "I don't know why, Garrett, but that got his attention in a big way. He's been nagging me like the proverbial fishwife. And seems to know more about what's going on than Deal does..." Block decided he was talking too much, which is a liability in his trade. He finished, "Him joining us was his idea."

"But he keeps Hill time, of course," I grumbled. Meaning I figured the Stormwarden couldn't be bothered catering to the schedules of us lesser creatures. But that was all right. I wanted this devil out in the open where I could see him. "Tell me, old buddy, how did this guy hear about my party in the first place?"

Block shrugged. "I don't know. Not from me. I told you. He's well informed."

"Hmm." I glanced at Marengo, there with his old pal Max Weider, being mousy quiet. The very man who was grumbling and muttering about the caprice of sorcerers the other day. "I see."

North English lacked the grace to be embarra.s.sed.

"I see," Max said, too. "So we'll wait, Garrett. Use the delay to build the pressure till these fools blow smoke out their ears. Then let the Stormwarden land in their midst like a cat in a mouse nest."

I said, "You're the boss." A little time sweating might indeed make somebody a tad more amenable. "Excuse me." Block had retreated halfway down the stair, then had stopped, looking my way. He had something on his mind.

I went to find out. The colonel whispered, "Relway says to tell you you have to come visit the Lamp brewery."

"He find something interesting?"

"Apparently so. He wouldn't explain. He did say that he didn't understand it but that you might and you probably ought to see it before you go ahead with what you're doing here."

Now? "Maybe he didn't notice but here is just a wee bit busy. And every time he wants me to see something that turns out to be dead bodies. I've seen enough dead people...Oh, s.h.i.t!" Medford Shale and his Heaven's Gate cronies had been admiring the settling tank like it might be the doorway to paradise. I'd been keeping an eye on them in case they decided to try tapping it, the results of which were sure to amaze and distress almost everyone. "Bird, go down there and get those drunks headed in another direction. Go on. Shoo."

The arrival of the talking bird had the desired effect. The old folks retreated toward the kegs already tapped. But their bickering orbit around the settling tank brought them face-to-face with the arriving prisoners.

Storey went berserk. He flailed away at one of the shapeshifters with his walking stick. I murmured, "Apparently it can can be the same Carter Stockwell who was involved in the Myzhod campaigns." be the same Carter Stockwell who was involved in the Myzhod campaigns."

"What?"

"Long story. Those old men were soldiers a long time ago. Some shapeshifter mercenaries sold them out to the Venageti. It was a big disaster for our side. Looks like these could be the same shapeshifters. Storey-that's the guy being so stylish with the walking stick-mentioned the one he's whipping by name."

"I do believe I'm beginning to get an idea of why the stormwarden is interested."

Me, too, if Perilous Spite was what I suspected. "Let's go calm them down."

"Let's have a whisper with Deal."

100.

Storey settled down only after, for a moment, it looked like Trail had suffered a stroke. Several shifters bled liberally. The silver fetters took the strength right out of them. Trace whimpered like a whipped puppy. The voice of the guy who'd been in the stable and on the stair to Tom's room said, "We should've killed the sonofab.i.t.c.h when we had the chance." I couldn't tell if he meant me or Storey.

The boys from Brotherhood Of The Wolf were chained to the next pillar over. Several seemed stricken. They saw faces they recognized. Faces that belonged to people who weren't even human. People who had been manipulating them...A glance at Gerris Genord told me he'd figured that out already. Maybe while he was in the Al-Khar, maybe even the night he killed Lancelyn Mac. Maybe he knew the key answer, too.

Who.

I had an idea, name of Mooncalled. Only I couldn't make him fit. Going strictly by the available evidence, Marengo North English seemed more likely.

There was no coolness toward Genord on the part of the other Wolves. Block and Relway hadn't sold them a thing. They trusted their buddy. Kind of touching, that. These days trust is moribund and fading fast.

It did mean I had guessed wrong about Genord not being the commando type. It takes going through h.e.l.l with a man to develop that kind of trust. I asked Genord, "You want to put somebody on the spot?"

He looked through me. He wasn't going to tell me jack. If there was any settlement due, his pals would handle it. We couldn't hold them forever.

That att.i.tude came out of the going through h.e.l.l together, too. I remember that att.i.tude. I miss it. But all the guys I shared it with are gone. I'm left with just the pale ghost of it in my friendships with Morley and a few others.

An uproar loud enough for all the guests to hear erupted out in the kitchen. Neersa Bintor bellowed like an angry she-elephant. Before I finished making sure everybody didn't rush that way and thereby leave the rest of the mansion unwatched the big woman stormed into the great hall. She had a body over her shoulder, a shifter caught in mid-change, flopping like a crippled snake. In her offhand she carried a kitchen maul that looked like it could be used to drive the stakes that hold up circus tents. She searched the gawking crowd, spotted me, flung the shifter from thirty feet away. It left some skin on the uncarpeted floor.

"I an' I, I be tryin' to manage de kitchen, you Garrett, you. You be gettin' me better help dan dat t'ief, you. You be keepin' you rat out a dere, too, you." Behind her Pular Singe managed to look sheepish and proud at the same time. She'd winkled out the interloper.

It occurred to me that we'd neglected our obligation to inform Neersa Bintor of our full plans. Not an oversight the G.o.ddess of the cast iron would easily forgive. In the heirarchy of the Weider mansion Neersa Bintor ranked right behind Max and, just possibly, Manvil Gilbey.

I apologized profusely in front of the mob. A certain gaudily constumed woodp.e.c.k.e.r had a grand laugh at my expense. "Lend me your cane there, Storey." I whacked the side of the settling tank three or four times. The bird said "Gleep!" and flew back to his perch on the chandelier.

"You listen, you bird-boy, you. I an' I got no room in my kitchen for vermin, be dey talk or no. You unnerstan', you? I will catch my own t'iefs, I an' I." The shifter at my feet stirred. Neersa Bintor raised a prodigious sensible shoe, brought it down hard, then exorcised her venom through a hearty application of her maul. She kept her foot in place while a couple of Guards got the changer fitted with chains.

I whispered to Singe, as though she hadn't understood what had been said, "Maybe you'd better stay out of the kitchen."

She whispered back, "You tink so, you?"

Singe the wonder child. She was being sarcastic. "Yeah. Scoot." When I turned back to the crowd I saw the Bintor phenomenon withdrawing.

I told the Guards, "You guys better get this thing shackled to its friends before it remembers what kingdom it's in." I suspected the pa.s.sivity shown by the changers was partly due to their psychic connection, which must be charged with a communal sense of despair. Block, near Relway, beckoned impatiently.

101.

Relway is predictable some ways. For example, you can count on him to bring out the melodrama in any situation. He did that at the Lamp brewery, where he had guys with torches creeping around the interior ruins generating wonderfully creepy, dancing, slithering shadows. "It's in worse shape than I thought it would be," I told the little guy. The brick exterior remained sound but the inside walls and floors were falling down and caving in.

"Smells odd, too," Morley said. He drifted over and through rubble and ruin without attracting a speck of dust.

Relway grumbled, "The smell comes from what we're here to see." He wasn't pleased with his pal Garrett. Garrett had let Morley Dotes and Pular Singe tag along. Deal Relway wasn't dim. He knew Morley would try to memorize some identifying detail about him and that Singe, without even realizing it, would acc.u.mulate a battery of olfactory clues. I hoped he didn't feel threatened enough to consider some unpleasant form of rectification later.

"Through here." Relway ducked under a sagging floor joist. I had to duckwalk in order to follow him. The dust showed that there had been a lot of traffic before us. "What a glamorous life they lead."

Relway grunted. Block made a small speech about evil always seeming glamorous from a distance but being squalid and ugly when you saw it up close. It was hard to argue with that. I saw proof every day.

On the other hand, the wicked do prosper while the upright perform hopelessly in the theater of their own despair.

"Kind of like my shoulder ornament, you mean?"

The G.o.dd.a.m.n Parrot, who hadn't wanted to miss this adventure, made a sneering noise-really! And Morley announced, "I resent that. That avian gem was a gift from me."

"For which you'll never be forgiven. Yech!" The smell was getting stronger fast. Though repellent it had a familiar edge, a malty- "Here," Relway said, indicating a couple of old copper fermenting kettles that should've been stolen for their sc.r.a.p value ages ago. "Take a torch and climb up there." He indicated a crude platform fashioned from old crates. "You too, Wes."

I borrowed a torch from a Guard. Colonel Block snagged another. We accomplished the climb with a minimum of injuries, though the wonder buzzard also lost some tailfeathers to a waving torch.

The kettles were full of stuff. stuff. A big bubble broached the surface of the one nearest me. "Oh! That's foul. Some people shouldn't be allowed to brew their own." That's what they were doing. Badly. That's why the stench seemed familiar. A big bubble broached the surface of the one nearest me. "Oh! That's foul. Some people shouldn't be allowed to brew their own." That's what they were doing. Badly. That's why the stench seemed familiar.

Relway said, "That's right. Take that paddle and push the sc.u.m out of the way."

A six-foot pole with a wide, square end lay across the top of the pot. I followed instructions.

"s.h.i.t!" Block exclaimed. "What the h.e.l.l is that that?"

I had to keep pushing the surface gunk aside to see it. It was a slug olive drab thing four feet long and human-shaped. No. Monkey-shaped caught it better. Its limbs were long and skinny and it had a tail. It had a round head with large round lidless lemurlike eyes. And no ears.

There was another in the other kettle, not as completely developed. "What do you think?" Relway asked. "Think what's in them pots maybe's got something to do with why they'd want to grab control of TunFaire's biggest brewery?"

"They're cooking up baby changers. d.a.m.n! Makes you understand their behavior. Some. Makes you kind of sympathize-if that's how they have to reproduce." I smelled ancient sorcery of the same sort that had created Singe's people. "But they're still dangerous monsters from where we stand. I wonder if it'd make any difference to Max that his family didn't die just because of somebody's greed."

"Grief ain't big on caring about why," Block observed.

Singe suddenly squeaked, "Garrett! Danger!" and scooted into the darkness like...Well, like a scared rat. Something stirred back the way we'd come. Somebody barked something. Relway started to drag out a black knife. That started everybody else grabbing for weapons.

"Deal!" Block snapped. "Relax." Relway froze instead.

A wicked vision seemed to materialize slowly from the uncanny shadows, like that mythical breed of vampire that spends part of its unlife as a mist capable of pa.s.sing through the finest fissure. As it moved into the torchlight I saw that it was someone in black robes with golden lightning bolts embroidered on, his face concealed behind a silver mask. Clearly the aforementioned Stormwarden Perilous Spite, clinging to the traditions of his kind, which have spooky behavior and bad clothes as their foundations.

But people off the Hill dress like they're expected to dress. I sometimes wonder where they find their tailors. I also wondered if I really wanted this guy to turn up after all. Already he felt like clabbered bad humor.

The G.o.dd.a.m.n Parrot decided he wanted to go for a fly with Pular Singe. Probably a good idea. I didn't want him attracting attention.

Block caught my eye. He jerked his head. I stepped down. He followed. His pal the wizard took our place. He stirred the kettles and examined their contents.

I call him he he for convenience. There was a one in three chance that a woman lurked behind that mask. Not that s.e.x made much difference. Those people are all misery on the hoof. for convenience. There was a one in three chance that a woman lurked behind that mask. Not that s.e.x made much difference. Those people are all misery on the hoof.

Block tugged my sleeve, gestured with his head. It was time us grunts made ourselves scarce.

I departed still reflecting upon whether or not it was a good thing to have the stormwarden join us. His presence might be enough to guarantee the continued sinister shyness of the specter general from the Cantard, whose appearance would be much preferable to me.

As we strode toward the Weider mansion Relway asked, "You gotten anywhere finding out anything for me, Garrett?"

"Nope. And I'm not going to, either. They've flat out told me I'm not getting inside anything, nor am I getting anywhere near any information they don't already want the whole world to share."

"But you're the perfect recruit."

"I think I was the perfect recruit until I started talking to you."

"Hmm?"

"Just a hunch. But if I was you and Block, I'd keep an eye out for one of your guys who maybe feels as strong about human rights as he does about law and order."

The ugly little man's face turned to cold iron.

Thou shall have no other G.o.ds before me.

102.

Max stared the length of the hall at the stormwarden. The sorcerer had come inside just far enough to be seen and cause a stir. He'd made himself shadowy and nine feet tall. Teensy lightning bolts slithered through the nimbus surrounding him. He was accompanied by two apparently ordinary men-at-arms who, on closer inspection, showed a slight golden shimmer. Sarge and Puddle were pleased to abandon their posts to the newcomers.

The hall had become a tomb with Spite's advent. Everyone antic.i.p.ated the moment when he no longer just stood there. The shapeshifters seemed particularly unhappy, which suggested they recognized the sorcerer and knew him well enough to believe they had reason to be unhappy. And Marengo North English seemed to have faded into the very woodwork.

Weider listened closely while I explained what we'd found in the ruined brewery. He nodded occasionally, then observed, "They might've created themselves a small army if they'd gotten hold of my place, then."

"Which was probably their plan."

"But why would they get help from a faction of The Call?"

"We still need to dig that out. But I'm pretty sure the Wolves thought the help was going the other way. We know these shifters are old, now. We saw that when Storey had his fit." Trail and Storey and the Heaven's Gate contingent remained dutifully attentive to the keg they had staked out. "They've had lifetimes to practice telling Karentines what they want to hear and showing them what they want to see."

"Hadn't you better get on with the digging? That spook-wrangler gives me the creeps. He's got a bad feel to him. Try to get him out of here before he starts something I'll regret."

"You heard of him before, boss?"

"Perilous Spite? No. But I don't cross paths with those people much. I'm in trade. A brewer. A brewer doesn't have much contact with anybody but people who buy beer. Even during the worst days of the war the brewery had no intercourse with the war's managers and manipulators. I want to keep it that way. Go to work, Garrett."

"Quit swearing." I surveyed the mob and grimaced. I'm not big on getting up in front of crowds. Not when I have to share the spotlight with a lord from the Hill-especially when that lord is a complete unknown. Block seemed impressed by him, though, and now-invisible Marengo hadn't too far from being petrified.

"Quiet down!" I bellowed. Immediately every thug from The Call and the brewery and the Guard redoubled the racket by trying to shush everybody else. I would've done better just standing there letting them come to the notion that things were about to ripen. Though tardily, silence did find its way among us.

A sea of ugly faces turned my way. Not a one looked happy. I wasn't overflowing with joy, myself.

I hadn't thought this part through. Get them all together, let it turn into a pressure cooker. Slip a couple cards up my sleeve that n.o.body but Ty knew about. See what the situation produced. That was the plan.