A quarter hour later, I stood in the distance, watching neighbors and volunteers pour water upon my house. I'd had the good sense to keep the book on my person, and so it was never in more danger than was I, but I had little more reason to rejoice. My house was in ruins, a charred sh.e.l.l. No doubt Sir Albert knew where I had stored my money, and he would have effected plans to make it impossible I should retrieve it. I was now backed into a corner, and if I were to survive this ordeal intact, I would have no choice but to deliver ownership of the book to Sir Albert. I would have to set aside my need to win, my desire for revenge, and capitulate.As Sir Albert had observed, I had been a penniless rogue before, and no doubt I could be one again. Indeed, I could see myself, in my mind's eye, only a few days or weeks hence, riding upon a mail carriage to some nameless inn, paying forth my last few coins for a room and a chance to swindle or cheat or trick or bed some stranger out of his or her small purse.

"No," I said aloud. I would not do it. I would not surrender. I would be maimed and defeated before I would hand him that victory, but how I would thwart him, I could not say. If I could not simply enter Kensington Palace, I would need to find a sponsor.A visit to the House of Lords, perhaps, might be the first step to gaining an audience with a sympathetic and connected Tory. It was a wise course but a slow one. It would no doubt take days, at the very least, to find and convince the right person to introduce me to the queen. I only had hours, and I could not think how best to use them.

As I stood there, considering my options, a boy approached me, letter in hand. "Is you January?" he asked.

"I is," I a.s.sured him, s.n.a.t.c.hing the letter out of his hand.

It was from Sir Albert. He wrote in threatening and somewhat colorful language, but his point was succinct. He had taken the precaution of having me watched, and so he knew about my abortive venture to Kensington. And now, for my perfidy, there would be consequences. My house, I already knew, was destroyed, but that was not the whole of my punishment. Lady Caroline was dead. He had, in response to my double dealing, taken her life, strangled her while she struggled beneath his grip in wide-eyed terror. However, as I was the necromancer, there was no need that her death should be a permanent condition. If I were to bring him the means of revival, he would allow me to return her to life before relieving me of my abilities.

I stared at the words on the page, illuminated by the light of my burning house, and I felt rage and sorrow and pathetic selfpity. I had been lazy and sloppy. I had treated my power lightly and not considered its consequences. I had been content with a life of leisure while, all around me, my enemies had planned and concocted stratagems. I was, in short, outmatched and out of time. I could not preserve my wealth, my power, and the woman I loved without having a stratagem of my own. I could not repay Sir Albert for his crimes unless I possessed the means to defeat him. I therefore turned my back on my ruined house and set off into the night. It was time I showed Sir Albert that I was not a man with whom to trifle. I had wrought these terrible things. Lady Caroline was dead because of me, and I swore then and there that I would make things right. I would do anything to revive her and punish Sir Albert.

Several hours later, spade in hand and covered with sweat in the cold night air, I stood over the open grave and performed the ritual. I held my breath, regretting my decision even while I understood that I had no choice. And then I watched while he sat up and looked about, confused.

"Was I dead?" he asked.

I nodded.

"And I ain't no more."

I shook my head.

"You done it?"

I nodded again.

With closed fist, my father struck me in the face, knocking me against the freshly dug earth of the grave from which I had rescued him.

My father remained sitting in his coffin, like a man roused from a refreshing nap. His clothes were in reasonably good shape, for he had not been in the ground overlong, and he was not excessively dirty. In point of fact, his odor was less offensive than on any occasion I could recall. His face had been restored, and the damage I'd done with the mason's hammer was but a memory. He was back, only, like Sir Albert, more powerful and potent than ever.

"Don't go thinking you're Jesus Christ," he said. "I'm sure if you done it, a monkey could do it." He pushed himself to his feet and began to bend and unbend his elbow. "It ain't felt so good in years. Now, to celebrate my return to life, I aim to get myself good and drunk. Then I want a wh.o.r.e. And then we'll deal with your problem."

I rubbed my jaw, which hurt, but nothing was broken and no teeth had been dislodged. I suppose such a blow might serve as the equivalent of a hug or a handshake for a normal man. "How could you know I had a problem? Have you been observing my activities from the next world?"

"I don't recall nothing of the next world, but if I'd had the ability to watch this one, I wouldn't have wasted my time by looking at you. I know you have a problem, and I know it's a big one, because otherwise you'd have left me in the ground.Whatever you're up against, it has to be mighty scary for you to recruit your old pa to your side."

That was true enough.

"Now," he said, "let's get going. Drinks and wh.o.r.es."

"Very well," I said. I supposed there was no hurry. Lady Caroline was not going to get any more dead than she was already.

We went to a bagnio toward which he felt a particular fondness, and soon he had his arms around a pair of scantily dressed beauties. The proprietress of the establishment appeared astonished to see him alive and healed in his face, but my father dismissed her questions. Rumors of his death were false, and his face was recovered. He then disappeared to a room with his two girls, and left me alone at a table with a bottle of wine and a healthy dose of regret.

I had no interest in the beauties employed within those walls, for my heart and my mind were absorbed with Lady Caroline, lying cold and dead somewhere, waiting for me to come to her. A foolish romp with a stranger had no charms to offer me. But as I continued to drink the very indifferent wine, and as I grew increasingly inebriated, it became difficult to fend off the advances of the charmers who sought my attention.

At last I determined I could hardly be blamed for seeking comfort and release, and so I followed a fair-haired creature called Julia to a private room.There, in the near-darkness, broken only a single flickering candle, she began to kiss me, and for a moment I forgot my troubles and, to a lesser extent, the fact that Julia smelled most distressingly of other men.

This lovely oblivion lasted but a moment, for soon the door burst open with a terrifying crash, and I jumped back, prepared to explain the misunderstanding. Of course, there was none.This was not some middling man's wife or daughter, but a wh.o.r.e, and I had no need to explain my actions.

However, it was no angered spouse come into the room, but my father. He was drunk and staggering, and held a bottle of wine loosely by its neck. He gestured at me with it, and its contents sloshed out upon the floor.

"You like this one, do you?" "Well enough," I said. "A bit rank, but I'm not inclined to fuss."

"Then I'll have her," he said.

I opened my mouth to object but thought better of it. My conflict was not with my father. He was, again, alive, and no doubt that conflict would be coming, but until Sir Albert was dealt with, I was best served by staying out of my father's way.

"Very well," I said. I moved toward the door.

"No." With his free hand, he shoved me hard. I staggered backward but did not fall. "You watch.You watch me do what you cannot."

"I could," I said. "I simply choose not to. I also choose not to witness your intimate moments."

"You've spent so much time among these mincing danglers, you've come to speak like one. Now you watch how a real man takes a woman, and you sit there like the eunuch you are. You do what I say, or I leave you to your problems. Maybe I'll even stick a knife in your back, like you never had the guts to do to me. A hammer to the face, indeed. A real man takes his weapon and thrusts it in, as I'm about to demonstrate."

There was no point in objecting. There was no point in refusing. I would indulge my father for the few hours it was necessary to indulge him, and then I would consider my next moves. And so I stayed. I shall spare the reader any more details of this scene. I am forever scarred by it. There is no reason you should be, too.

When he had taken his fill of drink and women and humiliating his only child, my father and I sat in a private room of the bagnio to discuss my situation. He leaned back in his chair, fire behind him, a mug of beer in his hand, and closed his eyes at the pleasure of it all.

"Swiving wh.o.r.es beats the p.i.s.s out of being dead," he told me. "So tell me. How exactly did you, of all people, learn to raise the dead?"

"There was a book. I found it among your possessions, in fact."

He narrowed his eyes. "I think I know the one. I always wanted to keep it, and I never could tell why. Figures though, don't it? The only worthwhile thing you've ever done, and you got it from me."

I sighed. "You had the power to do worthwhile things, and you never knew it. I hardly think that is something worth bragging about."