Tharpe shrugged.

"Singe?"

"Do not ask me. I am a tracker. I can help you find an answer only by tracking those men back. If they came here on our trail, that would be obvious in a short time. Do you wish to try that?"

"Would it take long to make sure?"

"Ten minutes," Singe promised.

"Saucerhead, stick with her. Soon as she makes up her mind, head for... where, Singe?"

"The Tersize Granary."

"Sniff Morley and me out, Singe."

"Or Garrett and I," Dotes said. Then, once they took off, "You planning on rushing into this?"

"You have a suggestion?"

"Same old, same old as always. Be ready for trouble."

He meant weaponry. Armaments, in fact. He'd lug a siege ballista if he could get one into a pocket. And use it at the least excuse. And feel no remorse afterward.

"I have my stick."

Morley was not overawed.

"If I need something nastier, I'll take it away from somebody."

"You're not as young and quick as you think you are."

"Is anybody? Ever?"

"So stipulated. Without excusing your silly refusal to look out for yourself."

"Oh-oh. I get the feeling my weapons habits are about to take second place to my dietary habits."

"Since you bring it up..."

And so it went. Thirty minutes later we sighted the Tersize Granary. Which, till recently, had been the Royal Karentine Military Granary, whence vast tonnages of feed grains, flours, and finished baked goods (read rock-hard hardtack in hundredweight barrels) barged down a ca.n.a.l to the river and thence to the war zone. The operating Tersize family acquired it from the Ministry of War, cheap after the killing stopped.

I said, "The Tersizes are related to the Contagues somehow, aren't they?"

"Chodo's stepsister Cloris married Misias Tersize. But they weren't in bed with the Outfit. That I've heard. The place isn't what it used to be," Morley said of the sprawl of redbrick milling and storage facilities.

Much of it appeared to have gone derelict. "You know this area?" I didn't. "I don't see any sign of squatters." TunFaire is inundated with refugees from a war zone that no longer exists.

"No. The place used to be a fort. The millers and bakers couldn't get in or out without a military pa.s.s. You want to wait for Saucerhead and Singe?"

Recalling times when I'd just charged in, "I think so."

"Developing a taste for caution? At this late date?"

"I have responsibilities now. Dean. The Dead Man. Seven kittens. And a girlfriend who'll hunt me down in h.e.l.l if I get myself killed before I can visit her in her sickbed."

"Why don't we just slip into the lee of one of these buildings while we wait, then? Because I've just figured out why there aren't any squatters."

I caught what his sharper elfish eyes had spied already.

Three sizable men ambled along the street beside the westernmost wall of the granary. One checked the doors that existed at regular intervals, formerly for loading and unloading. The street-side walls of the granary were the outer faces of the various structures included in the complex, connected by the outer faces of single-story sheds. Tinnie's family lived in a similar complex. It included family housing, worker housing, warehousing, and manufacturing workshops. The Tate compound, though, had a smaller footprint and was less imposing vertically.

"You know, brunos look pretty much the same wherever you find them. But I have a definite feeling that these three wouldn't be embarra.s.sed if their mothers dressed them in green plaid pants." Had Block cut them loose? Or were there more of them than suspected, now avoiding the Bledsoe project and public attention?

The door checker of the three performed his function again, using a stick much like the one I carried. The others were better armed. Or worse, if you have a tendency to acknowledge the law. One carried a set of swords, long and short. The other lugged a siege engine of a crossbow, drawn and loaded. They were looking for trouble.

"You have a nasty way of thinking, my friend. But you're right. Go talk to them. See if they have a country accent. If they are Green Pants people, we'll know why there's always more of them than we expect to see."

"You go. Beauty defers to age."

"Speaking of beauty and beast. Tharpe and Singe should have been here by now. I'm getting a chill."

"If we have to walk all the way around the place, you'll warm up... Uh-oh!"

The stick man had found a door that swung inward. That it shouldn't have done was obvious instantly.

Blades came out. The crossbowman backed off a few steps. The stick man moved in, with no caution whatsoever.

Ratmen boiled past him. Preceded by a swarm of missiles that might have been tavern darts. That was so remarkable that stick man and sword man alike failed to do anything but duck. Crossbowman managed only to take the striped stocking cap off the head of an especially long, gaunt ratman. The pack was too chaotic for an accurate count. They disappeared before the security men pulled themselves together.

The three looked around, realized there was nothing they could do about the ratmen, went inside to see what the ratmen had been doing.

Ratmen materialized. I recognized John Stretch. They slammed the door shut and nailed it in place. Then the rat king headed our way while his minions congratulated one another.

"He knew we were here," I said.

"Yes." Morley examined our surroundings thoughtfully.

I checked for normal rats myself till John Stretch was close enough to hear me ask, "What was all that?"

"We wanted the patrol out of our fur. They will not be missed for a while. But we have no time to spare."

"You timed all that for our arrival?"

The ratman seemed concerned about my intelligence. "No."

"But you did know that we were lurking around out here."

"Yes. Where is Singe? I expected her to bring you here."

"She's coming." I explained the delay.

And here she came. Trudging through the snow, holding her cold tail, looking miserable. Saucerhead limped along behind.

A flurry of activity commenced at what would've been the next door checked by the trapped patrol. A flood of ratpeople went in. Then the stream became bidirectional. Those exiting were loaded down. Singe took one look, dropped her tail, and tied into her brother. "Are you mad?"

"Easy, girl," I told her.

"This is insane! The humans will forget the Other Races! The Watch will help the racialists persecute our folk."

"Easy, Singe. Did you think about that, John?" While he considered his reply, I asked Singe, "What's the word? Were we being followed?"

"No. They just took the same route for a long time." Then, sort of vaguely, "But they might have been looking for us even if they did not know they were following us."

I shook my head. She was starting to think like the Dead Man. "What's your story?" I asked Saucerhead. He was hanging on to a wall, favoring his left hip.

"I fell. On some ice. It was under some fresh snow. It's snowing back there, just a couple blocks."

"Really?"

John Stretch said, "There will be no complaints to the Watch."

"Oh?"

"Thieves do not complain to the law when other thieves take what they have stolen."

He'd never swapped war stories with veterans of the Watch, I guess. But I got his point. "There's illegal stuff going on over there, eh?"

"All this part in back. Behind the smokestacks. It is all shut down and sealed off from the rest. Not used anymore. Except by criminals."

"I see. Saucerhead. How are you going to babysit me if you keep falling on your a.s.s yourself?"

He muttered something about how dumb do you have to be to let Teacher White ambush you and make you eat noxious weeds?

I sneered, asked the ratman, "These bad boys look like the ones who caused a fuss in our neighborhood. Are they foreigners?"

"Out-of-towners. Yes."

"Definitely explains why there's always another one around after the Watch thinks they've got them all."

Morley observed, "We didn't come out here for a committee meeting."

"Good point. John Stretch. Where is my friend the mouthpiece?"

The ratman sighed. "Follow me."

Our path led past the door the ratmen had nailed shut. Tremendous impacts. .h.i.t it from the other side. Dust and splinters flew.

I said, "That convinces me. They're just not wearing the pants. I've never seen anybody that stubborn."

John Stretch showed concern. "They will be in a b.l.o.o.d.y mind when they do get out."

"Likely. They're not used to not getting their own way. Your guys threw darts. Weren't they poisoned?"

"No. I did not know where to acquire that sort of drug."

Too bad. But I wasn't inclined to clue him in now.

Singe offered no suggestions, either.

59.

We used the doorway the plundering ratpeople were running in and out of. Who stole all that in the first place? The crew from Ymber wouldn't waste the time.

John Stretch led us up a dusty, rickety stair slick with bat droppings. The bat smell was potent. He led on through a maze of ups and downs. The granary had been built in stages, over generations. The army had wanted everything connected. The ratman said, "I am sorry. I have not yet seen this myself. There must be a more direct route. I believe we are close now. Be silent."

Silence it was. We're good at silence. All of our lives have depended on silence at some point. And we're all still here.

We got around by light that leaked through gaps in roofs and walls. There were plenty of those. Unfortunately, they also let in critters and the weather. Eventually, Singe smelled smoke. Flickering light appeared ahead and below. "Looks like firelight."

We entered the loft of what once had been a vast stable. Moldy hay still lay here and there, inhabited by Singe's unimproved cousins.

The flickering light came from an indoor campfire. We advanced carefully. Everybody wanted to see. And what we saw was half a dozen people trying to keep warm around a fire being fed wood torn from nearby horse stalls. There were tents around the fire, four of them, facing the warmth.

The camp had been there awhile. There wasn't much lumber left. There was trash. Laundry hung on lines. That included green plaid pants. Which I noted only in pa.s.sing. I concentrated on Harvester Temisk and the old man in a wheelchair. Who looked more lively than a man in a coma ought.

I got down on my belly, at the edge of the loft. Morley dropped beside me. Chodo wasn't talking, nor was he moving. Still, he was farther into our world than when last I'd seen him.

John Stretch settled to my right. Ordinary brown rats collected around him, worshipful.

Were Temisk and Chodo prisoners? Guests? Or in charge?

The unrelated things were converging, suggesting potential cause and effect relationships.

Chodo had an arrangement with the A-Laf cult. It went back a long time. A-Laf's thugs came to town to charge their nickel dogs with misery. Before Temisk got in touch with me. Before Penny Dreadful turned up with her spooky kittens.

The appearance of the Green Pants Gang must have emboldened Harvester Temisk. He decided to rescue his boss. Powerful old allies had arrived. And they owed Chodo.

But that left plenty of questions. How had Temisk meant to use me? Surely, Teacher White, Rory Sculdyte, and others hadn't been factored in fully. They hadn't been expected to survive the Whitefield Hall fire. Then there was Penny Dreadful. Her kittens had been a jinx on everybody.

Was Penny the straight goods? Was she getting up all our noses for a reason? Was most of what she'd told Dean true?