I thought about tossing him something flip about the Cantard and stormwardens but feared he'd go off the deep end with some wild new theory.

"You'd think the gods themselves don't want me spreading the truth."

"Them probably more than most mortals." I left it at that, mostly because I didn't get a chance to say anything more,

Barking Dog froze. His eyes got huge, his breathing ragged. He threw one hand up, fingers twisting into the sign against the evil eye. He said, "Gah! Gah! Gah!" in a high squeak, retreated toward the door. "It's him!" he croaked. "Garrett! It's him!"

Him was Captain Block, who stood in the doorway to the Dead Man's room, gaping. When I turned back to Amato, I saw nothing but the door closing behind him.

"Gah! Gah!" I said, making the horns. "What was that?"

Block asked, "What was Amato doing here?"

"Him and the Dead Man are buddies. They get together to make up stories about the secret masters. It's amazing how they get along. What's your story? How do you know Barking Dog?"

Block's cheek twitched. He looked like he wasn't sure where he stood. "In the course of my labors as a minion of the hidden manipulators, the puppet masters who pull the strings on marionette judges and functionaries, I was forced to circumscribe Mr. Amato's freedom."

I laughed. "You arrested him?"

"I didn't arrest him, Garrett. Whatever he claims. I just asked him to come talk to a man who was put out about something he said. He'd have been fine if he could've kept his mouth shut for five minutes. But he just couldn't resist tearing into the best audience he ever had. One thing led to another. I had to take him in front of a magistrate for a formal warning about libel. He couldn't stop running his mouth. Donner doesn't have a sense of humor. He doesn't find Barking Dog an amusing street character. The more he bore down, the more Amato jacked his jaw. So he got pissed, gave Amato fifty-five days for contempt. And all of that is this running dog's fault. You never heard such carrying on as when we were walking him over to the Al-Khar. Hell, if he could've kept his mouth shut then, I'd probably have screwed up and let him get away. But he pissed me off."

"A different view of events," I said. "Though his version isn't much different. He said it was his own fault."

Block chuckled, but grimly. "I wish all our rebels were as harmless."

"Huh?"

"One of the reasons the Prince wants to get serious is, he thinks we're on the brink of chaos. The way he puts it, if the Crown can't demonstrate its willingness to fulfill its social contract with the Karentine people, in an obvious and popular fashion, we'll head into a period of increasing instability. The first sign will be the appearance of neighborhood vigilante groups."

"We already have those, some places."

"I know. He thinks they'll get stronger and become politicized. Fast, if Glory Mooncalled stays lucky. Each time he makes fools of us, more movers and shakers head down there to help tame him. The more that go, the fewer there are to keep the peace here.

"He thinks the vigilantes may connect up, form private militias. Then different groups that don't agree politically will go to knocking each other's heads."

"Got it. Some might even take a notion to get rid of the folks running things now."

"The Crown could end up as one more gang on the streets."

Good boy me, I didn't say a word about that.

Overall, we Karentine rabble are unpolitical. All we want is to be left alone. We avoid what taxes we can, but do pay some as protection money. You pay a little here and there, the tax goons don't grab everything. Near as I can tell, that's the common man's traditional relationship with the state—unless he's a state thug himself.

I said, "I might have to take a closer look at this prince—if he really thinks the Crown is something besides a mechanism for squeezing out cash to benefit the privileged classes." I buttered too much sneer onto my remarks. Block didn't understand that I was being cynical and sarcastic instead of seditious. He gave me a thoroughly dirty look.

I said, "Maybe I should pay more attention to the fable about Barking Dog's running mouth."

"Maybe, Garrett."

"What did you do down there?"

That's a question every veteran understands. And every human male adult in TunFaire who can stand on his hind legs, and plenty who can't anymore, are veterans. The one thing the Crown does very well indeed is find every man eligible for conscription.

"Army. Combat infantry to begin, then long-range recon. After I was wounded they moved me into military police. I saved a baronet's ass once, which is how I came to get this job."

A hero. But that didn't mean squat. Most everyone who lives long enough to get out does something heroic sometime. Even some downright nasty scum, like Crask, have medals they trot out. It's a different world in the Cantard. It's a different reality. Regardless of where they stand, heroes or villains, the men with the medals show them off with pride.

Contradictions. Being human is contradictory. I've known killers who were artists, and artists who were killers. The man who painted Eleanor was a genius in both fields. Both natures had tortured him. His torment ended only when he crossed paths with someone even crazier.

I said, "We're wandering far afield. Let's scope out what to do about this killer."

"You buy that about it coming back from the dead?"

"You mean like there's been outbreaks before?"

Block nodded.

"From him, yeah. I buy it. We'd better dig into the old records. You have the manpower and access for that, and the clout to get around functionaries."

"What do I look for?"

"I don't know. A common thread. Anything. If the same spirit is coming back again and again, then it's been caught and stopped before. We see what they did back then, we can do it now. And maybe figure out how they screwed up so the cure didn't take."

"If your buddy don't have something he caught from Barking Dog."

"Yeah. If."

"What're you going to do?"

"I saw the first guy alive and dressed. I'll work the clothes and hope I get lucky again."

He eyed me narrowly. He thought I knew something. I did, but what good would it do to tell him there was a survivor of a murder attempt—and she was Chodo Contague's kid? He'd get himself a case of heart troubles complicated by hemorrhoids.

"Right. So tell me one thing, Garrett. What the hell is Morley Dotes doing here?"

He wasn't dumb enough not to know that Morley and I went way back. "I know what he is, Block. And I know what he isn't." But how to explain that this professional killer never offed anybody who hadn't asked for it? How explain that Morley had standards less flexible than most people on the right side of the law? "He's my window onto the other side of TunFaire. There's anything to find out there, he'll find it." I hoped.

I wasn't sure why I'd sent Dean for Morley, now, though it had seemed the thing to do at the time. Maybe he could conjure me a connection with Chodo's kid. She had to know something. Her pretty head might hold the one fact we needed to nail this butterfly freak.

Right. She was the type who saw nothing but herself. She'd probably forgotten butterfly granddad as soon as the fear went away.

Block scowled, not liking Morley being involved. Gods spare me the born again—even when they're born again only so they can cover their asses. "Don't go righteous on me," I said. "It won't help." How did he know, anyway? Morley was keeping his head down.

Block's scowl deepened. "I'll go get my men started. I'll let you know what they find."

Sure he would. After he milked every ounce of advantage. My opinion of him had improved, but not so much I didn't think he was a born functionary. Him using me was still a desperation measure.