Grumble, grumble.

We hit the street, headed west on Macunado, uphill. We made it as far as the Cardonlos homestead before the darkness closed in.

I told Tinnie, ‘‘Now you see why I’d rather not get up before the crack of noon.’’

Four men had appeared, boxing us in. They looked spiffy in the latest Civil Guard apparel. And altogether businesslike. Which meant they had checked their senses of humor and humanity when they got to work.

The guy in charge was an old acquaintance. ‘‘Mr. Scithe. You moved in with the Widow Cardonlos now?’’

‘‘My wife likes it that way. She said tell you thanks for getting her moved up the waiting list, next time I saw you. So, thanks.’’

‘‘I promised. I delivered.’’

‘‘Miss Tate. Haven’t you outgrown this artifact yet?’’

«It’s a disease. Won’t go away. Is that an officer’s pip on your cap?»

‘‘Yeah. I did too good a job back when your addiction was trying to engineer the downfall of Karentine civilization. So they gave me a fancier hat and made me work longer hours. Garrett. The Director wants to see you.’’

‘‘Am I under arrest?’’

‘‘If you insist. If you don’t come, we get to hit you with sticks, hog-tie you, and drag you through the slush.’’

I decided not to call his bluff. ‘‘All right. But one of your guys has to see Miss Tate home.’’

Scithe betrayed a momentary longing. And who could blame him? To know her is to yearn.

Scithe said, ‘‘Mistry. Accompany Miss Tate to the Tate compound.’’ Making sure the Watchman knew which family claimed this flaming glory.

‘‘Yes, sir.’’ Not even a little disgruntled about being handed this tough assignment.

‘‘The Al-Khar?’’ I asked. ‘‘Or am I lucky enough to find him hanging out with Ma Cardonlos?’’

‘‘You wish.’’ Scithe glanced at the remaining two men. They’d positioned themselves so as to foil any escape attempt by the infamous desperado, Garrett. Scithe whispered, ‘‘He never leaves the Al-Khar anymore.’’

He lied. I know Deal Relway. He’s a slinking weasel who’s always somewhere in the shadows, watching. He’s no desk-bound bureaucrat.

‘‘This going to take long?’’ After giving Tinnie a quick parting kiss that left every guy in sight hating me for being so lucky. ‘‘I’m not dressed for the weather.’’

He was kind enough not to ask whose fault that was. ‘‘I don’t know. Way I see it, that depends on you. If you’re your normal self, weather might not be something you need to worry your pretty little head about. Much.’’

I sighed. Nobody in the law-and-order racket appreciates my wit.

I miss the old days. The original Watch was completely corrupt and totally incompetent. Efficiency was a word that hadn’t yet been imported into TunFairen Karentine.

‘‘I suppose we should get on with getting on, then, Brother Scithe.’’ I glanced up the street. Tinnie had Mistry totally subverted already.

We talked about the weather as we walked. Scithe wasn’t a big fan of winter. ‘‘On the other hand, summer is worse,’’ he opined. ‘‘I spent my war in the deep desert of the Cantard. You went out in the sun in the afternoon there, your weapons started to melt.’’

Army types.

My war had been all that, with bugs, snakes, crocodiles, and incredible humidity. And command stupidity. I didn’t one-up him. He’d just come back with scorpions, jumping spiders, more snakes, bigger snakes, and command authority fuckups so awful they’ll be remembered throughout the ages. Those Army guys are like that. I just said, ‘‘Winter, you can always put something else on. Including another log on the fire.’’

‘‘That’s the way I see it.’’

‘‘Can I ask a question? Professional courtesy kind of thing?’’

He was alert and suspicious instantly. ‘‘Yeah?’’

‘‘Ever heard of a character called Lurking Felhske?’’

He appeared to give that an honest think. After being startled because I hadn’t asked something weightier. ‘‘Can’t say that I have. No. Put the question to the Director. There aren’t many actors in this burg he doesn’t know.’’

I filed that usage of actor in my mental dictionary.

The Civil Guard had evolved to the point where it was deploying its own inside language.

‘‘I’ll do that. If I can get a word in edgewise.’’

‘‘You’ve talked to him before.’’

‘‘Listened. Several times.’’

‘‘All right. Here’s one for you. The people building that theater down there. The World. I hear they plan to put together a whole chain of theaters.’’

‘‘Sure. Max Weider is behind it. He’s thinking if he goes a little down-market compared to other theaters, and he’s got a bunch of theaters, he’s got him a fresh way to move a lot more of his product.’’

Scithe went off on a rant about how that was typical of Weider’s class. I reminded him, ‘‘You don’t like that kind of people, you shouldn’t make deals with me. I should let natural forces work on your wife’s place on the three-wheel waiting list.’’

What I’d said sounded weird. But Scithe sometimes spouts strange nonsense about class and social standing. He thought we all ought to be absolute equals because we’re all born or hatched out naked.

One of Scithe’s men said, ‘‘It’s all envy. The subaltern forgets that some folks pick better parents than some others. And some people were behind the door drooling instead of being in line when the brains were passed out. And some people got talents when some others don’t. And some got ambition when some others don’t.’’

‘‘That’ll be enough, Teagarden!’’ Scithe snapped. He admitted, ‘‘I loathe myself for working the system so Vinga could get a better number.’’

‘‘And she’s getting close to the top.’’ I didn’t observe that he hadn’t been reluctant when we made the deal. I didn’t mention his having accepted a job where he was in charge of other men—and obviously proud that somebody thought well enough of him to put him there. I just nodded when Teagarden said, ‘‘Only way you’re gonna have a world with universal equality is if you got one where there’s only one guy left standing.’’

That is so blazingly obvious that I’ve never understood how some people can’t see it.

Every nut notion that ever was is floating around TunFaire somewhere, keeping itself alive inside at least one human head. Most are like diseases. The benign ones spread slowly. The deadly ones spread fast. The more virulent they are, the more quickly they consume their carriers.

I’m no thinker. I never cared about much as long as there was beer and a pretty girl somewhere handy. Though I do have a hyperactive sense of right and wrong. Which irks my business associates. And sometimes makes me slap on the rusty armor to go tilt at windmills.

The Al-Khar isn’t far outside my neighborhood. We got there before the discussion could get much deeper.

‘‘The place hasn’t gotten any prettier, I see.’’ Which wasn’t entirely true. Prisoners get exercise cleaning it some now.

The city prison is ancient. It is built of a soft, yellowish sandstone that absorbs dirt and flakes away with changes in the weather. It won’t last another two hundred years— even assuming responsible upkeep and the absence of civil unrest or war.

Scithe admitted, ‘‘Thisis the house where Ugly was born.’’