27

It’s another world inside the Al-Khar. Someone who hasn’t been there can’t begin to imagine it.

First, the place is a cathedral dedicated to the religion of bureaucracy. And always has been. Deal Relway and Westman Block have ground away, but even after sustained, relentless attention from Prince Rupert’s hounds, whole departments still suck up funding in order to monitor the performance of departments devoted to keeping an eye on departments tasked to keep an eye on. Here and there, like a blind pilgrim caught in a maze, is somebody actually trying to accomplish something. And having big trouble getting there because of the friction of the Al-Khar culture.

Scithe turned me over to a Linton Suggs. Suggs is a dangerous little man. He could be standing right next to you and you’d never notice. He looks like nobody’s idea of a tin whistle. He has a shock of wild hair mostly gone gray, watery gray eyes, a big red nose and sagging jowls. He’d attract attention nowhere but in a girls’ public bath. He accepted my handshake politely. ‘‘Glad you could make it. Follow me,’’ in a tone that belied his words.

He didn’t care that I’d shown up, one way or another. I was a body in need of moving from hither to yon.

Following, I noted that Suggs was even shorter than he’d seemed when facing me. And heavier around the hips.

Short is common on Deal Relway’s side of the law-and-order industry.

Partly, that’s because people aren’t as wary of short.

Suggs walked me a long, long way, up and down, right and left, through numerous cell blocks. There wasn’t much room at the inn. I was supposed to be intimidated. And too confused to find my way to the Director’s hideout on my own.

Scithe might be right about Relway turning into a recluse.

Suggs handed me off to an anonymous little man he didn’t introduce. This one had less hair, slimmer hips, and wasn’t interested in small talk. He didn’t bother with the maze. We passed through only one cell block. I saw faces I recognized. They belonged to men who had been overly passionate in denouncing the selfless labors of the new police forces. Or overly loud as racialist enthusiasts.

Anonymous Small Man planted me on a hard wooden chair inside what used to be a cell. He had no reason to suspect it, but I knew where I was. I’d been there before. One weak clay lamp beat back the gloom. There was nothing to do but sit. Unless I was in a mood to practice my soft-shoe routine. He told me, ‘‘Wait here.’’

This was supposed to give me time to start sweating. My dance routine had all the polish it needed. And I hadn’t forgotten other skills, picked up during wartime.

I went to sleep.

The small man poked me. He was upset. He’d gone to a lot of trouble to make me uncomfortable.

And I was. I was thoroughly miserable just being there with him. But he didn’t need to know. I asked, ‘‘You done fiddle-farting around?’’

‘‘The Director will see you now.’’

‘‘Oh, goodie! This will be the high point of my young life. Better than shaking hands with the Crown Prince when he welcomed my company back from the Cantard.’’

He did not fail to take note of my sarcasm.

A big black checkmark was about to go into a ledger with my name on it.

Relway was two cells away from where I’d waited. He had removed the bars between two cells. The larger space was his living and work space.

Guys who don’t need more than that scare me more than do the totally corrupt.

I’d visited him here before. I didn’t remind him. Nor did I criticize the gamesmanship. This was like a visit to a physician. I’d do what it took to get it over with fast.

The Director felt no need to put his stamp on the space. It was no more colorful than it had been as a cage for bad people. An unmade cot, rather than a reed mat on a cold stone floor, was his concession to luxury. Dirty or discarded clothing lay in one corner.

Relway was absolutely profligate with the lighting. He had four lamps burning.

Deal Relway is a small man of mixed ancestry, ugly as original sin. Rumor says a dwarf might have swung through his family tree a couple of generations back. He started out as a volunteer informant and vigilante helping track and control the virulent human rights movement. Superiors liked his dedication. Especially Colonel Block, who gave the little man a job as soon as he was able to hire people. Now he’s the number-two man.

‘‘Still working the smart-ass angle, eh?’’ Relway asked. He had one of our writing sticks clutched in his crabbed little fingers. He used that to point, indicating a chair. This one had a thin pad, thus pretending to be more comfortable than the one down the corridor.

I planted myself. ‘‘A man does what a man needs to do.’’

He cut slack. ‘‘I understand.’’

I became doubly paranoid. Slack he offered was sure to get tossed over a handy tree branch. Better keep an eye out for the hangman’s knot.

Relway grinned. He could guess my thoughts. He said, ‘‘I asked the boys to bring you by because I want to consult you. Professionally.’’

My eyes must have bugged.

‘‘Really.’’ He grinned again. His teeth were not attractive. ‘‘There’s something afoot. You seem to have dipped your toe in it already. The reports say you’ve been reasonably cooperative for the last year or so.’’

‘‘Couldn’t tell that by the way your troops talk.’’

Yet another snaggled-tooth grin. ‘‘They have a manual to follow. How to deal with guys like you. And you don’t make it easy for them to give you a break. You just keep on trying to poke them in the eye with a stick.’’

I didn’t see it that way. But I’d heard something similar so often that it might be worth some thought. ‘‘I have challenged social skills.’’

‘‘Don’t we all? Some folks take the trouble to learn to fake it, though. But none of that is why I want to see you. Tell me about what you’re involved in now.’’

I’d thought it out. There was no need to hold much back. He’d know most of it, anyway. I started at the beginning and told it to date, editing only enough to cover John Stretch and Kip Prose.

‘‘No significant deviation from what’s been reported. How do the ratmen manage those rats?’’

‘‘I don’t think they do. They just trap them and let them get hungry. They took them to the World and turned them loose. I could be wrong, though. I just have business arrangements with them, not a social relationship. My sidekick is as baffled as I am.’’

‘‘The Dead Man can’t read them?’’

‘‘He can. But all he gets is confused. That’s not unusual, though. It’s way less easy for him to read somebody than he pretends,’’ I lied.

‘‘Interesting. I suppose you haven’t heard. There’s been a development.’’

‘‘Um?’’

‘‘Big bugs. All over, down there. In the Tenderloin, especially. Not a real problem, the way I see. People are having a good time trying to catch them. And the weather ought to finish any of them that get away.’’

‘‘Um?’’ A leading question, this time.

‘‘The numbers are surprising, considering how many rats you used. But your real problem may come up on the dark side of the legal divide.’’

‘‘Meaning?’’

‘‘Meaning the bug problem has scared off folks who like to off-load their excess cash in the Tenderloin. Business was way down last night.’’

I shrugged. He needed to take that up with somebody who cared. Though I amused myself with thoughts of the local underbosses putting the button on giant bugs.

‘‘We’ve had a discreet inquiry from the Hill. As to why a certain freelance agent was seen in a certain location before a certain blowup. There was an implication that stolen sorcery may have been involved. And, possibly, some illegal research. You know anything about that?’’

I knew that about the only person likely to have mentioned me to a denizen of the Hill would be the mysterious Lurking Felhske. I showed the Director my famous eyebrow trick. ‘‘Illegal? How? Those people decide what’s legal.’’