Witty conversationalist. Stepovich took a breath."You sure you feel okay? You maybe want to get something to eat, some soup or something? Talk later on?"

"Huh-uh."

Stepovich shifted, his belt creaking, his off-duty gun digging him, just a little, under the arm. He scratched at it, pulling the holster down a bit. "There was a knife, when we busted that gypsy. But I didn't turn it in with his other belongings. I… uh… it went down in the lining of my jacket. And… I had a feeling, Durand. I still do. I don't think the Gypsy we busted killed the liquor store clerk. I know you like him for Cynthia Kacmarcik's killing, but I don't think that's him either. But I do think he's a link. So I gotta find him,"

"Why?"

"To talk to him."

"No." Durand shifted his ice pack, spoke with effort. "Why you think he's a link?"

Stepovich scratched his nose. "I don't know.Mayknow.Maybe they're both gypsies. Mostly, I just got a feeling."

"Where's the knife now?"

Stepovich hesitated. "In a safe place." He prayed he wasn't lying. "I don't wanna, you know, well, if I can take care of this thing without it coming out that I was sloppy about booking the knife in, you know.I mknow.Iou know how it is. It's just better if you don't give them a reason to start checking you out,you know? I do good work, Durand. This was one little screw up, I don't think I should have to pay a big price for it, you know?"

Durand lifted his beer, sipped it carefully. He set it back on the table, sighed, and dropped the sack of melting ice next to it. "I'd feel better if the lab had a look at the knife," he said carefully.

Stepovich looked at him steadily. "The liquor-store guy was shot. And I had the knife when Cynthia Kacmarcik was killed. You know that."

Durand sniffed meditatively. He lifted his big eyes to meet Stepovich's, then looked past him. "Yeah. I know that."

The candle burned down

from its place on the sill.

The curtains caught fire

but the house remained

Standing there still.

Turning around,

saw you looking at me

With tears running down

from the place where your

Eyes used to be.

"WALK THROUGH THE DOOR"

The nora touches the Fair lady on Her knee and says, "She has stopped spinning now."

"Oh, has she? Well, fetch her out then."The nora goes to the door, but finds it already open, and the woman comes forth. In her hands is a length of spun yarn. She goes up to the Fair Lady, who says, "I reached my hand for one who troubled me, and you chose to put yourself in my way, so I took you, instead. Then you contrived to weave, and thought to keep me away from you that way, but your spirit is no stronger than your flesh was. You had to stop at last, Cynthia Kacmarcik, and now we have you."

"When I was born," she says, "My name was Rozsa.BuRoustabout became ill as a babe, and would have died, so they gave me a new name and the illness could no longer find me."

The Fair Lady frowns, as if this disturbs Her. But the old woman says, "There is a tree of the world, and its leaves brush the moon, where King David plays the fiddle and the saints dance. You brought me here because I saw the tree, and knew who stood under it, sheltered from your hailstones, and because I stopped you when you would have cut it down. But, see, I have woven yarn from its twigs.Thtwigs. Thes blinded himself, but I have taken the veils away, and soon he will see. The Raven will be saved by the love with which you cursed him, and the Coachman has his horses. As for the Owl, there is this."

With that she throws the yarn into the fire, where it at once begins to burn, and the smoke, grey as a storm cloud,goes out the flue and into the world of men, and yet the yarn also stays in the fireplace, always burning, never burned.

The Fair Lady gnashes Her teeth as the nora and the liderc pounce on the old woman and drag her away. She doesn't resist.

THIRTEEN

What the Badger Said to the Raven,and the Owl Said to the Coachman

How can you have lived this long

And not give in to rage?

Don't you understand that

We've both outlived our age?

There is no final curtain;

This is not a stage.

Can you read what's written

On this blackened page?

"BLACKENED PAGE"

The Gypsy smelled herb tea and wondered ironically if "huh" could be some sort of magic word, because the old woman said it every time she turned a card over. She had shuffled and dealt them herself, ignoring him after he'd cut them as commanded, and then she'd laid them out on a bright red silk, patterned with designs that stirred up hints of old memories-old memories that wanted to drag him away, only now he wouldn't let them. An old woman had died to give him a chance to complete his task-not to allow him to ruminate on his past.

She quickly finished laying the cards out, her hands steady, the cards placed deliberately in a pattern the Gypsy almost recognized. Then she studied them fora long time, occasionally glancing up into the Gypsy's face as if to confirm or deny what the cards told her.

Eventually she gave a "hum mph," and made a move as if to gather the deck up.

"Wait," he said.

She paused. "Yes, well?"

"Aren't you going to tell me what they mean?"

"Why? Would you believe them?"

"How did you know I was coming?"

She nodded slowly, then pulled one from beneath a small stack. It showed a man holding a globe in one hand and a staff in the other. "The Hermit," she said."Reversed. That's you, it seems, though I wouldn't have thought it."

"Why not?"

She ignored the question. "The key is The Emperor reversed, which I knew to begin with, and the Ace of Swords crosses it. The-"

"What does it mean?" he asked, becoming annoyed.

"Mean? The Ace of Swords? Look at it."

He shrugged and did so. A single sword pointing to the sky, a halo of leaves around it, and he suddenly thought of the knife that pressed against his hip. But it certainly couldn't be anything so simple.Hsimple. Hehis mouth to ask again, but she said, "It's the Tower that motivates you, that drives you, although whether you work to build it or tear it down I couldn't say. But I expect you work to destroy it, for the Wheel of Fortune reversed is what has brought you to this point."

The Gypsy felt his impatience growing. "And what is this point, then, old woman?"

She held up the next card, showing an old king standing on disks with stars, holding another star,while yet another rested on his crown. "This point is gathering power, little bird. Building forces, calling up an army. Or maybe it's getting others to do your work for you. Like me, little bird, and I don't like it,though there's nothing I can do about it now."

She said, "The ten of Pentacles tells me you may get what you think you want. But whether this next card refers to you or to all of those who try to help you, I couldn't guess." He looked at the next card,in which a man lay face down with ten swords sticking out of his back, and looked away again.

"Yes," she said, her words like whips. "That's the game you're playing, that's what you're courting,uttering in and out, cooing in everyone's ear. Think about it, since you've asked."

She sighed. "Yet, we have this for the environment, and it is hope, if nothing else." A beautiful woman drank from a cup, her eyes fixed on it as if in contemplation. "And your desire is Temperance,which gives me hope as well; it is more than I'd have thought of you.