“Good evening, fellows,” I said, smiling. “You know me. This is my associate, Mr. Mills. We’ve come to hear the news from the fishermen.”

They nodded. None spoke. All formed lines flanking the doors, and a single pale hand bade us enter.

I glanced over at Mills. His jaw was set and his fists were clenched. But he managed a grin, and his step never faltered.

Jerle, the day man, was either in his bed or heading that way. A halfdead I’d never met appeared as we stepped over the threshold and guided us silently to a sitting room, then closed the door behind us.

Mills looked about. He chose a seat facing the door. A light sheen of sweat formed on his temple.

“Relax,” I said. “I’m practically House myself. You’re safer here than you are at home.”

He nodded and swallowed.

We didn’t wait long. Our pale friend was back, waving me forward, and asking Mills quietly if he would like refreshments while he waited.

Mills declined. I followed my new friend out, and was glad he closed the door behind me, but didn’t lock it.

“I trust you take no offense,” said the halfdead, when we were out of earshot of the waiting room. “You are known to us. He is not.”

“None at all. I prefer to do this alone, anyway.”

“Good.” We walked through halls as quiet as any tomb. I knew there were dozens, perhaps hundreds, of halfdead around me, but they collectively made all the racket of a dropped silk hanky. “We have been in constant contact with the Regency, by the way. The news is promising.”

“So they haven’t blown themselves up yet.”

“Indeed not.” We came to a door flanked by a pair of live guards. My friend rattled off a string of nonsense words, and they stepped aside.

“Come,” said the halfdead. He looked hard at the door, and it swung silently inwards. “Evis is waiting.”

I didn’t have time to show him my famous lifted eyebrow trick, so I just hurried inside.

The room was dark, as halfdead rooms tend to be. So maybe it tricked my eyes into thinking it was larger than it really was. I’ll probably never know the answer to that one.

Ten paces away from us was a massive iron contraption so tall they’d been forced to dig away at the ceiling to accommodate the top of the thing. Ten men could have ringed it around at the bottom, if they were willing to stand right against the thing and really stretch their arms. I wouldn’t do it, though, because it leaked steam in hissing sprays and spat showers of sparks seemingly at random from between whirling sets of gears and cogs.

Furious, tiny lightning-storms played about a series of metal spikes set like a crown atop the thing. The smell was the same fresh clean smell you get after bad storms. The thunder was miniature, but constant.

A small crew of mixed day folk and halfdead rushed around the device, putting out fires with blackened, damp blankets or shoving odd-looking metal tools into gaps in the mechanism. They communicated in curses and brief exchanges of jargon that were no more intelligible than ogre or Troll.

“Are we ready?” said my guide, over the noise.

A harried human with burn marks over his thick canvas shirt turned to face us.

“We’re having trouble with the coolant, sir. Keeping it short would be advisable.”

My guide nodded. “Understood.” He pointed me toward a desk-like affair, upon which a shiny copper funnel rested, the wide end facing the chair. “Sit there. Speak slowly and clearly. You may expect a minute, perhaps less, before we lose the Regency.”

I sat. Mama Markhat didn’t raise her kids to pester vampires with stupid questions.

The funnel crackled, hissed and then it spoke.

“Hiya, Markhat,” came a voice. Evis’s voice.

“Hello, boss.” That was Gertriss. “Everything is fine here.”

I cleared my throat. The whole room was watching me, and the day folk were trying to hide their grins.

“Evis. Miss. And Buttercup-are you there too, honey?”

A high-pitched giggle sounded from the funnel.

“So. Another miracle of arcane science. Beats carrier pigeons, I suppose.”

“Not really. Fails all the time. Surprised it’s working now. But I wanted to talk to you more or less in person, Markhat. We’re making much better speed than I thought. We’re going to make the bluffs in plenty of time. Ahead of schedule, even.”

“As long as the barges don’t hit a log.”

“Always the ray of sunshine, Markhat. Listen. Your partner is worried-had any more visitors from her old hometown?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” I briefed her on Mama’s last letter. I didn’t mention Mills. The last thing I needed was a lifetime of chiding from Evis about hiring bodyguards every time he left town.

Evis spoke again as I wrapped up Mama’s exploits in Pot Lockney.

“By the way. If you see our mutual friends, please tell them thanks for me.”

“Thanks for what?”

“They’ll know. Oh. Are you keeping your sword handy?”

“Got it right here,” I lied.

“Don’t be an ass. Arm yourself.” The funnel issued a loud screech, and a fresh shower of blue sparks erupted from the top of the clanking ironwork in the center of the room.

Men and halfdead rushed about shouting. Buckets of a white powder were thrown wherever flames began to dance. My halfdead guide took my elbow and gently hustled me out of the room.

“Pigeons seldom burst into flames,” I noted as he shut the door firmly behind us.

He nodded. “I shall pass your observation on to the House. Is there anything else we can do for you tonight, Mr. Markhat?”

“Not a thing,” I said.

He raised the ghost of an eyebrow. “Surely you do not intend to walk back to your office?”

“The night air is invigorating.”

“I shall arrange for a carriage to meet you on the street. You may of course keep it for the night, if you wish.”

“I don’t want to abuse your generosity.”

He nearly smiled.

“We are allies. Evis has left instructions that you be assisted in any way possible. I shall make the arrangements.”

“Thanks.”

He nodded, and another halfdead appeared at my side, and soon I was back at the sitting room with Mills.

“All done?” he asked.

“For now. We’ve got a ride. I’ll drop you back at your place.”

He nodded. “You have the most interesting friends.”

“That I do.” I thought back to Evis’s admonition that I keep Toadsticker handy. “That I do.”

Chapter Sixteen

The ride back to Mills’s place was silent.

He snoozed. I pondered. Evis had gone to a lot of trouble to hold a brief conversation, which meant it must have been important.

Mention of our mutual friend meant Hisvin, of course. And asking me to convey his thanks was Evis’s way of letting me know he had something brewing with the Corpsemaster-something so private he didn’t want it spoken, even in Avalante.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d told me to keep Toadsticker handy.

My sword was a gift from Evis himself, last year. Its steel holds a charm against the halfdead.

Which makes his mention of my need of it doubly worrisome.

Trouble among the Houses? Trouble within Avalante itself?

Or perhaps one of the other dark Houses had decided to throw in with the invaders from Prince.

Which would make Evis and I prime targets for all sorts of unpleasantness.

I cussed. Mills stirred. I was going to keep Toadsticker handy, all right. To the point of bathing and sleeping with the hilt in my hand.

I dropped Mills off in front of his flophouse. He yawned and waved and vanished in the shadows.

My driver thumped the roof, wondering where to go next.

“Cambrit,” I said. “Take a couple extra turns. Make it a long trip.”

“You got it.”

I settled back, shut the curtain and sat in the dark all the way there.

I managed to get in and out of my office without suffering a beating. When I emerged, I carried a bag stuffed with clothes and shoes and shaving gear, and Toadsticker was on my belt.