"It'll be all right," I promised the girls. I didn't mind seeing Imar and Lang plop back into the Black Lake of Whatsis, but to condemn similarly these two would be too cruel. The world could use more happy gods and goddesses.

I yelled, "Dean! Bring beer for me."

Dean came from the kitchen as I held the Dead Man's door for the girls. He had a big pot of tea, several mugs, and all the side stuff. The water must have been on. My beer was there. With backup. He told me, "I thought you might need fortification." He could not keep his eyes off the girls. His tray started to shake.

"That's an understatement."

Dean started to ask something but then saw Magodor trying to intimidate everyone with one of her nastier looks.

"Maggie, knock it off!" I snapped before I thought. "No wonder you guys worked your way down to the strong end of the Street. You had a stupid boss, yeah, but I haven't seen much to recommend the rest of you, either. Cat! Stop shaking. That cup belonged to my mother. It's about the last thing of hers I have left."

The Dead Man managed to slide in, What are you doing?

65

I was trying to break everybody's mental stride. If they were off balance they might think instead of just reacting.

It worked. Sort of.

Everybody stopped to gawk at me.

I said, "We came close to disaster last night. Because of stupidity and thoughtlessness. Imar and Lang nearly cost us the wall between this world and the darkness. The goddesses who set them up didn't show any forethought, either. It shouldn't have taken any genius to anticipate their behavior. Magodor, you never seemed stupid. When you maneuvered the ladies so they would manipulate the males... "

Garrett.

I was on a roll. I didn't want to hear from anybody yet.

"No," Magodor snapped.

Garrett, I fear it may be less simple than you think, complex as that is.

"Huh?"

Cat, Fourteen, and the owl girls contributed silence. I expected nothing more. Adeth, though, was turning out to be an unexpected zero.

The Adeth creature is no goddess, Garrett. I can read nothing there. And this is for the very good reason that there is nothing there.

"What?" It was me off balance now.

This Adeth is a construct. A golem or dibbuk, if you will, here specifically to catch your eye. We should get it out of the house. Its ultimate purpose may be more sinister.

I slipped my arm around the redhead's waist. I tried to lead her away.

Nope. Nothing doing. All of a sudden that little bit had the inertia of a pyramid.

"Cat. You know something about Adeth. You'd better let us know." I watched Magodor. Near as I could tell, she was unaware of what the Dead Man had sent me.

She cannot read me at all. I cannot get through to her. Presumably the dibbuk is blocking me.

Cat did not respond immediately.

I relayed the Dead Man's observations. The owl girls developed cases of the sniffles. Magodor considered Adeth. "Interesting. You were trying to get rid of her?"

"Yeah."

Magodor seemed to vibrate. A baby thunderclap announced Adeth's departure. "She is in the street again."

"Do you know anything about Adeth?"

"She was someone Imara knew. I never heard of her before Imara organized the plot to rid us of Imar and Lang and the others. She had no trouble making herself visible to mortals and could change her appearance quickly. Her only direct part was supposed to be to bring you to us, making Abyss, Daiged, and those think she might be one of the Shayir."

Cat said, "Mother got the whole plot idea from Adeth."

Did that make Maggie sit up? You betcha. Me, too.

"How long ago?" I asked. "Cat, I don't think you were any accident. You were created deliberately so your mother could assume... "

"Stop."

"I'm sorry. But... "

"Just stop."

"Plausible," Magodor observed. "Very plausible. Assuming she feared someone very powerful, a mortal identity would be a good place to hide."

"Please stop."

Adeth.

"Who or what is Adeth? It's very important."

"She was my mother's friend. I don't know. Maybe even her lover. She had a lot. When Imar wasn't looking. Adeth was just always around, ever since I was little. She never even noticed me."

Magodor snapped, "Where is your mother now? Where is the real Adeth?"

"I don't know. I've been here."

I heard Dean scoot along the hallway. The front door opened, then slammed. "What the hell?"

The bird. I had him put out.

"Good. Find him a cat to play with." I asked Magodor, "What do you know about Adeth?"

"Nothing. The name was new to me when Imara said we would use her to manage you. Her plot had many friends."

"How many of you are there? You really don't know everyone in your racket?"

"No, I don't. No one has any idea how many thousands or what kinds of us came across in the great migration. There's never been any reason to know. Do you know everyone in this great sump of a city?"

No. Of course not. I don't even know everybody on my block. People come and go. But that was different. Wasn't it? I wasn't in the Three-O racket. Nobody expected omniscience, omnipotence, or omnipresence from me.

Petty pewter, No-Neck. Petty pewter. All of them.

The more I had contact with them, the smaller the gods seemed. Maybe the poet was right about familiarity breeding contempt.

Garrett. The dibbuk has decided to return. Or has been instructed to do so.

Whichever, a tremendous crash came from the front of the house. A moment later Dean and the Goddamn Parrot both started exercising their voices in protest.

I told Magodor, "It came back."

66

Magodor tossed the goddess-golem back into the street. "I'm not strong enough to push it any farther." She was surprised.

The dibbuk headed for the house again.

People were aware that something weird was happening. The street was clearing fast.

I whimpered about the damage to my door until I saw smug Mrs. Cardonlos staring, grinning because she'd just found fresh ammunition to use in her campaign to condemn me.

"What do you think, Old Bones?"

Wholly on an intuitional level, I suspect we would find no Adeth—not this Adeth—on any roll of gods.

Intuition, for him, is filling gaps in already chancy information webs by applying his several minds. He is very good at filling gaps with plausible and possible gossamers. But he won't betray his thinking until he has everything nailed down, beyond dispute. He hates being wrong way more than he hates being dead.

"You're that sure? That you'll tell me now?"

No. There is a matter of probabilities and risks and their comparative magnitude. If I am correct, time wasted filling the remaining gaps is time we can ill afford to waste. Particularly now that the villains must face the possibility that I suspect the truth.

Only the Dead Man would think enough of himself to fancy himself a threat to the gods.

"Better come out with it, then."

Relay this. I cannot reach the others all at once.

"Listen up, folks. His Nibs has a big story coming out."

The Adeth dibbuk was created specifically as an instrument by which you could be manipulated, Garrett. You were chosen because you were certain to become a focus for conflict. You were intended and expected to become a continuous provocation.

"Little old me? Broke their hearts, didn't I?"

Enough, Garrett. Listen. You can do your tongue exercises later.

The reprimand seemed to get through to everyone else.