I had no sympathy for Fido. I didn't owe him squat. And now I had an idea who'd done Squirrel. I'd pass it on next time I saw Crask or Sadler.

We got out of that bughouse. I didn't look back. "Winger, you know anything about the book?"

"Only that it's supposed to be about so by so and weigh fifteen to twenty pounds. The pages are brass."

"Brass. Brass shadows. It's what the dwarves call a book of shadows. Each page has a character described on it. Whoever reads the page can become the character written there."

"Say what?"

We were safely away, without any tail I could spot. I led her to the steps of a public building. They still consider public buildings public here. For now. Subjects gather on the steps. Sometimes they live there in good weather We could plant ourselves and talk without getting bashed over the head and told to move along by the hired thugs who police the Hill's streets. "Think about it, sweetheart."

"About what? How?"

"Say a guy has a dream. No matter how crazy the guy or how insane the dream. Eh? Then all of a sudden he gets a real chance to grab it. Eh?"

"You lost me, Garrett."

I didn't think she was that slow. I played it out, explained a little more about what the book was supposed to be. "That creep Fido wants to be a wicked wizard more than anything in the world. But he doesn't have the talent it takes to trip over his own feet. He's so bad at what he wants it's almost easy to feel sorry for him. Almost. But I can't when it comes to the Book of Shadows. A nut like him gets it..."

Her eyes widened. "Oh."

"Oh. Yeah. You got it. But he doesn't have the book. Yet. We know that for sure because he's so crazy he'd be taking his wicked-wizard act all over town if he did."

"Let me think about this, Garrett."

"You know him better than I do."

"I said let me think." Her face furrowed up exactly the way Saucerheads does when he concentrates. I had a feeling she was like Tharpe in ways other than size. She'd be one of those who think slow but steady, sometimes getting there more surely than those of us who are quicker of wit.

After a while I said, "He must have been in touch with Blaine sometime. Else how would he know about the book?"

"Yeah. Blaine did offer to sell it to him, I think. But something happened. He backed off."

"And got killed for his trouble.

"My fault, probably I found Blaine for Lubbock."

"Huh?"

"I told you, I'm a manhunter. He wanted Blaine found, I found Blaine."

I glimmed Easterman's hangout. It wasn't far away. Not far enough. Somebody was up top trying to lure a flying thunder-lizard down. I guess Fido wanted to catch him his very own dragon.

"But he didn't get the book."

"I guess not. I don't know why. Unless Blaine spotted me and guessed who I was."

Curious. Blaine hadn't had the book when they'd killed him, logically. But he'd had it earlier, and had tried to use it, because he'd been Carla Lindo when he'd stumbled into my house. The Serpent couldn't have it any more than Fido did, else she wouldn't be trying to kill me. She'd be headed out of town.

Gnorst? I'd seen no evidence he was even looking. I'd guess he didn't have it, either.

So where the hell did it go?

Why should I care? Tinnie was going to be all right.

I asked, "You think anybody ought to have that kind of power?"

"Me, I could handle it. But I don't know nobody else I'd trust."

"And I don't know about you."

"How much you pay me not to find it?"

"What?"

"I come to the city for the money, Garrett. Not to save the world."

"I like a straightforward thinker. I like a girl who has her priorities straight and knows what she wants. I'll give you a straight answer. Not a copper. You don't have a glimmer where it is."

"But I will I find things real good. Tell you what. When I find it, I'll give you a chance to outbid Lubbock."

"And the Serpent? You maybe ought to think about that some. While you're at it, think about what happened to Blaine."

"That's no problem."

"Look, Winger, it's stupid not to be scared. There's some bad people in this town. And you got some of the baddest looking for you. On account of Squirrel. If they catch up with you, you can kiss your tail good-bye." I mentioned it because once again I'd glimpsed somebody who looked like Crask.

"I can take care of myself."

"I saw, when you tried to jump me."

"Damn it, Garrett, I'm not your responsibility. Back off"

Something about the way she flared there, and her choice of words, made me wonder if the Winger I was seeing was the real Winger. "All right. All right. Tell me where those dwarves went."

"Twenty marks."

"Mercenary bitch. You'd sell your own mother."

"If the price was right. Two marks. To cover expenses. Won't do you much good. She's dead."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, she's still breathing. She's just been dead from the chin up for the last thirty years. All she knows how to do is whine and bitch and make babies. Sixteen, last time I counted. Probably a couple more by now. Her almost bleeding to death having the fourteenth, then keeping on pumping them out, was what made up my mind I didn't want to be like her"

"Twenty marks." I didn't blame her. Peasants live short and ugly lives, uglier for the women. Maybe she didn't have anything to lose, considering. "But I don't have it on me right now."

"I'll trust you. They say your word is good. Just don't get yourself croaked before I can collect."

"So talk to me. Where are they?"

"You going there right now?"

"Yeah. If you tell me."

"Mind if I just show you? Might find me something interesting, too."

25

We'd hardly begun walking. Suddenly people started running around cackling at each other like the world's biggest chicken herd. They didn't act scared, they just wanted to know what was happening. Me too, you bet. I got no sense from the confusion till everybody stopped, faced the same way, and pointed.

The shadows came first, rippling over us. Then came the monsters, out of the morning sun, a good dozen of them. Instead of drifting way up high, they were down at rooftop level, wing tip to wing tip, necks snaky and heads darting around. They screeched as they went over. MorCartha appeared from nowhere, diving for safety below.

Nobody panicked. There ‘was no cause. Those things were big but not massive. They couldn't carry anyone off. Maybe a cat or small dog. They didn't have the wing power to go flapping away with anything heavier.

Somebody nearby observed, "They're cleaning out the pigeons." Which was why their heads were darting around. "One comes along ahead of the others and flushes those feathered rats, then the rest get them on the fly."

Somebody else said, "I hear they's a bunch of the big meat-eaters in the hills up north."

Grimmer news, that. Some of those critters stand thirty feet tall, weigh a dozen tons, and snack on mammoths. The farmers would be in for some excitement. I told Winger, "There you go, you want to make money. I know a guy pays prime rates for thunder-lizard hides." Willard Tate used thunder-lizard leather for the soles of army boots.

Winger spat. "Easier money here." Like I'd made a serious suggestion. Not subtle, friend Winger.

We started moving again. When we hit a quiet stretch, she said, "I didn't know you had those things around here."

"We don't. Usually. Something must be pushing them south. They don't like it down here. Too cold and unfriendly."

Which sparked a thought. If there were big carnivores rampaging through the hills, they wouldn't last. One chilly night and that would be that. The farmers would sneak around and feed them a few hundred pounds of poisoned steel while they were too sluggish to protect themselves. Then Old Man Tate would find himself with more hides than he could handle.