The big greenie had stick-to-it-ivity, I'll give him that. He got up, shook himself off, tore up some timber just to express himself, then got rolling again. He wanted to catch something for all his trouble. He limped a little. Maybe he'd twisted an ankle, or whatever thunder-lizards have.

I barely breathed till the excitement took itself out of hearing. Then I moved carefully. I've heard that those things sometimes run in packs. And maybe he'd spotted me going over the side. Maybe he was waiting for a Garrett snack to come to him. Probably what he was doing up there on the ridge—just letting breakfast, lunch, and dinner come trotting up from town.

I glanced up the slope I'd descended "I got to find another line of work." I started limping. "People don't want to be saved anyway." Weider's standing offer at the brewery looked better all the time. Nobody to beat on me, no hills to fall down, nobody wanting to take me for a ride, all the beer I could drink. Just lean back and pour it down until I was as fat as the Dead Man. What a life.

The job would look good till the hurting stopped.

My myriad aches and bruises wakened the anger that had grown feeble since I'd learned that Tinnie was going to make it. I remembered her lying in the street with a knife sticking out of her, and that reminded me that complain as I might, I did have an interest in all this confusion and insanity. A very personal interest.

There will be Serpents with us always. With the best will it can muster, the race wouldn't be able to exterminate them all. And the race, of course, has no universal will to see them become extinct. We all have a bit of the Serpent in us, just waiting for the right moment to bloom.

Witness all these characters who wanted the Book of Dreams. Not all of them had been bad to begin.

I'd even begun to doubt Carla Lindo's honorable intentions.

We can't get shut of the Serpents but we can sure as hell lower the price in pain by snipping one off the social bush now and then. My attitude underwent adjustment as I limped along. My get-even list rearranged itself. Sometime during my trek homeward, my resistance toward participating in Crask and Sadler's adventure evaporated I donned my pain like a badge, let it flow through me, refused to be daunted by anything.

It's only six miles from Hornet Nest Hill to my place. A couple hours, loafing along. I didn't loaf but I didn't make that good a time. Too many injuries slowing me down

I never saw the nest for which the hill is named. I never saw a hornet. I didn't see friend Winsome or the philosopher again, either. I did, at a distance, spy some busted black wood that might have been fancy coachwork. I didn't go look for survivors.

By the time I got home I was mad at myself for letting the Dead Man get my goat and run me out to see the head dwarf. I'd known it was a pointless exercise when I left.

Dean let me in. He saw I was in no mood or shape for any discussion. He did a fade. I went into my office, shut the door, wouldn't even let Dean bring my beer. I communed with Eleanor. We made a pact. Despite the pain and discouragement, I'd keep plugging. I'd get that book, one way or another. I'd thin the ranks of the villains. Eleanor gave me one of her rare smiles.

"Hell, honey, I guess I can't help being Garrett, anyway." I headed upstairs, paused halfway to tell Dean to bring the pitcher and our first-aid stuff to my room.

39

It had been a full day and it wasn't yet suppertime I decided to eat light then lie down. Maybe my subconscious would produce a miracle while I napped and I'd end up turning the adventure against Chodo into a coup for the good guys. Assuming I didn't get so stiff and swollen I couldn't move at all.

That's how I figured. The rest of the world didn't share my vision.

Dean wakened me before I was completely asleep. "His Nibs wants you. He accused you of neglect."

So I hadn't taken time to report. He feels no pain. He doesn't get physically tired. He forgets that the rest of us do. Poor spirits and defeatism he understands better. His existence is entirely cerebral.

I went down to report

Carla Lindo was just slipping out. She gave me a smile that set my backbone vibrating despite my state. Old Bones was chuckling to himself. She had his ego puffed up enough to swamp small cities I wondered if she'd goaded him into disturbing me. She did seem to be getting impatient.

He took a quick riffle through my mind, saved me the trouble of talking. Any doubt that those were Chodo Contague's men?

I couldn't give the answer he wanted to hear. "None."

I hoped it would never come to this.

"You and me both. I was lucky. I got a pass. The bastard was sentimental enough to want to explain why he had to send me off. I won't get that option again." As soon as Chodo was sure things had soured he'd put the word out. Maybe even an open contract.

It is premature for that. First he will have to learn that you were not devoured with the others. Then, considering the highly public nature of his past favor, he will want to avoid a public reversal because he cannot yet answer questions sure to arise and threaten his credibility. He is proud and vain and his power in great part rests upon a widespread belief that he is an honorable man within criminal hghts. To tell the world he wants you dead would compel him to provide reasons. He cannot tell the truth. It would bury him

"That wouldn't keep the hard boys from carving me up for the bounty."

No, he admitted

"So? Suggestions?"

Survival now heads our priorities. Finding the Book of Dreams has become secondary.

And people wonder why he's considered a genius. Would I have thought of that myself? "Only way out is to take out Chodo first."

Indeed.

"I've never deliberately set out to kill somebody."

I know. He wasn't taking it lightly

"Is being able to live my life the way I want worth another man's life?" I could get out of town. Permanently. Because if I went, there'd be no one else to slow Chodo down-unless Crask and Sadler got lucky without me.

That is a decision you must make.

"You and Dean have a say."

I survived for centuries before we met. Whatever you decide, I will get by.

No doubt "You really know how to pump a guy up" But his welfare was only one consideration. My ego was going to take a whipping whatever I did. Run and I'd spend the rest of my life questioning my courage. Kill Chodo and I'd have to endure big dents in my self-image. "I can't win."

There is no question of winning or losing. Nor one of right or wrong. If you have one fatal weakness, it is your thinking too much. Your insistence upon viewing any choice as a moral decision. It is not immoral to fight for your life. Stop posing. Cease overcomplicating. Decide if you would prefer to spend your remaining days in TunFaire or elsewhere, then act to support your preference.

He can strip a thing to its bones when he wants. And he's damned good at twisting something till it looks like something else.

Dean stuck his head into the room. "There's a person to see you, Mr. Garrett

"Who?"

Hint of a smile. "A most unusual person."

I looked at the Dead Man. He didn't give me a clue. I went into the hall. "At the door?"

"I couldn't make up my mind whether or not to let her in. Personally, I don't feel she's your type."

"Huh?" My type is female, in the three primary colors, blonde, brunette, and redhead

"Ordinarily you do tend toward a certain physical type, Mr. Garrett. Mr. Dotes once observed that they could all wear the same underwear."

"Oh?" I thought of myself as an eclectic. I opened the door.