Which offered us both an answer he didn't want to face—along with a reason why.

He'd slipped off to meet Belinda, jumping right into a honey trap. And now his ego hurt worse than his body because he feared he'd been set up from the beginning.

Belinda was her father's daughter, with extra weapons. She could blind men with their natural weakness. And she had no concept of mercy.

I said, "If you play on their ground, you obey their law. Only the strong survive. You mess with their money, they kill you. Unless you kill them. They don't think like kings and generals. Or like you. They don't send soldiers to attack your soldiers. They'll kill your men only if they get in the way. They want you. Once you're dead your soldiers are no longer a problem."

That seemed the obvious way to operate, too. I've never understood why, when we caught a big-time Venageti wizard or general or noble, we'd always ransom him. Or even just let him go if he promised not to fight anymore.

I wondered what Belinda would say about last night. Not that I'd ask. I try to separate business and friendship. If a friendship is what we have.

I told North English, "I've known these people a long time. I'm surprised they've been as tolerant as they have."

That startled Marengo. "Tolerant?"

"By their standards."

"It wasn't my intent to engage in criminal activities, Mr. Garrett. I'm the most visible Call leader but not the only one. Not even the supreme one. Other groups started raising money that way a long time ago. I opposed the plan when the Council proposed it. I reminded them that The Call wasn't founded as a criminal conspiracy. I reminded them that one of our missions is to set an example. We can't cut corners because our cause is just. If we do, we're no better than the Other Races. And it sets a precedent we'll pay for later."

The man was heated up for a speech. Maybe he was a true believer. I cut him off. "Looks to me like you've got a good counterargument now."

"Possibly. But I doubt it." He paused. I had nothing to say so that's what I said. He continued, "It's all out of control, Garrett. It's like riding a lion. The beast answers the reins if the mood takes it. And the gods help me if I try to get off." And again with the calculating look.

"What do you want from me? Looks like the Outfit sent a message. Emphatically. You were lucky. You survived it. They'll let you alone if it looks like it took. I say don't aggravate them. Chodo is way less friendly than Belinda."

"Did she set me up?"

"Probably." My guess was, Belinda just thought on her feet and improvised. "Maybe that was why she wanted to meet you."

His pride was bruised more deeply than his flesh. Marengo North English thought well of himself. What kind of world was it where a woman could use him as knife fodder? "You know Belinda. Talk to her."

Was he going to whine? "If you've checked me out, you know I know Chodo better than I know Belinda." Unless she'd developed a true-confession habit.

North English smiled enigmatically. Maybe he knew more than I thought he could. He winced, closed his eyes. His wounds still hurt badly.

79

"What actually happened last night?" I asked North English, after we took time for him to rest and take a painkiller.

"I'd arranged to meet Belinda at a rooming house on the far north side. She said the place belonged to her family."

"Remember the name of the street?"

"I don't. That was the driver's responsibility." When I frowned, he said, "I don't think it had one." He colored slightly.

"You went into an elven neighborhood?" Elves don't get excited about frills like street names or house numbers.

"Just the edge. Nobody would expect to find me there."

"No. But somebody did."

"Yes." North English proceeded to describe the attack on his coach, which occurred soon after it entered that street. It mimicked the attack on Belinda's coach.

Was that coincidence?

Quite possibly he'd had an earlier close call and didn't yet realize it. Belinda had asked him to meet her at The Palms. And CeeJay Carlyle had been with Belinda when she headed for her postparty rendezvous. Did Crask and Sadler mess everything up?

I asked, "Should I talk to your coachman?"

"If you know a good necromancer, you might. I'm the only survivor. They didn't get me dragged out of the coach fast enough."

There'd be no way of double-checking details short of consulting the men who had tried to kill him. I had a suspicion that was a long-shot daydream.

The details didn't matter. Had to be Belinda's doing. And Marengo knew that. But I wondered if she might not have had more than one motive.

Her attack had been extremely vigorous, even for her. If, indeed, she had ordered the attack. It risked warfare now and persecution later if The Call enjoyed any enduring political success.

She must've decided that the Outfit had to make a clear, definitive statement incapable of being misunderstood by anybody. Which might mean she hadn't just been responding to business encroachments.

Just suppose Marengo had had some remote connection with the attack on Belinda...

I decided that he must have had. Based upon no evidence whatsoever.

Poor Marengo! That made him a zombie, dead but still walking toward the knife.

Somebody had brought Crask and Sadler back. Those two were fearless but they weren't stupid and were only marginally crazy. They knew lots of people wanted to carve them up.

They must have been sure they could do their work quick and dirty and profitably and be gone before death could pick up their trail.

So somehow North English got word to them when Belinda showed up with me, cleverly grasping the moment. He might not have known that those two thought they owed me. But would he have cared?

I didn't think so, either.

Then Belinda made a date, probably hoping to let North English meet Carlyle for an exercise in comparative knife techniques. And North English agreed, probably thinking he'd have fun with Belinda if his hitters missed.

No proof. None whatsoever. All speculation. But I thought the Dead Man would agree. And he'd looked inside Belinda's head, where the snakes and spiders lurk.

I can conclusion-hop with the best. I've run with villains for years, people who play those kinds of games. You can smell them out if you know the stakes and luck onto a few hints up front.

These scenarios fit the facts neatly.

They didn't toss light into the shadows surrounding the shapeshifters and the Weiders, though. They gave me no mention whether or not The Call was trying to strong-arm the Weiders, or was connected to the shapeshifters somehow.

Damn it. The one thing I'd figured out didn't help much. Belinda and The Call could work out their differences, with bloody steel or rattling jaws. That wouldn't touch me.

Belinda might have let the nonhumans know about the advent of the Cleansing. The Outfit had tentacles reaching inside shadows Relway only dreamed of penetrating. Everybody owes them something, somewhere, somehow. Though in this case Marengo was, probably, the leak himself.

I asked, "Any way you can bully your council into backing off?"

"Backing off?" He got that air of struggling to concentrate again.

"To quit trying to horn in on the rackets."

"I can try. If I had a good reason. If they're really doing that."

"How about staying alive? Is that a good reason?"

"They wouldn't do anything just on my say-so, Garrett. Again, if they're really involved."

Why did he keep pretending? "Here's a reason they can understand. If you get in a war with the Outfit, it won't just be Marengo North English who gets dead.They can get to anybody. Eventually. They'll find somebody close willing to be corrupted. They won't be impressed by who you are, who your parents were, how much you're worth, or who you know. You should've gotten that message last night."