By the time I reached The Pipes the temperature had risen and the clouds had become less impressive. They would grow again when the temperature began to fall.

Hey! I don't recall anybody ever paying much attention to that kind of thing. Well, maybe farmers. But you'd have a hell of a racket going if you could predict the weather. Stormwardens make a hell of a racket out of just creating small spots of weather... But that's a tough way to make a living. The magic is harder on the magician than it is on the world around him.

There was steady traffic on the road but I never worried. I didn't draw attention to myself. I was just one more vagabond drifting. Call uniforms and freecorps armbands were plentiful, suggesting a lot of messages moving between The Pipes and Marengo's satraps inside the city. I expected trouble getting past the gate but Marengo and Mr. Nagit had left word. The gate was well-defended now. Still not strongly enough to whip a troop of centaurs but, probably, enough to discourage that crew from attacking in the first place.

What had become of them? Did Block and Relway mention them to their military contacts? Or Mr. Nagit or Colonel Theverly might have done so. It needed doing. We couldn't have random armed bands roving the countryside.

A youngster who reminded me of me six or seven years ago went to the house with me. "You walked all the way out here?" Like he found that hard to believe.

"You must've been cavalry."

"Yeah."

"Figures."

"What's that mean?"

"Nothing personal. I just don't like horses. Anything interesting happened since yesterday?" Probably better change the subject. Cavalry types are goofy about horses. You can't find an ounce of rational paranoia among ten thousand of them.

"Been a campout. Bigwigs been busy, though. The Old Man got mad once he got over having his feelings hurt."

North English let word of his pecadillo get out? I asked.

"Nah, he ain't bragging. But other people know. Word gets around."

Interesting. Marengo told me he was the only survivor of the ambush. I should've been the only one he told the real story. "Just out of curiosity, what story did you hear?"

His story matched Marengo's.

Interestinger and interestinger.

Why would he want everyone to know? Most of us prefer to conceal our humiliations and screwups. Marengo North English struck me as very much that sort of man. What was the tactical advantage?

Or had he confided in someone who hadn't kept his secret? Or... Might one of his attackers have retailed the story?

95

My return must have been portentous for North English. Fifteen minutes after I entered his house I was alone with him in his dimly lighted sanctum. His expression suggested he was unnaturally interested in what I would have to say. Before he could ask me anything I inquired, "Are you aware that every man on the grounds knows what happened the other night? Not the official version but the version you told me?" If the men knew, then Tama must know. Might be a good time to find out if she had formed any opinions.

A darkness stirred behind Marengo's eyes. Perhaps it was veiled anger. He growled, "I didn't tell anyone but you." He watched me intently. I don't know what he expected.

"And I never told a soul," I lied. Then I mused, "You did say that the men who attacked you looked like they belonged to the movement."

North English grunted. He must've thought about that more than he wanted to admit. He must've taken it to heart. The kid who had walked me to the house had told me Marengo was hiding out today, letting no one in to see him but Tama. There were no bodyguards around so maybe he was getting paranoid about everybody.

I told him, "I saw Belinda. She swears she had nothing to do with the attack, nor was she responsible for that invitation. I believe her."

North English's style was becoming plebian. He grunted again, evidently preoccupied with rearranging furniture inside his head. He didn't seem surprised by what I'd just said. Eventually he pulled himself together, and urged, "Tell me what you think."

I offered some ideas that had occurred to me during the walk from town. Marengo continued more attentive than ever before. Somehow he must've come to the conclusion that I was a real person.

"You're convinced there's a connection between Brotherhood Of The Wolf and this Black Dragon gang?"

"There's no absolute proof but the circumstantial evidence looks strong to me."

"And this's something you just came up with on the way out here?"

"Oh, no. The Guard are looking at the possibilities from another angle. There may have been a previous connection during the war. And the shapeshifters may be associated with Glory Mooncalled somehow."

It was obvious that was something Marengo didn't want to hear. "You have a plan?" The North English I wanted to believe in, the one who could contemplate mass extinctions without qualm, seemed about to emerge from behind the mask. Marengo sounded harder and more angry by the minute.

I said, "I have some ideas. There'll be risks. Do you have any men you trust completely? Bearing in mind that the Brotherhood Of The Wolf was practically your bodyguard."

Hard Marengo glared. He didn't like my plan already.

"I can find men on my own. If you prefer." Like he was in whether or not he liked it.

"Talk to me."

I explained. He frowned a lot. He seemed confused by several points, like his memory was a little rocky. He muttered to himself, interrupted himself to ask, "Does this mean you've lost interest in the library?"

"Pretty much." What the hell brought that on? I reviewed briefly, then continued.

Marengo asked, "Will Weider cooperate?"

"I think so." Putting words into the Old Man's mouth.

"I'd guess so, too. He'll want to balance the books. How many men will you want?"

"Say twenty? Enough to put up a fight even if a few aren't trustworthy."

"Good. Good. When do you want to do it?" He seemed eager to cooperate now.

Marengo North English seemed a different man when he wasn't "on" in front of his followers. No sense of conviction came off him at all.

"As soon as we can. Which would be tomorrow night at the earliest, probably. There's a lot to pull together."

"At this end, too. But I think we need to do it. Find Nagit. Don't tell him anything, just send him to me. I'll talk to him, then send him along with you to run messages. So you don't have to ride out here and back every few hours."

"All right. But I wouldn't be riding, I'd be walking."

As I started toward the door he demanded, "Why the hell don't you get a horse?"

I thought he knew. "I need the exercise." They must've done some research on me. That was common sense.

He smiled wickedly. "That's right." And now I got the feeling he did know all about me. I had the feeling that he was taunting me somehow. Or maybe he was just letting me know that I wasn't inside anything here yet and there was no way I was going to get inside. This was a marriage of convenience only.

North English suggested, "Tell Nagit to dredge you up some decent clothing. It'd be a shame if everything went in the shitter because you got dumped into a vagrants' home."

The shitter? Why would he, suddenly, start using language like that? It didn't fit the superior-race image.

96

I ran into Tama in the hallway outside. She was carrying tea and rolls for two. The tea smelled good. She seemed delighted to see me, yet infinitely suspicious. "Will you stay a little longer this time?" Her voice husked. My spine quivered. My knees jellied. Boy, could she suggest a lot without saying anything.