While Marengo had been eyeing the Belindas and Tinnies and Wingers and developing an itch, she had been formulating plans of her own, I was sure. Whatever silverware Marengo still had lying around The Pipes might not be there much longer.

Now Colonel Block was whispering with a fawning Relway. Both kept glancing my way. He nodded several times, started toward the stair himself.

Marengo arrived first. He asked, "Are you ready to start?" Oddly, Tama seemed more interested in my answer than he did.

I was, though I hadn't achieved the perfect and optimal mix I'd hoped for. But the crowd was better than the one I'd expected. The front door had been locked. Sarge and Puddle stood between it and the room, looking like some pudgy guardian temple trolls. Them dressed up formal was a vision to behold. Out of a bad dream. Unfortunately, I'd never get joy out of having seen them looking pretty. I was outfitted in Ty Weider's second best get-up. I looked like some limp-wristed, lilac-scented lordlet bent on embarrassing his family publicly. "Yes."

Singe moved around the edge of the room. Marengo glanced down at her frequently, unhappily. Playmate, Saucerhead, and Winger were never far from the ratgirl. Winger cleaned up astonishly well. Marengo's gaze brushed her a time or three. I wouldn't interfere if they decided they were made for each other. They deserved one another. And I had a parrot that would make a wonderful engagement present.

A glance showed me that the future nuptial knickknack was still paying attention.

Singe drifted off to check Mr. Gresser's crew and Neersa Bintor's kitchen gang.

Block puffed his way to the head of the stair. He clung to the rail, sucked in a bunch of air, gasped out, "You've got to stall, Garrett."

"But—"

"Got a good reason?" Max demanded from behind me, as I made a small gesture that brought a colorful lightning bolt down to strike my shoulder. I guess Alyx had gotten all the way there with the message. Her old man sounded darkly suspicious. Which is probably the healthiest attitude if you're dealing with minions of the Crown.

"I think so," Block said. "Though you're free to disagree, of course."

"What?" I asked. I knew it would be ugly. The Goddamn Parrot cocked his head, the better to hear.

"An acquaintance took the liberty of inviting himself down." Slight weight on the last word. I understood perfectly but Max didn't catch it. Block's way-so-mysterious chum from the Hill had decided to stick his nose in. That was wonderful. That was more than I'd hoped for. That made my evening nearly faultless. That was one snake I hadn't really expected to lure in out of the weeds. Now if just one more old shit-disturber, lately of the Cantard republic, couldn't control his curiosity and chose to become a surprise guest, I would've contrived a flawless machination.

Block continued, "He can't make it for a while yet. And I'll tell you, you'll feel more comfortable once he is here." He winked, a very unBlocklike action. "I think." Meaning Block was going to feel more comfortable. His mystery guest must have been riding him hard.

Max clucked his tongue, irked. Max's opinions of folk from the Hill were blacker than mine.

Marengo didn't seem to be disappointed. In fact, he seemed more relaxed. Then I realized he wasn't listening to us, just to the crowd on the floor below.

I asked, "Is your buddy's identity a secret?"

"He's the Stormwarden Perilous Spite."

Never heard of him, I didn't say because Max got in the first word. "Why?" He seemed distinctly unfriendly now. Could this be somebody he knew and disliked? Did everybody know Spite but me? I'm supposed to know things. It's what I do. Know where to make connections. But I couldn't connect this glorified witch doctor to anything.

"Because the Stormwarden is extremely knowledgeable in matters having to do with ranger, commando, special forces, and covert operations inside the Cantard. He was involved. He has unfinished business. He's been following this since he heard about the dragon tattoos."

How did he hear? I wondered. Would Colonel Westman Block be saddled with standing orders to report certain discoveries to certain interested parties? Might such reports be a condition of his appointment? Why, Garrett, how could you be so cynical? You developing a case of creeping realism?

Block surged onward, ingenuously "I don't know why, Garrett, but that got his attention in a big way. He's been nagging me like the proverbial fishwife. And seems to know more about what's going on than Deal does... " Block decided he was talking too much, which is a liability in his trade. He finished, "Him joining us was his idea."

"But he keeps Hill time, of course," I grumbled. Meaning I figured the Stormwarden couldn't be bothered catering to the schedules of us lesser creatures. But that was all right. I wanted this devil out in the open where I could see him. "Tell me, old buddy, how did this guy hear about my party in the first place?"

Block shrugged. "I don't know. Not from me. I told you. He's well informed."

"Hmm." I glanced at Marengo, there with his old pal Max Weider, being mousy quiet. The very man who was grumbling and muttering about the caprice of sorcerers the other day. "I see."

North English lacked the grace to be embarrassed.

"I see," Max said, too. "So we'll wait, Garrett. Use the delay to build the pressure till these fools blow smoke out their ears. Then let the Stormwarden land in their midst like a cat in a mouse nest."

I said, "You're the boss." A little time sweating might indeed make somebody a tad more amenable. "Excuse me." Block had retreated halfway down the stair, then had stopped, looking my way. He had something on his mind.

I went to find out. The colonel whispered, "Relway says to tell you you have to come visit the Lamp brewery."

"He find something interesting?"

"Apparently so. He wouldn't explain. He did say that he didn't understand it but that you might and you probably ought to see it before you go ahead with what you're doing here."

Now? "Maybe he didn't notice but here is just a wee bit busy. And every time he wants me to see something that turns out to be dead bodies. I've seen enough dead people... Oh, shit!" Medford Shale and his Heaven's Gate cronies had been admiring the settling tank like it might be the doorway to paradise. I'd been keeping an eye on them in case they decided to try tapping it, the results of which were sure to amaze and distress almost everyone. "Bird, go down there and get those drunks headed in another direction. Go on. Shoo."

The arrival of the talking bird had the desired effect. The old folks retreated toward the kegs already tapped. But their bickering orbit around the settling tank brought them face-to-face with the arriving prisoners.

Storey went berserk. He flailed away at one of the shapeshifters with his walking stick. I murmured, "Apparently it can be the same Carter Stockwell who was involved in the Myzhod campaigns."

"What?"

"Long story. Those old men were soldiers a long time ago. Some shapeshifter mercenaries sold them out to the Venageti. It was a big disaster for our side. Looks like these could be the same shapeshifters. Storey—that's the guy being so stylish with the walking stick—mentioned the one he's whipping by name."

"I do believe I'm beginning to get an idea of why the stormwarden is interested."

Me, too, if Perilous Spite was what I suspected. "Let's go calm them down."

"Let's have a whisper with Deal."