"Grief ain't big on caring about why," Block observed.

Singe suddenly squeaked, "Garrett! Danger!" and scooted into the darkness like... Well, like a scared rat. Something stirred back the way we'd come. Somebody barked something. Relway started to drag out a black knife. That started everybody else grabbing for weapons.

"Deal!" Block snapped. "Relax." Relway froze instead.

A wicked vision seemed to materialize slowly from the uncanny shadows, like that mythical breed of vampire that spends part of its unlife as a mist capable of passing through the finest fissure. As it moved into the torchlight I saw that it was someone in black robes with golden lightning bolts embroidered on, his face concealed behind a silver mask. Clearly the aforementioned Stormwarden Perilous Spite, clinging to the traditions of his kind, which have spooky behavior and bad clothes as their foundations.

But people off the Hill dress like they're expected to dress. I sometimes wonder where they find their tailors. I also wondered if I really wanted this guy to turn up after all. Already he felt like clabbered bad humor.

The Goddamn Parrot decided he wanted to go for a fly with Pular Singe. Probably a good idea. I didn't want him attracting attention.

Block caught my eye. He jerked his head. I stepped down. He followed. His pal the wizard took our place. He stirred the kettles and examined their contents.

I call him he for convenience. There was a one in three chance that a woman lurked behind that mask. Not that sex made much difference. Those people are all misery on the hoof.

Block tugged my sleeve, gestured with his head. It was time us grunts made ourselves scarce.

I departed still reflecting upon whether or not it was a good thing to have the stormwarden join us. His presence might be enough to guarantee the continued sinister shyness of the specter general from the Cantard, whose appearance would be much preferable to me.

As we strode toward the Weider mansion Relway asked, "You gotten anywhere finding out anything for me, Garrett?"

"Nope. And I'm not going to, either. They've flat out told me I'm not getting inside anything, nor am I getting anywhere near any information they don't already want the whole world to share."

"But you're the perfect recruit."

"I think I was the perfect recruit until I started talking to you."

"Hmm?"

"Just a hunch. But if I was you and Block, I'd keep an eye out for one of your guys who maybe feels as strong about human rights as he does about law and order."

The ugly little man's face turned to cold iron.

Thou shall have no other gods before me.

102

Max stared the length of the hall at the stormwarden. The sorcerer had come inside just far enough to be seen and cause a stir. He'd made himself shadowy and nine feet tall. Teensy lightning bolts slithered through the nimbus surrounding him. He was accompanied by two apparently ordinary men-at-arms who, on closer inspection, showed a slight golden shimmer. Sarge and Puddle were pleased to abandon their posts to the newcomers.

The hall had become a tomb with Spite's advent. Everyone anticipated the moment when he no longer just stood there. The shapeshifters seemed particularly unhappy, which suggested they recognized the sorcerer and knew him well enough to believe they had reason to be unhappy. And Marengo North English seemed to have faded into the very woodwork.

Weider listened closely while I explained what we'd found in the ruined brewery. He nodded occasionally, then observed, "They might've created themselves a small army if they'd gotten hold of my place, then."

"Which was probably their plan."

"But why would they get help from a faction of The Call?"

"We still need to dig that out. But I'm pretty sure the Wolves thought the help was going the other way. We know these shifters are old, now. We saw that when Storey had his fit." Trail and Storey and the Heaven's Gate contingent remained dutifully attentive to the keg they had staked out. "They've had lifetimes to practice telling Karentines what they want to hear and showing them what they want to see."

"Hadn't you better get on with the digging? That spook-wrangler gives me the creeps. He's got a bad feel to him. Try to get him out of here before he starts something I'll regret."

"You heard of him before, boss?"

"Perilous Spite? No. But I don't cross paths with those people much. I'm in trade. A brewer. A brewer doesn't have much contact with anybody but people who buy beer. Even during the worst days of the war the brewery had no intercourse with the war's managers and manipulators. I want to keep it that way. Go to work, Garrett."

"Quit swearing." I surveyed the mob and grimaced. I'm not big on getting up in front of crowds. Not when I have to share the spotlight with a lord from the Hill—especially when that lord is a complete unknown. Block seemed impressed by him, though, and now-invisible Marengo hadn't too far from being petrified.

"Quiet down!" I bellowed. Immediately every thug from The Call and the brewery and the Guard redoubled the racket by trying to shush everybody else. I would've done better just standing there letting them come to the notion that things were about to ripen. Though tardily, silence did find its way among us.

A sea of ugly faces turned my way. Not a one looked happy. I wasn't overflowing with joy, myself.

I hadn't thought this part through. Get them all together, let it turn into a pressure cooker. Slip a couple cards up my sleeve that nobody but Ty knew about. See what the situation produced. That was the plan.

Should I explain? Some of these people had no idea why they'd been summoned. The rest probably had the wrong idea.

I decided to let the thing unfold.

"Mr Trail. Mr. Storey. You gentlemen became exercised a while ago. Please explain why to everyone else." I could imagine the rumors that had begun to go around already.

Trail couldn't get a word out while surrounded by so many people who outranked him socially. Storey didn't have that problem, though. He had bolstered his courage mightily at Weider Brewing's expense. He repeated the tale of the Myzhod campaign. I let him ramble and editorialize but he didn't embellish much. The stormwarden demonstrated an intimidating willingness to bestow cruel attention on any member of the audience inclined to become restless. I suspected that a lot of my guests knew more about Spite than I did. I suppose if I'd had one of those posh army sinecures instead of a real job as a Marine, I might have heard something about him, too.

Storey made it clear that he and Trail believed these shifters right here, right now, in this very room, were the same damned treacherous shifters who'd led an entire Karentine army to its destruction fifty years ago.

Once Storey depleted his store of vitriol I announced, "Miss Quipo Trim, lately of His Majesty's Royal Army Medical Corps, is going to tell us whatever she recalls that might be germane."

Quipo told the crowd what she'd told me, adding details she'd remembered since then. Then, in succession, I got statements from everyone else who'd had contact with the shifters. I revealed my own history. I exempted only Relway, who wasn't present anyway, according to official information. Almost everyone had to see that this assembly wasn't about me and the Weiders, as many might have expected. Ultimately, it was about the security of the Karentine Crown.

The stormwarden weighed on my mind when I said, "That establishes the picture. These creatures have pretended to serve the Crown for ages but everywhere they go disaster follows. Rather like Glory Mooncalled. I haven't dug out much more about them. They're a big secret. Their commander in modern times was a Colonel Norton Valsung. Miss Trim tells me Valsung was Karentine but she's the only person I've found who ever met the man. I consider his existence problematical. He may have been a particularly clever shapeshifter."