Montezuma looked worse than she had when I found her. Winger would've said she looked like death on a stick, well warmed over. Her will had collapsed in the cruel torment of withdrawal. She had little reason to go on. But she'd been lucky, in a way. Relway hadn't been around to abuse her.

I didn't go in there with nerves of steel. I had only Tama and Nagit to count on and no faith that either would stand behind me. I was betting to an inside straight. And Moms Garrett had taught me better over twenty years ago.

Was Lieutenant Nagit conning me? Or worse? The man was a true believer in the raging lunacies of The Call. He shared a domicile with numerous gentlemen who bore me huge grudges. I'd seen several familiar Wolf faces already.

Then came a shock that flipped the old pump. We ran into the ugly little woman who looked so much like Deal Relway's twin sister, scrub scrub scrubbing the hallway floor.

Lieutenant Nagit considered her beneath notice even though it was his fault she was haunting the manor. Apparent inconsequence is Relway's great and frightening strength.

The man guarding Marengo's sanctum didn't quite know what to do when Lieutenant Nagit stomped past without bothering to ask to see North English. The fellow must have been a soldier in his earlier days. Marines are taught to think on their feet.

We were through the doorway before he reacted.

As Lieutenant Nagit had promised as we walked, there were several men cozied up with North English. One was my old skipper, Colonel Theverly, who still didn't remember me. Another was the gent who had spoken for the Wolves at Weider's. What was his name? Tilde? Evidently he was back in good odor. There were others, all elderly. Great. I didn't see a spry bodyguard anywhere around.

Our advent interrupted a heated discussion. A frustrated Theverly wanted North English to approve something operational. North English seemed unable or unwilling to grasp the fact that this was the perfect moment for whatever the colonel had in mind. I did catch the Weider name, though.

There was a lot of anger in the air. It blistered in North English's eyes. He surged out of his chair, about to vent that rage on whatever idiot had dared to enter his sanctum uninvited.

He saw Tama. He froze. There couldn't have been anyone he less expected to see.

We kept moving. Lieutenant Nagit said, "See what Mr. Garrett caught. I was sure you'd want to see her right away."

"Uh... Yes." Confused and puzzled as well as angry, North English finished rising. And fear began to drive earlier emotions off his face. That seemed to shimmer momentarily as he gawked at Tama. Maybe that was a trick of flickering bad candlelight. Or of my imagination.

Theverly, Tilde, and the old men gawked, too. They hadn't expected to see Tama Montezuma again. Which effect was exactly what Lieutenant Nagit wanted her to produce. Tilde seemed almost distraught. Was it possible that Tama's hoard hadn't found its way back into the loving embrace of the chieftain who had denied the Wolves repeatedly?

I shoved Tama forward. She fell at North English's feet. He would be target the first. Tama played her role flawlessly. She was a superb actress, her skills honed in a harsh school. I couldn't have pushed her around if she hadn't been willing to cooperate.

Tama lunged into Marengo's legs. He squawked, flung himself backward. Colonel Theverly had an impulse to help North English but he couldn't manage much on one leg. He would be target two, chosen so because of his handicap. I kept an eye on him because, the way I'd worked it out, he was more likely a villain than North English, despite my prejudicial preferences.

Lieutenant Nagit surprised me by slipping a silver-chain noose over Marengo's head. He got behind North English. I grabbed Marengo's right arm. Tama caught his left and held on for dear life, which was about all she could expect to get out of this.

Nagit had scammed me mildly. I hadn't thought he believed his boss was the shifter. But he had started murmuring a mantra of a prayer that he'd figured this correctly. If he hadn't, he was going to wish he was doing his time in Hell already. With me right across the dining pit saying, "Please pass the brimstone." When this was over I was going to kick his scruffy butt. He could've given me a little more to go on if I needed to change my mind again.

As Nagit had hoped North English's companions remained so stunned they did nothing for the vital few seconds it took him to get Marengo under control. A long moan escaped North English. He shimmered, began to get soft, spongy, loose, and I knew for sure now that Max Weider had yet another loss to mourn. And I had to go back and tell him. And I had to go back and think all the evidence through yet again because I'd been ready to give North English a pass despite his odd behavior.

When did his replacement occur?

The old men began to babble in confusion as it became obvious that their boss not only wasn't Mama North English's beloved son, he was one of them. One of the Other Races.

North English gave one violent surge, then just lost control. He strained to change but couldn't manage it in any useful way. Silver poisoning caused his body to grow more and more limp. By the time Tilde managed a lame effort to pull Tama away the arm she held had stretched two feet. Marengo's face had wax-melted into something not human at all. It looked like a giant slug's head.

I used a foot to push Tilde away, said, "Find more silver, soldier. Anything silver." Theverly kept hopping and I kept watching him closely. A glare was enough to control the old men. The paranoia I'd brought with me began to whisper of the possibility that there were still more shifters to be found. I was developing the suspicion that I might spend the remainder of my life as worried about changelings as I was about horses. In a few strange years I could be one of those street prophets who screech doom and despair and weird conspiracy at the most embarrassing times...

The Marengo changer didn't fight with the ferocity and vigor we'd seen from others earlier. Maybe he was young, not yet at his full strength and wickedness. Maybe he'd worn himself out passing as Marengo. Maybe it was because he was alone, the last of his kind, lacking the psychic support of fellow changers. He had sunk to the floor before Tilde and the old men began to jabber about the implications this had for The Call. I held on, shaking, wondering what insanity had put me here. I couldn't imagine myself committing deliberate murder even though that was the custom in these situations. I felt the changer weakening, losing its plasticity. Soon it just lay there shivering.

I kept that eye on Colonel Theverly every second. His gaze locked with mine. I let go the shifter with one hand, plucked my own silver chain from inside my shirt. I'd brought it just in case. I hadn't wanted to reveal it. Theverly's face changed, but only into a slight frown. "I should know you from somewhere, shouldn't I?"

"Yeah. You should. The islands campaign." I couldn't find a "sir" inside me anywhere.

"Ah. I was there only a few—Three Force. Black Pete's bunch. Sergeant Peters. You were the kid who could find a girl anywhere, even in the middle of an uninhabited swamp. Garrith? Garrett." Shucks. He was embarrassing me. "Did I pass, Garrett?"

No changer could've learned all that. I nodded. The door opened. A butler type with a refreshments tray invited himself into the room. "Damn my eyes!" I muttered. What a clever pose for a mastermind.

"The tea you requested, sir... " Mooncalled's eyes bugged as he took in the scene. The tea service crashed and splashed.

Through clenched teeth I told anyone who cared to listen, "Grab him! That's Glory Mooncalled. He's the one behind everything that's gone wrong." Theverly responded instantly. Unfortunately, the race seldom goes to the one-legged man.