It was likely something would turn up sooner or later, and Magiere had other worries. Although the constable's disappearance was puzzling, she didn't exactly find it unwelcome. Convincing the townsfolk they must defend themselves might be even easier for Leesil with their authority figurehead unexplainably missing.

The last bit of news Caleb related bothered Magiere for several reasons. Apparently, he'd asked several of the market shopkeepers to carry Brenden's body into The Sea Lion's kitchen for visitation before burial.

"He has no family left," Caleb said. "This is a decent act."

Of course, it was decent. She had no argument with that. But was it wise? Leesil's current state of mind was fragile enough without Brenden's dead body lying on the kitchen table. And she mourned for Brenden, too. He was a brave man who would still be alive were it not for her. But he was beyond help now. She had to protect the living.

However, Caleb did not ask her permission. He simply announced his decision and let the matter drop. She decided to do the same.

"How soon can we expect people to arrive for the meeting?" she asked.

"Any time now."

When she looked at him, it seemed his walk was a little more stooped and his hair a little more gray than when she had met him. Poor man. So much had happened in the past few days.

"Where's Rose?" she asked.

"I think she's sitting with Leesil. I'd better get them."

"No, I'll do it. Why don't you find some tea mugs?"

For some reason, she didn't want Caleb to know how badly Leesil was injured. The half-elf couldn't even walk without help.

She jogged up the stairs and found Rose sitting next to him on his bed, showing him some pictures she'd drawn with charcoal on old paper. The scene struck her as too calm, too normal for their present circumstances.

"I like the one with the flowers," he said.

Rose's muslin dress was clean, but no one had bothered to brush her hair since Beth-rae's death. It was beginning to look quite tangled. Her small face glowed with a rosy tinge. In the way of children, she accepted change and appeared to be turning to Leesil for company. The purple color of his jaw was nearly black in hue, and although the scratches on his face were healing, the savage nature behind those long claw marks was obvious.

Magiere wavered. Perhaps she should keep him up here and try to convince the townsfolk herself. But he was the talker, not her.

"Are you ready?" Magiere asked quietly.

"Yes, just help me up."

"Come on, Rose," Magiere said. "We're going downstairs. You can sit with Chap by the fire."

By the guarded wince he made, she knew the effort to stand caused Leesil more pain than he would ever admit. She pulled his arm over her shoulder and supported him as best she could.

"I know you're injured," she said, "but try to hurry. I want to get you settled in a chair before anyone arrives. Do you have any ideas yet?"

"Yes," he answered. "I know what to do."

Not long after that, Leesil found himself in a chair by the fire, feigning comfort. He did not blame Magiere for pulling him downstairs like this to face a mass of townspeople. On the contrary, he admired her strength and clarity of thought. But at least three of his ribs were broken, and he feared that when Ratboy had thrown him against the fir tree, the action caused more damage than simply bruising his back. Sitting up was agony.

Forty men and women from Miiska were now gathered in the common room of The Sea Lion. Leesil knew Magiere had hoped for more, but forty were better than none and almost overfilled the room. Caleb served tea and Magiere served thick, nut-brown ale to those who wanted it. The whole affair appeared more like an afternoon party than a discussion of survival.

His partner walked over to him and leaned down. She was still wearing the torn blue dress, carrying a tray of ale mugs, and her hair had pulled loose from its braid. She hardly fit the image of a warrior.

"I'm going to force them to admit what we are facing, and then you explain the plan," she whispered.

The plan? Didn't a plan usually involve careful thought and discussion? But he did not have the luxury of time. What he basically had to do was sell these people on the idea that if they wished to be saved, they would have to help save themselves.

Magiere turned to face the crowd. Karlin, the baker, and his son, Geoffry, sat directly in front of her.

"Yesterday," she began, "many of you donated coins to pay me and my partner for ridding this town of a nest of vampires."

Several people flinched or gasped slightly at the use of the word "vampires" out loud. One of them was Thomas, the candle maker. Magiere pointed at him.

"That reaction is part of your problem," she said. "You all know what's been going on or you wouldn't be here. But no one is willing to even openly talk about it, much less take matters into his own hands."

"Mistress Magiere," Karlin stammered. "Perhaps this isn't the best way to-"

"Yes, it is," she cut him off. "Why did you all try to pay me? Because you know exactly what's going on. Many of the bodies you've found were buried pale and bloodless. Some of you even carried Brenden's body here today. And you saw his throat." She glanced at Leesil and back to Karlin. "These killers are not natural, and cannot be destroyed by natural means, but Leesil and I can't do this alone."

Thomas was staring at her. "What exactly do you propose?"

She motioned to Leesil. "Let him explain." As he took in the hopeful, yet doubtful expressions on the faces of Miiska's shopkeepers, fishermen, and dockworkers, Leesil realized he'd have to make them trust him first. He'd have to do anything, say anything to win their confidence. Humor had served him best in this regard. He smiled weakly for effect.

"I know I'm not as pretty as usual," he said wryly. "But I've fought the same undead four times now and neither of us seems able to win."

His jovial manner caused some people to relax visibly.

"None of you know Magiere or me very well," he went on, "but I do want you to know I've been trained in both defensive and offensive battle strategy. I was once a personal counselor to a warlord in the east, near my homeland."

If he'd told them exactly who the warlord was, the mere mention of Darmouth's name would have won them over. But he couldn't risk becoming a legend or having word of his location reach the wrong ears. And in turn, have that someone reveal exactly who and what he had actually been in that life.

"Magiere and I now believe all three undeads escaped the fire," he said. "We saw the female, called Teesha, and the one who resembles a street urchin, called Ratboy, last night. The warehouse owner, who some of you know, is their leader, and we should act on the belief that he wasn't destroyed."

"Are you saying you want us to fight these creatures?" asked a dockworker he didn't know.

"Not exactly. Magiere and Chap will do most of the fighting. What I want you to do is establish a perimeter around the tavern. The vampires seem determined to kill the three of us, so we're going to be the bait to lure them in. If enough of you can shoot crossbow quarrels soaked in garlic, it might wear them down, or at least prevent them from escaping. We're going to lay a trap." He paused, and then added reluctantly, "And we may have to burn a few buildings down."

This comment brought murmurs and outright curses of disbelief from a number of those present. Leesil's voice gained strength.

"What good will those buildings be if the people of Miiska keep vanishing? You want safety? You want this problem solved? If that is your desire, then you must not only defend yourselves, you must help us carry out an attack that will finish this once and for all. I have a plan, but it's useless until I know there are enough people here with the courage to help me carry it out. I need to know first if you'll help yourselves."