Geraint had found nothing at the drop address. Even the sight of a hefty chunk of high-denomination notes hadn’t unbuttoned the clerks lip. He even insinuated that Getaint might be an agent from the Administrative Bureau come to entrap him into indiscretion.

Well, good for you, Geraint had thought as he left. If I ever need a dead-letter drop, this is where I’ll come.

“So that’s a dead end.” he was saying now. “I don’t see how we can track Messers. Smith and Jones further, unless we hire some street detectives. I know a discreet, good firm, but those two are still only middlemen. Hell, Serrin, they didn't even come to Seattle for you, they used a second middleman there. Even if we find them, I doubt we can do much with the information. Maybe they’re back in South America.”

As stuck as ever, they reluctantly decided to give up the pursuit.

“What arc your plans, Francesca?”

“I think I’m going to spend a few days upgrading my system software. Need some better armor programs and I think the medic must have taken a beating. I’m also going to get me some hot poison.”

Geraint gave a low whistle as he sucked in his breath. “You’ll never get a license for that. Even the corps have to tread carefully with that kind of stuff.”

Poison programs, otherwise known as persona-attacking. It was almost the equivalent of an anti-personnel weapon in the Matrix. The officious British licensing regulators didn’t like that kind of thing at all.

“No problem,” Francesca muttered. “I’ve got a corporate contact who’s sure to have a global license I can hide under. Did some work for them a year back, maybe the best work I’ve ever done. I know I can get what I need. They’ll know I don’t intend to use the program unless I absolutely have to.”

Geraint was surprised at that. If Francesca had that kind of pull, she must be outstanding at her work. “Would it be impolite to ask which corp?”

Unfortunately it would. Not Transys or Fuchi, though. Of course, half the time I’ve got no idea who I’m actually working for. As long as I get paid, that’s enough for me.” Her hard edge, that one unattractive feature, was showing again.

Serrin jumped up from his chair with a yelp, making them all start. Hey, I’ve got to call the Crescent. I should have checked out or back in hours ago. They’ll have thrown my stuff away by now.” He was utterly panicked at the thought.

No, they won’t,” Geraint reassured him. All your things are in the guest bedroom. I had most of it here anyway, so I thought I might as well get the rest sent over. You can stay here awhile. How long’s the visa for?”

“Until the end of the month, but-”

“Well, that’s no problem. Terms and conditions: one, no spellcasting. The building security mage won’t like it. He’s getting on a bit now, doesn’t want any trouble, what with his pension getting closer. Two, you’ll have to pay half the coffee bill, the way you go through the stuff.” Serrin pushed his mug away guiltily. “You can raid the fridge and freezer for anything else, as you wish. Third, don’t stay in the shower for an hour in the morning. Uses up all the hot water, and I get nasty if all I get is cold water. If you can handle all that, stay as long as you like. I won’t force you to stay the month, but I’m sure you can manage the weekend"

“I’d love to stay. If you want, I can conjure a water elemental to do the dishes. Only a very feeble little thing, promise."

“No thank you! Domestic service people do all that kind of thing. All you have to do is dump the dishes down the chute. Rubberized valves and relays make sure they don’t break-miracle of modern technology. In this day and age, we don’t even have to see our servants.”

Francesca playfully pretended to swipe him across the head as they laughed together. She got up to get dressed, and scant minutes later she was back in her overcoat, ready to go.

“Want me to drive you over?" Geraint asked, still a little concerned.

“No, I’m fine. Really. I’ll pick up a cab outside. See you!” She ambled down the hall, and Geraint got up to walk her to the door.

“Give us a call, Hey, why don’t you come for dinner Saturday night? Tell you what, I’ll get Fortnum’s to do the catering and we’ll have a bottle of Petrus. Real Welsh beef, too. Chateaubriand or Wellington?”

Ten thousand nuyen a bottle for the wine alone. He certainly knows how to enjoy his money, Francesca thought a little guiltily.

“Sure. That’s a wonderful idea. I’ll bring you some champagne for aperitif. Dom Ruisse, huh? That funny bottle with the long tapered neck. Yeah, let’s celebrate. Seven for seven-thirty?"

“Perfect. Keep well, you.” He closed the door behind her, rubbed his chin lazily, and went to park himself in his favorite armchair.

Serrin gave Geraint a look worthy of one of the Lord Protector’s puritanical high officials. “You’re a self-indulgent pair!”

“Special occasion, old chap. We haven’t been together in a long, long time. I think it’s worth a celebration. I saw it. you know; the Tarot told me. Must have been right after you landed at Heathrow.” But wait. He was forgetting something, trying to figure out what he’d missed. Of course.

“There was someone else, though. A woman. A strong woman. She was part of it, with you and Francesca. No sign of her yet. But there will be.” He also remembered the Nine of Swords. Bloodied blades.

That must have been Annie, he reflected, but tried not to remember that. To clear his head, Geraint thought he’d go make some money. He’d been neglecting that for too long.

Well, old friend, I’m going to be unmovable in front of the cricket in a few hours, and until then I’m going to be sticking my snout into the trough of speculative financing. Got to check out the West Coast markets. They’ll be humming by now. So you’ll have to excuse me for tonight.

“There’re some good shows in town. Check the text service on the Beth’s C-net, that’ll tell you everything you want to know. If you’re homesick, OzNet on the trid has reruns of ancient American sitcoms and soaps. Or there might be something on the satellite channels. Avoid anything Italian, though; it’s either the worst game shows in the world or atrociously dubbed porn. Tomorrow, we can do some touristy things. Y’know: Tower of London, the Palaces, all that glop. Sound good to you?”

Geraini didn’t get the reply he expected. Instead, he heard the query that every British man dreads in the deepest recesses of his soul whenever it comes from an American.

“Um, Geraint, could you explain to me the rules of cricket?"

18

Rani woke to find that a gang of trolls with sledgehammers was breaking up a road inside her skull. She groaned, looked at the digital, which read eleven-fifteen, and turned over. She wanted to get back to sleep, but she was desperately thirsty. It felt like someone had washed out her mouth with paint-stripper.

She managed to get downstairs without killing herself and staggered around looking for the orange juice. I am never, ever, going to drink that Polish stuff again, she thought. Why couldn’t I have been satisfied with just food and sweets? When was…? I think I started drinking about ten. I sure as hell can’t remember much after ten-thirty.

Taking the bottle from the ancient electric fridge, she dropped the plastic beaker she was going to fill, and thought, Rakk this! I’ll just drink from the bottle.

She drained half of it then and there in the kitchen, then slouched back toward the living room. That was when she saw the scrap of paper lying on the floor, in front of the door with its many locks and chains. The old letterbox had long been nailed shut, so someone must have actually forced the sheet through the infinitesimally small gap between door and floor. That was unusual.