«That's impossible!» Yasmin whispered.

«How long have you lived in Sigil?» I whispered back. «Everything's possible here.»

«But the Dustmen have a pact with the undead – the Dead Truce. Undead creatures like that wight simply won't attack a Dustman unless the Dustman attacks first.»

«I know all about the Dead Truce,» I told her, «but those wights don't.»

«Someone is playing hob with the natural order,» she said, and this time she wasn't whispering. «Someone is trying to disrupt…»

The rest of the sentence was drowned out by the noise of Yasmin shucking off her backpack and drawing her sword.

«I hope that sword is either magic or silver,» I said to her. «You can't hurt wights with just a normal…»

But I didn't finish my sentence either, because Yasmin had already charged into the fray.

For half a second, I hesitated – after all, our instructions had been to watch the enemy and refrain from direct involvement. However, I couldn't let Yasmin face three wights on her own; and even if Yasmin hadn't been there, it was high time for me to start saving lives. Much as I tried to put it out of my mind, I had allowed the Collectors to carry the exploding giant to their doom, because my orders told me to hold back. My father would have roared, «Pike the orders, people are dying!»

Whipping my rapier out of its sheath, I raced after Yasmin. A few mourners were already running in our direction, but they had enough sense to get out of our way; the rest of the crowd was shocked frozen with terror, unable to move as each of the wights chose a new victim to drain. All three victims were Dustmen, and all three Dustmen simply stared in disbelief as their hearts were ripped from their chests.

Yasmin took the nearest wight in the back, a furious thrust that pierced straight through the monster's spine, out the front of its ribcage, and halfway into the Dustman it held in its claws. The wight turned its head to look at Yasmin and hissed, its breath reeking of humid decay. I was close enough to smell the stench; I was also close enough to jam the tip of my rapier into that open mouth, up through the palate, and into its brain. Thanks to the sword's enchantments, the blade punched straight through the wight's skull, scattering gray matter and bone fragments onto the hapless Dustman in the monster's grip.

The Dustman didn't care. If he hadn't been dead already, getting impaled on Yasmin's sword had finished the job.

Our arrival snapped the remaining mourners out of their stupors. Howling with fear, they scattered; one little halfling even ran back into the Mortuary, certainly not the place I'd run for protection. By the time Yasmin and I dislodged our blades from the now-dead wight, we were alone in the street with the two remaining monsters.

«One on one?» I asked her. «Or shall we gang up on the closest of these berks?»

«I'll take the closest,» she replied. «You keep the other off my back.»

«Your wish is my command.»

Giving Yasmin's wight a wide berth, I sped around to face the other one. Once upon a time, this particular wight had been a woman, but that had been years ago. Now her face was ravaged with tomb rot, her skin flaking away to reveal the ligaments beneath.

«Hello,» I said to the monster. «Would you be available to model the next time I teach a figure drawing class? Students always have such a hard time with the anatomy of the face, and here you are, already dissected. You're a walking anatomy text book, my dear.»

The monster hissed and took a tentative swipe at me. I flicked my sword at her hand, just enough to make a small cut on her wrist. No blood dribbled out: nothing but a trickle of reddish dust.

«Some people think the rapier is an ineffectual little weapon,» I told the wight, «but they're only familiar with the blades used in competition fencing.» I stepped in just long enough for a slash that cut several exposed ligaments on her left cheek, then backed quickly away. «A competition rapier is only a thrusting weapon,» I explained, «but as you can see, a real rapier has two perfectly good cutting edges. Are you following all this?»

By the look of it, the wight was only interested in finding a way past my guard. She kept lunging, hissing and missing, as I swirled the blade in a continuously circling parry. The little nicks I gave her did no serious damage, but they kept her at bay; and second by second, her rage grew.

«I don't suppose you'd like to tell me why you broke the Dead Truce,» I asked the wight. «Whom you work for, what their plan is, that sort of thing?»

She hissed.

«So the truth is, you can't talk, right?»

She hissed again.

«That would be a yes,» I said to myself. Not being an expert on the undead, I had no idea whether your average wight was capable of speech; then again, these were obviously not average wights. These were creatures who should be examined by knowledgeable authorities.

Without taking my eyes off the wight in front of me, I called to Yasmin, «Keep dancing with your playmate out here. I need to consult a professional.» Then, with a flurry of sword strokes, I drove my wight back toward the Mortuary steps. (The monster really was a ham-handed fighter… but then, when you can wither opponents with one swipe of your claws, you don't have much incentive to acquire finesse.)

Up the stairs we went, wight hissing, my blade slashing. The huge iron-plated door gaped wide open, and we went inside, the wight still backing away from my attack and spitting with fury.

I had attended my share of funerals in the Mortuary, but had always used the main entrance. This back area was unfamiliar to me, a curving stone corridor with numerous doors – some open, some closed, and a big one leading to the front of the building, blown off its hinges by the exploding Phlegistol. With the exception of the wight's continuing hisses, the place was as quiet as a tomb. Admittedly, that shouldn't have been a surprise.

«Hello!» I shouted. «Anybody home?»

My voice echoed off the stone walls; the sound seemed to last forever. The wight made a half-hearted charge toward me, but backed away as the edge of my rapier sliced a gash across her collarbone. Accepting the inevitable, she began to back down the corridor that led to the front of the building. I could smell things burning ahead of us, and slowed my pace… not from fear of the fire, but from concern about the smoke. Wights are dead, so they don't have to breathe; if I started to get dizzy from smoke inhalation, the monster in front of me would gain a distinct advantage.

«I'd really love to talk to a Dustman,» I yelled, the Mortuary dome echoing dustman, dustman, dustman. «I have a renegade wight here that a Dustman should examine. It broke the Dead Truce. Someone should have a look at it.»

«A renegade wight, you say?»

At the far end of the corridor a gaunt figure appeared, backlit by the flicker of fires ravaging the front part of the Mortuary. For a moment the figure looked like some kind of undead thing itself, a corpse dressed in gray robes; but then my eyes adjusted to the light and recognized the reclusive Factol Skall of the Dustmen.

The wight was sandwiched between Skall and myself. She turned at the sound of his voice, and studied him.

«Be careful, your honor,» I said to Skall. «She killed several Dustmen out in the street. I saw her.»

«She attacked first?»

«Yes, your honor. Without provocation.»

«I find that hard to believe.»

The wight was looking back and forth between Skall and me, hissing more violently than ever. Her eyes burned as bright as the flames at the factol's back. Suddenly, she feinted a lunge at me, then hurtled toward Skall, claws poised for the kill. I raced after her, sprinting as fast as I could while preparing to slash off her head. Much as I had hoped the Dustmen could interrogate her, saving the factol's life had higher priority.