«You'll need this,» I said, holding out my sword. She stared at it a moment, then swiped her finger along one edge of the blade, opening an inch-long cut. Her expression didn't change as she squeezed the edges of the incision to force out a line of blood. Then she slapped the blade out of her way and walked away from the river, with an obvious stiffness to her gait. I suspected Miriam hadn't made many sacrificial gestures in her life, and she was floundering in self-consciousness trying to pull this one off.

Hezekiah hopped out of the boat himself, with every sign of following Miriam into whatever nasty surprise awaited. Yasmin grabbed him by the shirt-tail and held him back; but she stepped out on land too, and unlimbered her sword in case she had to run to the rescue. In short order, we were all poised on the bank, weapons ready for action.

Now that we were on our feet, we had enough height to see a large carcass lying on the sandy red dirt, about forty paces inland from the Styx. The dead thing might have been an elephant before the scavengers got to it, but it was hard to tell now. Dozens of carrion-eaters had already eaten their fill, and now it was the turn of the flies, buzzing all over the corpse as they chewed inroads through its leathery hide. When Miriam approached, the buzzing increased; like sharks, the flies could smell her blood from many paces away. I tightened my grip on the pommel of my sword, and offered up a prayer to any friendly powers who might be listening – if those flies went for her, we'd have a sod of a time getting them off.

No sooner had the thought entered my mind than it came true.

As a single mass, the flies lifted off the carcass and swarmed Miriam, roaring. Flies covered her face like a buzzing hairy-legged veil; they clotted her clothes and tangled themselves blackly in her hair. The densest concentration, however, attached themselves to her hand, to the finger with the bleeding cut. They teemed there by the hundreds, a thickening ball of insects the size of a massive beehive. Their weight dragged Miriam down to her knees… and I could imagine the ones closest to the wound jostling each other to attach their filthy sucker mouths for a sip of human blood.

«We have to save her!» Hezekiah cried, taking a step forward.

Wheezle, lying on the ground at the boy's feet, grabbed the leg of Hezekiah's pants. «Wait, honored Clueless. If this were a true feeding frenzy, the flies would have flayed her to the bone in the blink of an eye. She is still alive; wait.»

Miriam was so carpeted with flies, I couldn't tell how Wheezle knew she still had flesh on her skeleton… but perhaps Dustmen have an instinct that can sense life and death. I stared at her fly-laden body, trying to discern any sign of a living woman beneath the buzzing mass; and as I watched, a few flies struggled out of the clump on her hand and soared into the air.

The flies were glowing red, like blood-colored sparks.

Moment by moment now, more of the insects were taking their leave, all of them blazing the same color. They flew a short distance, then simply stopped and hovered… until enough of them had taken position to show they were arranging themselves in an arch. A red-glowing arch.

«A gate of flies,» Kiripao murmured. His voice betrayed an unhealthy tone of rapture. Clearly though, he was right. As more flies tasted Miriam's blood, they too joined the arch, filling in a parabolic curve that shimmered with buzzing power. Other flies, still clinging to Miriam's body, flapped their wings in unison, raising enough wind to spin up dust-devils in the surrounding red sand. They didn't have the strength to lift a full-grown woman into the air and fly her through the portal; but they generated sufficient force to propel Miriam forward, still on her knees and blinded by so many insects on her face.

At the very last moment the flies scattered away from her, swarming off her skin and clothes, giving her one last push toward the glimmering arch. Miriam toppled forward, head and chest crossing the line. Immediately, they vanished into darkness beyond; a moment later, the rest of her body was sucked through, as if some monster had grabbed her by the arms and was dragging her away.

«Well, that was amusing,» Garou said with a raspy chuckle. Standing beside him, Hezekiah tried to punch the boatman in the jaw; but Garou caught the fist in his own hand and squeezed until the boy grimaced with pain. «You're amusing too,» Garou laughed. He shoved the fist away, and Hezekiah backed off, nursing his knuckles.

«We have to do something,» Hezekiah muttered to the rest of us.

«Wait a second longer, honored Clueless,» Wheezle told him. «The honored thug-lady —»

«Miriam,» Hezekiah interrupted. «Her name is Miriam.»

Wheezle dipped his head, as much of a bow as he could manage in his condition. «Your honored Miriam may well…»

The flies, mostly quiet for the past few seconds, suddenly burst into a thunderous buzz. The hovering archway, still intact, darkened again; and this time I could see that the other side wasn't complete blackness, but simply a normal night sky, scattered with clouds. Miriam emerged from the darkness, her face fly-specked, but definitely in one piece.

A very angry piece, I might add.

«Garou!» she roared, loud enough to be heard over the din of buzzing flies. «You're going for a swim, you berk!»

The boatman curled his fleshless grin at the rest of us. «Cherished friends, if you'd be so good as to prevent your comrade from rash action…»

«Oops,» said Yasmin, «my boots are all dusty.» She bent down and busied herself picking invisible flecks of dirt from the black dragon skin.

«Sorry,» I smiled at Garou, «I have to finish that last painting.» I picked up a brush and made a show of cleaning the bristles.

Garou looked nervously at the approaching Miriam, much closer now and still furious. «I brought you all to a perfectly respectable gate,» he stammered. «It leads to Plague-Mort and you can see this woman is unhurt…»

«You should have warned her about the flies,» Hezekiah said. The boy stepped back to give Miriam a clear path to the boatman.

«A swim should not harm you,» Wheezle added. «Your kind are immune to the Styx, are they not? Unlike the rest of us.»

«Make him suffer,» Kiripao murmured softly to no one in particular. «Make him wriggle with fear. Come from the shadows, come from the night…»

«Hush,» Wheezle told the elf.

«I can defend myself,» Garou told Miriam in a cracked voice. «I have powers beyond your mortal ken.» He lifted his hands in something that might turn into a mystic gesture.

«Naughty, naughty,» I said. In my hands was the salt grinder. A moment later, Garou was covered with white dust. «If you try any magic now,» I told him, «you'll really regret it.»

He tried anyway. He howled in pain as the dust briefly flared with heat. And that was about the time Miriam grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and heaved his flailing body into the river.

The splash was magnificent.

Garou came up spluttering. The dunking hadn't washed off much of the dust – I doubt if Styx water can make anything clean – so there were patches of white caked wetly all over his head. «You'll regret this,» he coughed. «You have earned the enmity of the marraenoloth race…»

«Why?» Yasmin snapped back. «You set a price for transporting us here. We paid it. And for all the other services you've done us – alerting the umbrals to our escape, showing me my mother, feeding Miriam to the flies without warning her – well, we've paid you for those too. And a damned low price too, considering. You'll dry soon enough. How soon do you think Wheezle will get his memory back?»

Garou dragged himself onto the bank and lay there glowering. A sweep of sand clung to his wet clothes, forming a crusty red layer over the dusty white one. «My anger is not so easily calmed,» he rasped.