«What happened here, Zeerith?» Yasmin asked gently.

«Men came,» the naga answered. «I don't know why. I had been downstairs for a day, enduring my… transformation. The family was very kind, giving me privacy – since they found me outside town, they have always been kind.» She blinked, and a tear beaded in the corner of one eye. «Can you tell me what happened to them?»

«Nothing good,» Miriam muttered.

«I fear she is right, honored snakeling,» Wheezle said. «We have searched the house and found it empty. One can always hope —»

«Not in Plague-Mort,» Miriam cut him off.

Zeerith closed her eyes. The lingering tear spilled down her cheek. «This is not a happy town,» she murmured. Opening her eyes again, she said, «The soldiers thought I was an ordinary snake. They were cowardly men, too fearful to approach and see what I was.»

«Count yourself lucky,» I told her. «If they realized the truth, you wouldn't be here now.»

«Perhaps not,» Zeerith nodded. «As it was, they simply lit burning sticks, then threw them at me until I played dead.»

«Played dead!» Miriam snorted. «I thought nagas could cast magic.»

«I do not know what I can do,» Zeerith answered. «I am virtually new-born. As the men pelted me with fire, I was still in the final stages of molt. I… pardon me, I feel so weak…»

Yasmin handed her a water flask. It only contained brackish water from the umbral village, but Zeerith drank it gratefully. When the naga was finished, I eased her head down to the floor and told her to rest. Hezekiah stayed by her while I stood up to talk with Yasmin and Miriam.

«So?» I said in a soft voice.

«There's no one in the house,» Yasmin replied. «I say we stay here while Miriam finds this friend of hers… November, was that the name?»

«And if the Hounds come back?» Miriam asked.

«We head out the back door and take Zeerith with us,» Yasmin replied. «The Hounds will kill her if they find her; and she can't go far on her own.»

«Won't that look subtle,» Miriam grimaced. «The bunch of us wandering the streets, carrying a boa constrictor.»

I smiled and patted Miriam's shoulder. «You still haven't got the hang of this friendship thing, have you?»

Zeerith pleaded for more water. Hezekiah found a rain barrel in the house's back garden and fetched in a few quarts with a soup cauldron. As he was beginning to apply cold compresses to the naga's burned skin, Hezekiah looked up and asked, «Where's Kiripao?»

«Right behind me,» Yasmin answered. Then she turned and let out an angry breath. «Sod it, he's gone.»

«He could just be lurking in shadows,» I said. «Yasmin, search the house. Hezekiah, you stay with Zeerith. I'll have a peek outside.»

«Me, I'm going to find November,» Miriam announced. «That piking Kiripao will stir up trouble, I can feel it in my bones. Before that happens, I want an escape route back to Sigil.»

«If we have to leave this house,» I told her, «we'll head for the closest inn.»

She nodded and hurried out the front. I looked through a window into the back garden but didn't see any sign of Kiripao. That left the street. When I stepped onto the cobblestones, Miriam was jogging away to the right so I went left, hoping that one of us might catch sight of our missing ally.

Assuming, of course, that Kiripao still was our ally. Since the very beginning he hadn't been easy to trust; now, with the umbral contagion infecting his mind, he might well turn stag on us. Would he stoop so far as to sic the Hounds on us? Or would he simply go berserk in the dark streets of Plague-Mort?

I reached a T-intersection, but saw nothing in either direction. Arbitrarily, I turned left again. Halfway up the street, I heard the far-off sounds of a tavern – a rumble of conversation, bar wenches shouting orders to the tapman, and the ragged muddle of inept musicians: drum, fiddle, and flute. It occurred to me Kiripao might be drawn to the flute's music, even though it was nothing like the piping we'd heard from the umbrals. Crossing my fingers that the tavern wasn't some killhole catering to vacationers from the Abyss, I pushed through the pub's front door.

The place smelled of every staleness known to humanity: stale sweat, stale beer, stale dreams. Not that the place was quiet – it was full of people in constant motion, shouting at each other and playing cute with members of the appropriate sex. What was missing was the sense that anyone took delight in the frenzy. When a patron pinched a passing barmaid, I saw no lust or teasing lechery; it was simply something to do with his hands, some meaningless gesture he'd learned a long time ago and was still repeating because he knew no other tricks. The whole thing looked like a bar scene in the thousandth performance of a long-running play… people going through rehearsed motions, their minds disengaged and distant.

As in most pinch-crust taverns, the proprietor saw no need to invest in over-many candles. The back recesses were too dark to inspect from the door, so I wove my way through the clutter of tables and found some leaning space at the bar. I put a coin down on the counter and the tapman replaced it with a mug of something foamy; but after one sip, I set the mug down with the intention of never touching it again. Perhaps somewhere in the multiverse, a tavern owner has found a way to water ale that I haven't tasted before… but this wasn't it.

I let my gaze roam around the room, searching for Kiripao. He'd be lurking in the shadows, if he was here at all, but that didn't make my job easier – the whole taproom was one big shadow, and the constant movement of people running to the bar or privy made it hard to check every face. I had covered most of the left half of the room when someone squeezed in on my right, calling to the tapman, «A mug of your best for me and my friend!»

Idly, I turned my eyes to glance at the newcomers… then looked away again, my blood running cold. Leaning next to me at the bar were a certain githyanki and githzerai: Qi and Chi, Miriam had called them.

Don't go blubbery, I told myself. They never saw you at the City Courts, the Glass Spider, anywhere. They don't know you… and after traipsing through the Lower Planes so long, you're just a dirty and unshaven cob like everyone else in the room. They won't give you a second glance, as long as you don't go addle-coved.

I picked up my watery ale and had another sip after all; no local pub-patron would leave without emptying his glass. I'd calmly finish my drink, then walk out the door. If Kiripao was hiding in a corner, he could sodding well look after himself.

Another sip, as unhurried as I could make my hand move. Please let it be a coincidence Qi and Chi were here. Miriam had said people from the Glass Spider came to Plague-Mort for rest and recreation; and this tavern was right on Rich Man's Row, which meant it had to be one of the best in town. I'd been here five minutes and hadn't seen a fight yet – in a place like Plague-Mort, that meant the ultimate in chic. Come to think of it, Miriam had recognized Rich Man's Row the second she walked through the portal, so she must have spent time here. Maybe the portal from the Glass Spider came out in this neighborhood too. Qi and Chi were merely here for a drink.

Or else they knew everything, and I'd get a poniard in the back the moment I went outside.

I quaffed off the last of the beer, wiped my mouth in what I hoped was typical Plague-Mort fashion, and eased away from the bar. There was a strong temptation to glance at Qi and Chi to see if they were following; I resisted the urge. Still, as I ambled past tables of irritable customers, most simply looked up in annoyance, then looked down again as soon as I passed. Qi and Chi couldn't be trailing along behind me – otherwise, there'd be three people's worth of glaring instead of just me.