The doorknob was under my hand and I was building up to a sigh of relief, when suddenly the latch snapped away from me. I took a step back, unnerved… and there, outlined in the doorway, stood Kiripao. He hissed softly and pointed at the musicians in the corner of the room. «The flute is mine.»

«What are you talking about?» I whispered.

«The flute is mine, it's mine, it's mine.»

«It is not,» I told him. «It probably doesn't even belong to the flute player. She's so bad, she must have found it in the gutter on her way over.»

«Have you no ears?» Kiripao hissed. «She is playing blasphemies.»

«It sounds more like The Maiden and the Hungry Pigboy.» I put my hand on his arm. «Why don't you come along —»

He shrugged me off, glared at the flautist, and screamed, «Blasphemer!»

«That's enough!» I said sharply… but the tavern had already grown quiet behind me. The small of my back itched at the thought of Qi and Chi staring at us. Even so, I couldn't turn around – Kiripao might notice me look at them. The two thieves shouldn't recognize him, but the elf knew them well enough; he had followed them back in Sigil, from the Mortuary to the Vertical Sea. If he caught sight of Rivi's two henchmen, I didn't know what he'd do. I just knew I didn't want him to do it.

«You're coming with me,» I told the elf with all the command I could muster. Since the tavern was silent, every patron listening to our conversation, I added, «Your mother has been distraught since you chewed your way out of the straitjacket. Come home now, or Doctor Uvula will feed you more quicklime.»

A few people behind me laughed. That was good.

Brother Kiripao had no sense of humor. That was bad.

I remember grabbing the collar of his robe and tugging him toward the street. I remember going, «Whoof!» as Kiripao's fist connected with my solar plexus. After that, I don't remember much of anything, but I hope he hit me a few more times, and maybe landed some flying drop-kicks to my head – it would be embarrassing to get knocked out by a single punch.

The process of «coming to» spread itself over ten seconds: first a muddy emergence of my brain, then other parts of my body checking in to complain about how much they hurt. Several ribs spoke the loudest, followed by a diffuse throbbing around my left cheek and eye.

There was a rough wooden floor beneath me, with splintered furniture scattered all over it… and let me assure you, it hadn't been the kind of furniture that splinters easily. No tavern in Plague-Mort, not even an upscale one in Rich Man's Row, would buy bar stools that had to be replaced every time people played fast and loose with their fists. All the chairs, all the tables, had been thick, heavy oak; and now they were thick, heavy sticks of firewood, littering the floor around me.

Knowing it would hurt, I sat up. Yep… it hurt. I wasn't the only person laid low by the brawl – unconscious bodies sprawled in undignified poses everywhere I looked – but I was the only one moving at the moment, which I took as a tribute to my constitution. Perhaps I hadn't been out long at all; for one thing, I still had my money-purse, which meant there hadn't been time for thieves to go through my pockets. It was still dark outside too, as I could see through the open doorway: somehow, the door had got knocked clean off its hinges.

I tried to struggle to my feet… but the moment I moved, gravity suddenly increased by a couple hundred per cent, and I sat down again abruptly. Just what I expected in a place like Plague-Mort: natural forces playing dirty tricks on me. I resolved to try again in the near future, this time leaping up fast to catch gravity offguard; but seconds turned into minutes, and the time never felt right.

A figure appeared in the doorway – a lean woman with bony ridges protruding from her arms. Sitting on the floor I waved to her, then found that very funny for some reason and started to giggle.

«Britlin?» she whispered.

«Hello,» I said in a loud voice. «Hello,» I repeated more softly, then wondered how it would sound in a deep voice. «Hello,» (deep bass). «Hello,» (falsetto). «Hell-o-ohh!» (an unsuccessful combination of both).

Yasmin knelt beside me. «What are you doing here?»

«Having a concussion, that's what I'm doing.» Those were the words in my mind; but all that came out of my mouth was a jumbled syllables. My incoherence struck me so funny, I laughed out loud. Flashes of purple light exploded in front of my eyes, with a pain like a mace pummeling my head from the inside; but I couldn't stop laughing, no matter how much it hurt.

«Shh,» Yasmin said.

She laid a hand on my lips, then immediately jerked away again. I guessed she'd made some vow not to touch me, and I was going to tell her how stupid that was as soon as I could remember how to string words together intelligibly. Another thought struck me and I pulled myself together enough to say, «Qi and Chi.»

«Shh,» she said again, as if I was babbling.

«Qi and Chi,» I told her. «Qi and Chi, Qi and Chi, Qi and Chi-di-dee-di-dee.»

Yasmin showed no sign of paying attention to my words. She looked around the ruined tavern as if one of the other unconscious patrons might offer advice on what to do next; then she slid a hand under my armpit and jerked me to my feet. The room spun and more of those purple flashes burst in front of my eyes.

I remember thinking, If she gives me a good fast twirl, I should feel something really worth remembering. But she didn't. The Doomguard can be so repressed.

Yasmin half-dragged me out of the tavern, my feet bouncing along like a marionette's. A few more crumpled bodies lay outside on the cobblestones, but none I recognized. Kiripao must still be on the loose… as if Plague-Mort wasn't a dangerous enough place already. Qi and Chi were also gone; I wondered if they had slipped away from the fight, or bashed in heads until no one was moving.

All these thoughts seemed very lucid to me; and yet, when I tried to speak to Yasmin again, all that came out was, «Qi Chi there-there.» Even I had to admit that probably wasn't helpful communication.

Perhaps to keep me quiet, Yasmin started talking herself. «It took me an hour to find you,» she said in a low voice. «The town's quiet tonight – absolutely no one on the streets. Maybe people heard the Hounds were out on a raid, so they're staying indoors.»

«Rivi Qi Chi,» I answered. «Here, Rivi Qi Chi.»

«Hush,» she said, «you're delirious.»

«Run, hide, Rivi Qi Chi —»

Yasmin clapped her hand over my mouth. «No noise,» she whispered. «The Hounds may prowling. Please, Britlin, please… don't talk.»

She said those last words staring straight at me – the first time she'd allowed me eye contact since the Sea of the Drowned. I tried to meet her gaze clearly, despite the dizziness coating my brain… tried to be the man she had kissed in the darkness of the umbral village. She must have seen something in my eyes because she quickly turned away again, and whispered, «Don't.»

I didn't say anything. At the best of times, I probably couldn't have found the right words.

After a while, she started helping me along again. Without looking at me, she murmured, «I told you I had a brother. Well, maybe two brothers if I count you… skip that. My brother Jadon was eight years older than me, and always in trouble. Drinking, gambling, bashing old bubbers for fun…»

She kicked at a pebble lying in the street. It clattered over the cobblestones, then splashed softly into the rain-filled gutter.

«When I was ten,» Yasmin went on, «my mother died. Found floating in the Ditch. No one knew if it was suicide, murder, or accident, and apart from me, no one cared. After that, Jadon 'took care' of me. You know what I mean? My own brother. Put me on the streets at ten years old, and used me himself whenever he felt like it.»