«Thanks, Wheezle,» I sighed.

«A pleasure to serve, honored Cavendish.»

«When this is all over,» I said, «tell me what his leg tasted like.»

I leapt the crumpled body of the githyanki, prepared to plunge my sword into his githzerai partner. What I wasn't prepared for was a ram-force gusher of white dust smashing me in the chest. It knocked me backward like a mace, and I tripped over the corpse I'd just killed; Wheezle barely got out of the way as I fell heavily to the ground. Then the dust spray struck again, sending me, the gnome, and the githyanki corpse skittering across the trash-strewn floor. Pans clattered as we smashed into them, and silver cutlery, knives and forks, were swept up by the hurricane of dust to slap against our faces.

«The githzerai has found the grinder,» Wheezle observed, as the spray slammed us into the wall.

«So how,» I said, choking on dust, «can the sodding thing have so much kick without a speck of recoil?»

«It was made by gods,» Wheezle replied, «and gods despise physical law. They regard action/reaction as a personal affront, and defy it whenever they can.»

All this time, of course, I was attempting to squirm to my feet. The effort was fruitless: whenever I managed to get my legs underneath me, the spray simply bashed me down again. Dust clogged the air, pooling up an ever-increasing mound on the floor. I covered my face with my coat-tail, just for the chance to breathe something other than white powder; but the dust kept pelting down, burying me like a Pharaoh.

Long seconds passed. At last, I realized the pressure from the spray had eased and I heaved myself up, scattering a haze of dust around me. Emerging from the cloud, I saw the githzerai was gone, fled out the back door. I ran in pursuit, but when I reached the garden there was no sign of him – he must have hopped it over the fence, and I had no delusions about catching such a speedy runner in the twisting lanes of Plague-Mort.

Wheezle came crawling toward me, pulling himself across the dust-heaped floor. He looked up at me, saw my expression and said, «We're piked?»

I nodded. «We are completely, totally piked.»

Wheezle stayed in the kitchen to wake up Hezekiah and Zeerith, while I hurried out front again to check on Yasmin. She was still in one piece, her sword blade covered with clots of hair and cerebellum. «I'm worried,» she said as I entered the room. «All this wight-fighting… it's making me dependent on head– shots. I mean, spearing a wight through the heart isn't an instant kill, so a head-shot is the most effective approach. Still, I worry about getting into the habit of avoiding the body, when really, in most opponents… I'm babbling, aren't I?»

«Yes, Yasmin.»

«How are things in the kitchen?»

«It looks like the cook spilled some flour.»

Her forehead wrinkled. «What does that mean?»

«It means Rivi got what she wanted.»

With so many boards ripped off the front of the house, I could easily see out into the street. Only one wight was left, standing on one side of Rivi while Kiripao stood on the other. The ice-skinned woman faced our direction, but her glittering eyes were distant, focussed far elsewhere. As I looked at her, she suddenly straightened up and smiled.

«Darlings!» she called, «my wee githzerai pal tells me he's got away with the grinder. What fabulous news! My business here is done.»

I shouted, «Where do you think you're going?»

«O, dear heart, I'm bound for Sigil. I told what fun I'll have there – all those wizards and priests, who think they're protected by magic. Can't you imagine the looks on their faces when they can't cast a single spell without burning to cinders? And then I'll claim their minds.»

«You're barmy,» Yasmin told her. «The Lady of Pain will never let you into Sigil with those two grinders.»

«That's where you're wrong,» Rivi smirked. «The grinders are older than the gods, older than The Lady, older than the most ancient barriers guarding Sigil. I've heard our quiff modern deities can't even sense the grinders – that's why you could carry them through the Lower Planes without infernal powers trying to steal them. The most powerful forces of antiquity made the grinders invisible to divine eyes… which means that The Lady won't know what I'm doing till it's too late.»

Yasmin whispered to me, «We have to get out of here, Britlin. We have to warn someone what this slag is up to.»

«I know.» But secretly, I was gauging how fast I could reach the gloating albino: through the door, into the street, across the cobblestones. Could I reach her before the wight and Kiripao stopped me? Not likely; she was just too piking far away.

«Time to say good-bye,» Rivi announced. «I have ever so much work planned out. Things to do, people to brainwash… in the meanwhile, however…»

She chuckled. It was definitely not a chuckle to make children sleep smiling in their beds. Then she clapped her hands, and suddenly a stream of new wights poured around the corner: ten of them, twenty, thirty, and more, all of them racing forward with that peculiar arm-swinging gait, their eyes aflame with crimson fire.

«Have fun, my darlings,» Rivi said with a cheery wave. «I don't think we'll see each other again.»

Then she was gone, Kiripao covering her withdrawal as more and more wights filled the street. I could see lamplight glint off their pointed teeth. Then, in a rush, they struck the front of the house like a tsunami.

When there had only been a dozen wights clawing at the wall, the house stood up well against the destruction. With the demolition team multiplied threefold however, the building quaked at the very impact of so many talons smashing into the wood. Yasmin and I leapt forward, eliminating two attackers each; but the remaining undead heaved with such force, the entire wall ripped away in a solid flat. It wobbled in the wights' grip, two storeys high and shaken by the brisk wind that blew through the streets of the town. The wights tried to keep it upright, but they had no leverage. Slowly, the top of the facade tipped back, farther and farther, until a sudden breezy gust blew it against the house on the opposite side of the street.

The collision was the last straw for the poor battered wall. The lower storey, torn to tatters by previous wight attacks, broke apart completely, a wagon-load of lumber thunking down around the wights' ears. Then the upper story dropped in a single piece, like a great fly-swatter slapping down in a cloud of shattering plaster. Every wight was knocked to the ground, buried under the mass of wood.

Silence descended, broken only by soft, ominous creaks from the ceiling sagging over our heads. Yasmin stepped forward, staring out the open hole where a wall had once separated the house from the street. She peered at the tangle of timber heaped over the wights and whispered, «Do you think that crushed them?»

In answer, the mound of boards exploded upward, wood flying in all directions as undead muscles threw off the clutter. Planks whizzed in our direction, forcing us to duck; other boards smashed through windows of neighboring houses, or thunked heavily along the pavement. In a moment, an army of wights stood intact on the cobblestones, teeth gleaming, eyes filled with blazing hate.

The wall was gone. There was nothing separating them from us.

«Fight or flee?» Yasmin asked, lifting her sword.

«If we flee, they'll just catch us in the back garden,» I told her. «We can't all get over the fence in time.»

«But if we fight,» Yasmin said, «the others have a chance to get away.»

«Let's make it a last stand in the kitchen,» I suggested. «The Tooth Guild here can only come through the door one by one.»