«What is happening?» Zeerith asked, an edge of panic in her voice.

«Hounds versus wights,» Miriam replied. «Pity we can't go out front and watch.»

«I've seen fireballs before,» I said. «Unless, of course, the Hounds have some new, more interesting kind…»

«Standard stuff,» Miriam answered with a dismissive wave of her hand. «I happened to know where the Fox stashed a few firewands, right here in town. They came in handy for bribes.»

«Not bribes,» November bristled, holding up two wands of her own. «Payment for services to be rendered.»

Miriam shrugged. «You got payment, the Hounds got bribes.» She turned back to me. «I gave the Arch-Lector's doggies some fire-toys in exchange for fighting your wights.»

«You knew we had wights?» Yasmin asked.

«November and I came by a while ago when that sod albino was just setting up her attack. Rivi had stationed a few wights out front, and a lot more around the corner, so I knew you were going to need help. I bribed the closest detachment of Hounds to come and give you a hand. It took all the wands I had left, but they did come through.»

November gave a small snort. «They just wanted a chance to shoot fire at moving targets.»

«Probably,» Miriam admitted, «but they did what they were paid to and mounted a frontal assault. I knew you'd be smart enough to run out the back. That's why we're here.»

«And now we should go,» November said. She gestured at the red flicker of flames on the other side of the wall. «We only have minutes before that fire engulfs the whole quarter. Besides, I'm sure you want to see that gate to Sigil as soon as possible.»

Despite her exhaustion, Yasmin insisted on carrying Wheezle; and so we hurried away, following November's lead. Miriam fell in beside Hezekiah and the two of them began whispering to each other, heads close and the ghost of giggles in their voices. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I didn't need to: they weren't saying anything, they were merely talking… pleased to have the worst behind them, pleased that each step took us closer the portal home.

Zeerith slid along beside me, a stricken expression on her young face. She was leaving the only world she could remember, her adoptive family butchered by Hounds. Some cynical part of me didn't believe the family had been quite so kindly as Zeerith maintained; but they were all she knew, the center of her life. Now she was fleeing in the company of strangers, abandoning everything familiar.

For a time, I tried to reassure her – Sigil had a small community of nagas, a few of them Sensates whom I knew personally. We'd find someone to care for her until she was ready to fend for herself. Zeerith nodded politely and said she was sure Sigil was a fine city… but then she lapsed into silence again, her face wracked with grief.

Plague-Mort had no city wall, no definite edge at all. The raggedy shacks housing citizens outside of Rich Man's Row simply grew farther and farther apart, and their yards increased to the size of small fields. Perhaps they were fields, and I was just too much the city-dweller to tell. It was, after all, late autumn in Plague-Mort, with the chill of winter in the air. Whatever crops might have filled these fields in summer were harvested now, leaving nothing but stubble.

We kept walking, down a dark dirt road with ankle-deep ruts. The fields came right up to the road, with only a thin strip of weeds separating the two. On a larger scale, the fields were just a thin strip themselves: a few hundred feet of cleared land on either side of the road, and beyond that, the Bush… virgin forest, walled with shadows. No doubt, local hunters ventured into the woods often enough, following the game trails and daring the underbrush; but hunters tended to camp where their ancestors had camped, to stake out the same watering holes, to lurk outside the same lairs. I was sure the trees concealed wilder places, a deep heartland where humans had not penetrated in all the lifetime of the multiverse.

And then the fields ended.

I could see the end coming: the point where the forest closed in around the road. The trees were tall and rustling in the wind, mostly elms and oaks and maples; in daylight, their leaves might be the vibrant reds and oranges of fall, but in the darkness they looked jet black. Branches reached across the road, choking off the slight glow of the overcast sky. As we approached, the way ahead looked like the mouth of a cave.

«Honored alu,» Wheezle said in a low voice, «is this truly wise? The trees provide perfect cover for bandits… or perhaps more fearsome threats.»

«I'm hard to surprise,» November answered. «Besides, this road runs spikeward and very little traffic comes this way. You may find the occasional barmy out here, living on nuts and berries, but the caravan routes run east-west around the rim. That's where you get bandits.»

She said nothing about other lurking things; and the Outlands were surely filled with dangerous beasts, especially near a cursed town like Plague-Mort. I looked at the blackness of the woods, drawing nearer with each step we took, and asked, «Where is this portal anyway?»

«Not far,» November said. «The gate is just a short way into the forest, inside a small chapel… built long ago by a group that worshipped the snake people.» She nodded toward Zeerith. «The nagas claim a huge tract of land spikeward from here, but they seldom come this close to town. According to legend, the nagas were embarrassed by the snake cult's form of worship, so they left the area in distaste. The cult faded away soon after; some say they all committed suicide in the hope of winning back the nagas' attention. All I know is, the chapel has been abandoned for as long as I've lived in Plague-Mort, and probably centuries before that.»

Hezekiah cleared his throat. «Have you, uhhh, ever been to this chapel at night?»

I could guess what was on the boy's mind. Abandoned chapels do not qualify as safe places for nocturnal visits, especially if all the former devotees killed themselves. But November said, «It's not haunted, if that's what you mean. Do you know how many do-gooders come through Plague-Mort every year? And can you imagine how they drool when they hear of a deserted chapel not far from town? If there were ever ghosts in the place, the poor shades got cleaned out generations ago. And don't worry about other kinds of trouble either: a party of adventurers toured the place just last week, and the worst they found was a squirrel who bobbed a crust of their bread.»

The others smiled at that, but not me. My father once listed for me a dozen lethal creatures who could magically disguise themselves as squirrels.

The road through the forest was dark enough; but soon November led us off on a side-path that was positively Stygian. Only a hint of light could struggle through the dense cover of autumn leaves, making our trail as dark as a mineshaft. Occasionally something would dart across the ground, stirring up a racket through the crisp fallen leaves; then November would call out «Rabbit» or «Badger» to calm our startled nerves.

I had thought rabbits and badgers were field animals, not the sort to prowl through thick woods.

We made an unconscionable amount of noise – I defy the stealthiest of forest rangers to walk quietly along a path covered with crinkly dry leaves – but no monsters attacked us in the ten minutes it took to reach the chapel. Tree roots tripped us, nettles pricked us, and a pair of crows cawed indignantly at having their sleep disturbed; still nothing happened. In time, we walked into a clearing wide enough that the trees could not block a large patch of sky… and there in front of us was a square stone building perhaps ten paces on each side.

«The portal is the door to the inner vestry,» November said. For some reason, she was whispering. «The key is anything shaped like a snake. I've got a little talisman in my pocket, but frankly, your friend Zeerith would probably…»