Releasing me was simply a matter of returning my money pouch and the other things I'd been carrying when arrested. None of my possessions were particularly ominous: my keys, some peanuts in a small cloth bag, and a chip of quartz which gave off a permanent lantern-like glow, thanks to a fellow Sensate who was now loafing as the Witch-Queen of some scruffy Prime world. Still, the Harmonium had impounded everything in my pockets, just on general principle. If I were some kind of mage (which I'm not), a harmless piece of lint might have been all I needed to turn everyone in the barracks into fruitbats.

While I was reattaching my money pouch to my belt, the sergeant who interrogated me strode in. His face hardened when he saw me; I assumed he wasn't happy about my being released, perhaps on the theory that everyone must be guilty of something. That's the Harmonium for you.

«So they're letting you walk,» he said after a long glare in my direction. «Don't get cocky about it, Cavendish. You and that Clueless friend of yours better stay out of trouble – I'm keeping an eye on you both.»

«I don't suppose you could keep your eye on Hezekiah in the barracks here… just long enough to give me a ten minute headstart?»

«Trying to give him the slip, eh?» The sergeant stroked his beard thoughtfully. «If you were a crook, Cavendish – and of course I know you're not, you're a gentleman with friends in high places who can spring you from choky even when it makes more sense to keep you locked up – but if you were a crook, I'd think you might be trying to beat your partner-in-crime to something. Maybe race off to a case where you've stashed some jink, and clear it out before the boy can stop you.»

I stared at him in disbelief. «Sergeant, you've missed your calling. Say the word and I'll put you in touch with some friends of mine in the publishing trade; they're always looking for bloods with a flair for fiction. In the meantime, good night to you.»

My words were wasted. I intended to turn my back on him with a lofty air and make my way out of the barracks, surrounded by an air of wounded dignity. Unfortunately, the sergeant had scuttled off before I finished speaking, so I was left addressing the end of my speech to an empty doorway.

I finished arranging my money pouch and started toward the main doors of the building. As I've mentioned, it was a busy night in the barracks, with guards running to and fro, alone or in packs that completely blocked the corridor. They were in a hurry and I was in a hurry; but they had truncheons and swords, so I was the one who flattened against the wall to let them pass.

Still, I eventually made it to the door and out into the stale midnight air of Sigil. I stopped on the front steps to take a breath, free once more… and at that moment, the sergeant bustled out of the building with Hezekiah in tow.

«There you are, Cavendish!» the sergeant called. «Aren't you forgetting your friend?»

«Hi!» the boy chirped, holding out his knuckly hand for me to shake. «Good thing we managed to catch you before you got away.»

«Oh yes,» I said glumly. «Such a good thing.»

At the bottom of the steps, Hezekiah waved a cheery farewell to the sergeant. The sergeant waved back, but his beady little eyes gleamed in my direction, like a whist player who's just produced an unexpected trump.

«Nice people, these guards,» Hezekiah said, oblivious to the exchange of glances between me and the sergeant. «I offered to buy them a round of drinks at their favorite tavern, but they must be too busy investigating the fire.»

«If you're interested in nightlife,» the sergeant put in, «stick with Cavendish. I overheard Lady Erin tell him to meet her at the Civic Festhall.»

«The Civic Festhall?» Hezekiah asked, perky with interest.

«Thank you very much, sergeant,» I growled. «Isn't it time you served and protected someone else?»

He bowed smirkingly to me. «Good night, Cavendish. I'm sure you two will enjoy yourselves.» Chuckling to himself, he sauntered back into the barracks.

«The Civic Festhall?» Hezekiah repeated, grabbing my arm. «Is that some rundown ginmill frequented by rogues and vermin? Because while I'm in Sigil, I'd love to visit a den of iniquity.»

«The Civic Festhall is not a den of iniquity,» I snapped. «Just because it's run by Sensates, people make up the most ridiculous rumors. Look, I'll show you.»

I pulled him into the middle of the street where we had a good clear view of the sky. As I've mentioned before, Sigil doesn't have the kind of sky you get in mundane worlds. Sigil is round like a wheel: the inside rim of a wheel roughly twenty miles around. When you look up, you peer through the sooty air to see the opposite side of the city five miles overhead; and from where we stood outside the City Barracks, the brightest light in the night sky was the Civic Festhall. It shone with a welcoming yellow glow, and all around it were hundreds of other lights, beaming from music halls, cafes and, yes, the occasional bordello, all to entertain citizens with more varied tastes than getting bubbed up in some grimy alehouse that waters the beer.

«That,» I said, pointing, «is the Civic Festhall. That is where you go for opera, or symphony concerts, or performing bears. It has three art galleries, the finest museum of antiquities in the multiverse, and an arena where you can go every night for a year and never see the same sport twice. If you want to drink, the central bistro can sell you a wine so delicate it evaporates before it even touches your tongue; it can also sell you rotgut so potent, not only will you stay drunk for the rest of your life, but so will your children and their children. Does that give you some idea of what the place has to offer?»

«The Civic Festhall,» Hezekiah murmured in a thoughtful tone of voice. «Uncle Toby says there's a place where women…» He leaned over and whispered in my ear.

«Oh,» I said, «that's the half-time show in the arena. Why do you think people sit and watch all those sports they've never seen before?»

«Then let's get a move on!» the boy whooped; and he started off down the street, with the lights of the Festhall sparkling in his eye.

On a normal night, I never would have walked the streets of Sigil without my father's rapier hanging at my hip – even the best-lit boulevards have footpads and worse hiding in the side alleys. However, only the Guvners and Harmonium could wear swords into the City Courts, so I had reluctantly left my weapon at home when I headed out to my painting assignment. Now, crossing the city at midnight, I could feel eyes watching me from every shadow.

Fortunately, the Harmonium was out in force that night: guards standing at every major corner, and others scurrying hither, thither, and yon on unknown errands. Speaking of guards, I noticed a burly dwarf woman (at least I think it was a woman; it's hard to tell with dwarves) dogging our heels about five lampposts back. She wasn't wearing the official neckerchief, but she had the unmistakable trudging walk that marked her as a Harmonium patroller. No doubt this dwarf was a plainclothes gift from my friend, the sergeant – someone to watch in case I gave Hezekiah the slip and ran off on an unbridled crime spree.

The more I thought about it, however, the wiser it seemed to keep Hezekiah close at hand. He and I had witnessed a theft that might be part of a city-wide conspiracy. If I left him to his own devices, he'd soon find himself one of those «dens of iniquity» where he'd spill everything he knew to the assembled company of cross-traders and bawds. Word would travel through the seedy parts of Sigil, eventually reaching the ears of the thieves we'd seen that afternoon. Maybe they wouldn't care that they'd been spotted; but maybe they'd decide it was prudent to silence those who could identify them.