Hezekiah would get his throat cut first. Then they'd come for me.

When I looked at the situation in that light, Hezekiah had to be kept under wraps – for his own safety, as well as mine – and that meant I had to play his minder until I could shuck off the responsibility on someone else. Maybe when I spoke with Lady Erin later in the evening, I could persuade her to find a more willing babysitter.

With so many guards roaming the streets, we made it to the Festhall without incident… barring the half dozen times I had to pull Hezekiah away from draggle-tail ladies of the evening. Of course, the little Clueless didn't understand what they meant by, «Hey bloods, want a bit of lather?»; he grew more and more convinced that Sigil was filled with 24-hour public baths.

Pulling Hezekiah through the outer approaches to the Festhall was even harder. Admittedly, I couldn't hold that against him; from conjurors to lutists to acrobats, the walkways of the Festhall are crammed with charming and talented performers, highly skilled in capturing a newcomer's attention. I noticed my companion dipping frequently into his purse to find coins to drop in the buskers' bowls – so frequently and with so many coins, I began to wonder how much money Hezekiah had. For that matter, I wondered how so much silver managed to come from such a slim little purse. Perhaps that was another bit of magic from the famed Uncle Toby.

As we continued to pass singers and jugglers and contortionists, I began to feel guilty about hurrying the boy off to Lady Erin's office. This was Hezekiah's first visit to the Festhall; he should have a chance to experience everything he could… provided I found some way to keep him out of real trouble.

Casting about for a solution to my quandary, I caught sight of a familiar face and waved her over to us. Lillian fa Liranill was thirty-two like me; but since she was an elf, she was still an adolescent and she gloried in it. The two of us had joined the Society of Sensation in the same group ceremony, and we had enjoyed a brother/sister relationship ever since.

Lillian was more than just lively and delightful; she was infinitely delightable, taking bubbly pleasure even in the plainest, most humdrum aspects of existence. I once watched her write a letter to a friend, pausing every three seconds to ponder what color of ink to use for the next word… and no matter what color she chose, she always giggled at the effect. For a cherubically cheerful guide to the enticements of the Festhall, you couldn't do better than Lillian.

She wasn't half bad as an artist's model either.

«Lil,» I said, raising my voice to be heard above a pair of nearby drummers, «this is Hezekiah Virtue. He's just new to Sigil.»

«Really!» Her eyes opened wide. «You're just new to Sigil?»

«Yes ma'am,» the boy gulped, «I'm just new.»

«Glad we've got that clear,» I said. «I was wondering, Lil, if you'd like to show Hezekiah some of the sights of the Festhall.»

Her eyes opened even wider. «He'd like to see some of the sights?»

«Yes ma'am,» Hezekiah assured her, «I've been really looking forward to seeing the sights.»

«Perhaps you could show him around,» I suggested to Lillian.

Her eyes opened wider still; Lillian's eyes had the gift of being infinitely expandable. «Would you like me to show you around?» she asked Hezekiah.

«I'd love for you to show me around,» he answered.

«Then it's settled,» I said. Drawing Lillian aside, I whispered, «Hezekiah went through a terrible ordeal this afternoon, and it would do him good to forget about the experience for a while. Can you make sure he doesn't dwell on what happened? Don't let him start talking about it, to you or anyone else. Keep his mind on other things.»

«I can keep his mind on other things,» she promised with those wide open eyes of hers. Turning back to Hezekiah, she slipped her arm around his waist and snuggled in close to him. «What do you want to see first?» she asked. «There's so much we can do.»

Trying not to chuckle, I headed off to Lady Erin's offices. Hezekiah would never know what hit him.

The factol's suite was tucked into the most inaccessible part of the Festhall, guarded by one of those irascible old men who never goes anywhere, yet seems to know everything. You know the type: think of that local tavern owner who never strays farther than the wine cellar… but if you witness some duel in the streets and race around to tell the news, he already knows the details, he can explain what started the quarrel in the first place, and he even tells you the prognosis from the surgeon attending the wounded.

Lady Erin's steward, TeeMorgan, was like that. He was a bariaur – much like a centaur, but from the chest down he looked more like a ram than a horse, and he had curled ram's horns sprouting from his forehead. «So,» he said the moment he caught sight of me, «you were in the middle of that fiasco in the Courts today. You and that Clueless boy. Have you thrown him down a privy or what?»

«Lillian has taken him under her wing,» I answered. «Do you have any food handy? I haven't eaten since lunch.»

«Hmph,» he grumped. «Seems to me if a Sensate wants to experience everything in life, starvation is one of the first things on the list.»

«I fasted for a month and a half the year I turned twenty-five,» I told him.

«And the paintings you did then were your only ones worth looking at,» he retorted. «All these portraits and landscapes and still-lifes of yours… whatever happened to good old abstraction? Painting what you feel instead of what you see – that's what I call art. Where's the point of painting a bowl of grapes that just looks like a bowl of grapes? But put little screaming faces on each grape, and that's a statement.»

«I wouldn't mind some grapes right about now,» I said.

«Yeah, try to change the subject. But take your portrait of Factol Sarin hanging in the City Barracks… my four-year-old could understand it. You call that art?»

«I call it my job. People pay me to paint pictures that look like pictures, TeeMorgan. They don't come to me for statements, they come for grapes you can recognize as grapes. Judging by the amount of gold they're willing to pay, they're happy with what they get.»

«Oh yes, gold,» TeeMorgan growled. «You're a Sensate, Cavendish – you should acquire a taste for more than one mineral. What would your father think of a son who was content to be a mediocrity?»

I caught my breath and bit back true anger. TeeMorgan and I frequently had these jousting matches about art, but mentioning my father was going too far. The look on my face must have told the bariaur he'd entered forbidden territory, because he turned away and made a gruff noise in his throat. «Pike all this arguing,» he said. «I'll check what we've got in the pantry.»

His hoofs clacked loudly as he cantered into a back room; and I was left alone with thoughts of my father.

My father, Niles Cavendish, was a hero: a champion swordsman, a dashing adventurer, a savior of the downtrodden. A city like Sigil never lacks for heroes, of course – every night in every tavern, you'll hear some berk boasting how he slew the Five-Headed Monster of Whatsit or retrieved the Gold Talisman of Who-Cares. But Niles Cavendish was a real hero, a hero known for his exploits throughout the multiverse… ready to rush into the Abyss to rescue a kidnapped princess, or dive into the River Styx to save a drowning puppy.

Twelve years had passed since he disappeared, and I still couldn't think about him without clenching my hands into fists.

TeeMorgan stuck his head in from the pantry doorway. «We got some cold beef left over from dinner, and a new delicacy called swineberries. I assume you want some?»

«Beef yes, berries no.»