Bic Gonlit arrived five minutes later. He was about as hangdog as it's possible for a man to look.

"Bic, old buddy," I said, "why'd you want to go and bring a bunch of ratpeople around to my place?"

"You still got my boots?"

"They're in a place of honor. But I'm going to burn them and scatter their ashes on the river if I don't hear some explanations."

"You don't have a reputation for being that hard, Garrett."

"You've got a rep as a bring them in alive kind of bounty hunter, Bic. So besides the answer to my ratpeople question—which I want to hear real soon now—I'd sure like to know why you're hanging around me. But where are my manners? Come on in. We don't want to do business out here. The Guard keeps a watch on me."

Gonlit jumped. He looked back nervously. He sure was a worried little man. And barefoot, too.

He slipped past me, taking one final troubled look back as he did so.

"Tell me about the rats, Bic."

He stared at Pular Singe. "Because there's a huge reward out for her. Reliance wants her bad. I thought I'd get my boots back during the confusion when Reliance's gang were grabbing her."

"Plus you'd've made a few marks," I said. "I appreciate your honesty. So I'm not going to hold a very big grudge. All you need to do is explain why you were hanging around in the alley out back and just had to slug me. We're going in here." I held the door to the Dead Man's room. Bic's boots were in there, sitting on the table next to Singe's sandwiches. But I had a feeling it would be a while before they enjoyed a loving reunion with Bic's feet. "Take a seat, brother."

"I just want my boots, Garrett."

"We all have dreams, Bic. Sometimes we have to give a little something to attain them. What about the alley?"

"What alley?"

"Now we're going to play tough?" Exasperated, I snapped, "The goddamn alley behind my house. Where you bushwhacked me and pounded me over the head with a sap."

Gonlit looked at me like I'd just sprouted antlers.

Garrett.

I jumped. So did Bic and Singe.

"Yeah?"

Bizarre as it may seem, the man really does have no idea what you are talking about. I now find myself examining the hypothesis that the Bic Gonlit you encountered in the alley was not the man who is here with us now. Either this man has a twin or what you ran into was the creature I sensed and set you to collect, somehow projecting an illusion based upon the expectations of Cypres Prose.

I now agree that it is time you went to bed. Have the man sit down. Bic hadn't yet accepted my invitation. Then go. I will see that he dozes off, too.

Pular Singe made an offer that was difficult to refuse because she was so fragile emotionally. "Not tonight, Singe. I'm so tired I'd fall asleep in the middle of things. And you'd get your feelings hurt. While you kept telling me that it was all your fault." She was getting used to hearing me yell at her about embracing blame for what other people did.

That wasn't as honest as I should've been. But it did buy me time to think about an answer that would leave Singe with her tender dignity intact, feeling good about herself.

The more I considered it the more I suspected that I'd need the Dead Man's help to work this one out. Singe was at an age and stage where she wasn't going to hear much from me that she didn't want to hear.

Though I must say my "not tonight, another time" response certainly seemed to ease her anxieties for the moment.

Maybe she wouldn't find the nerve to bring it up again.

Those damned pixies woke me up twice during the night. And both times I got a touch from the Dead Man indicating that we had a prowler outside. He didn't trouble himself enough to report what kind of prowler. And I was too groggy to care.

The pixies made good watchdogs. Yet if that was what I wanted I'd just as soon get something big but quiet that would eat the prowlers without waking me up or disturbing my neighbors.

It was near the crack of noon when I stumbled downstairs and found a sullen Dean sharing his kitchen with Pular Singe. Singe was at the table eating. She had dragged her custom chair in from the Dead Man's room.

Dean was doing dishes and wrestling with his prejudices. Not many folks have much use for ratpeople. I've always belonged to the majority myself. But I do try my best to contain my dislike. That's been a lot easier since Singe came along.

I mumbled, "You're going to get fatter than the Dead Man, Singe." I flopped into my own chair. "My head still hurts." Though a lot less than it had.

Dean said, "I've warned you and warned you to ease up on the beer, Garrett."

"It wasn't beer this time."

Dean rattled some dishes and snorted, not believing me.

"It's not. Singe can tell you. I got knocked out by some kind of wizardry a few times yesterday. And every time I woke up I had a worse headache than before."

"Then explain why I had to send out for a new keg this morning. It hasn't been ten days since you finished the last one."

"New keg? But the old one shouldn't be... "

Singe had developed a fierce interest in a fly doing acrobatics from the ceiling.

"And you don't have a bit of a hangover from all that, either. Do you, girl?"

She shook her head, tried one of her want-to-be human smiles.

"Gah! This's the cruelest of all cruel worlds." I would've teased her about selling her back to Reliance or something but she'd probably have taken me seriously.

Dean took his hands out of the water long enough to pour a mug of tea and set a breakfast platter in front of me. That was mostly seasonal fruit, accompanied by small chunks of cold ham.

A typical meal, really. Which left me wondering how Dean managed to produce so many dirty dishes, pots, and pans.

I downed a long slug of tea. There was something in that cup besides plain tea. It left a bitter taste underneath the honey. So Dean had counted on me showing up with a headache. Since he doesn't coddle my hangovers he must've been forewarned. So his fuss was all for form.

So the Dead Man was good for something after all.

Though he wouldn't have coddled a hangover, either.

Singe tried to fuss over me. Dean looked disgusted. I showed him my evil eye. Of all the females to pass through my kitchen the one he'd pick to dislike actively would be the only one who was willing to treat me special.

He was plenty willing to climb all over me when it came to me not treating every girl as if she was uniquely special.

I tossed back some more tea while thinking my house was turning into a nest of cranky old bachelors.

The pixies started acting up out front. Dean ignored them. He had his cutting board out and was getting ready to mutilate vegetables.

"You going to check that out?" I asked.

"No. Happens every fifteen minutes. If it means anything the thing in the other room will let us know."

If he wasn't asleep. The Dead Man has a habit of falling asleep, sometimes for months, usually at the most inconvenient times, businesswise.

I finished feeding. The medication in the tea had begun its work. The world seemed a less dark and cruel place already. "Singe, let's go see old Chuckles." Got to keep that premature optimism under control. And he was just the boy to rein it in.

"Hey, Old Bones. What's on the table today? Bic Gonlit. How you doing this morning, man? Dean get you something to eat?"

Whatever Dean put into the tea, maybe he used a little too much.

I got no response from the Dead Man. Gonlit did respond with a big scowl. "I want my boots, Garrett."

"I'm sure you do. They say you've got your whole personality tied up in those things. So why do you want to get them all filthy, romping around in the alley behind my house?"