I've found that clients never want to tell the whole story. Never. Another given is that they're going to lie to you about half of what they tell you. They want results without having to reveal anything embarrassing. They lie about almost everything. The worst offenders are those who have fallen victim to their own greed or stupidity. They expect results, too.

Playmate was not a bad client. His fib quotient was pretty low, probably, as much because he knew about my partner as because he's naturally a good guy. He talked a good deal but failed to tell me much more than I had gotten already. Kip had become friendly with a pair of oddballs named Lastyr and Noodiss, no other names given. He had helped them learn their way around. After a while other oddballs turned up looking for the first two. Inasmuch as they never explained their interest, that was not taken to be benign. Especially considering recent events at the stable and Kip's home. Not all of the oddballs were necessarily the same kind of oddball.

Lastyr and Noodiss had been around for most of a year. Those hunting them had shown up only recently. All the elves seemed very determined.

Kip nodded a lot and didn't add anything. I trusted the Dead Man would collect anything that reached the surface of the boy's thoughts.

Playmate told me, "It may be coincidence. Kip's always made up fantastic stories. But it was right after those first two characters showed up that he started inventing things. I mean, things that worked or looked like maybe you could make them work."

The boy's head is bursting with the images of the most amazing mechanisms, Garrett.

He seemed completely thrilled.

I asked, "What would you suggest I do?"

"Just stick with us for a while," Playmate said.

Investigate.

"Investigate what?"

Let your experience be your guide. And, Whatever else you do, do try to catch one of those creatures and bring it here to see me.

"I'm the miracle worker of TunFaire, aren't I?"

Aren't I?

There was no sign of Katie when we stepped out the front door, me freshly bathed and cleanly dressed in hand-me-down apparel that approached the respectable. My sweetie had an hour head start now. And would be boiling like an overheated teapot.

Katie was going to require some cautious cooling down. I definitely didn't want her getting too cold.

I did spot Dean. Headed home. Where the hell had he been? He wasn't carrying anything.

He dropped a coin—a coin that belonged to me because he'd never give away a chipped copper of his own—onto the tattered blanket of a streetside fortune-teller. That caught her completely by surprise. Nevertheless, she gave him a toothless blessing.

There was an idea. I ought to hang out a shingle proclaiming myself a great psychic. Old Bones could rummage around inside their heads and feed me the items I would use to impress them enough to make them turn loose of their money.

An open mouth precludes open ears.

"What the hell does that mean?" I hadn't said anything. "I hate it when you talk that ancient wisdom stuff. The butterfly is silent when the eagle walks upon the sand."

I patted myself down. I was equipped with an arsenal of—mostly—nonlethal tools of mayhem. "Lead on, Play."

Playmate descended the steps and turned left. I followed, keeping Kip between us.

Dean met us at the foot of the steps. "Where you been?" I asked.

"Running a couple of errands."

"Ah." I said no more. No point letting him know he gave himself away whenever he was sneaking around doing something on the Dead Man's orders. "Let us continue, friend Playmate." I studied the street as we resumed moving. I saw nothing out of place.

Macunado Street is a busy thoroughfare, day or night. A ferocious downpour or bitter winter weather are about all that will clear it. The street was particularly busy today. But it was conventionally busy. Not one known villain, nor a potential riot, was anywhere in sight.

"Who was that?" Playmate asked after I waved to a neighbor.

"Mrs. Cardonlos. The police spy. Sometimes tormenting her is the only fun to be had."

"There're occasions when I despair of you, Garrett. There're times when you appear to be your own worst enemy. Why on earth would you want to taunt someone who has the power to tell lies about you to people who'd just as soon feed you to the rats?"

"Because Relway's bunch would be more suspicious if I didn't." Deal Relway is the master of TunFaire's unacknowledged secret police force. I know him because I was there when that particular terrorbird hatched. Its existence has become an open secret, anyway.

I do get nervous sometimes, knowing what I do know about some key individuals. Relway wouldn't hesitate to bend or break the law in his determination to maintain law and order. He might not hesitate to bend or break me.

Playmate's livery establishment was less than an hour away. We reached it without running into trouble. Once we did I borrowed his kitchen to brew myself a fresh mug of headache medicine.

Kip's little workshop didn't tell me much. It was evident the kid knew his tools, though. He had a hell of a collection, half of which I didn't know what they were. He had a hundred unidentifiable projects going. As soon as we walked in he grabbed a file and went to work on notches in a round metal plate about eight inches in diameter. It took him only a few seconds to become totally focused.

"What the hell?" I asked.

Playmate shrugged. "I don't know. Part of one of his machines. I can show you the picture he had me draw."

"I meant, how come he suddenly goes from being something you have to keep on a leash to being somebody who's blind to the whole damned world?"

Another expressive shrug. Playmate showed me into his forge area, which had expanded considerably since my last visit and which was an amazing clutter of junk and what looked like things half-built. I wondered how he got any shoeing done.

From some niche Playmate produced a leather folder filled with dozens of sheets of good linen paper. He shuffled through unsuspectedly good bits of artwork until he located the piece he wanted. I glimpsed my own likeness in passing. "Now that was a good-looking young man."

Playmate grunted. I think that was meant to be neutral but failed to sound like it when he observed, "The operative word being ‘was.' "

There were more portrait sketches. They were all good. I recognized several people.

How many hidden talents did Playmate have? He surprised me every few months.

The portfolio contained more sketches of devices than of people. Some were really complicated, highly unlikely mechanisms. And a few didn't seem complicated at all. One of those was a little two-wheeler cart with a pair of long shafts sticking out in front. A man had been sketched in as pulling it, conveying another seated in the cart.

Something like that, without the shafts, sat about ten feet from where I stood. "You're trying to build some of these things?"

"Unh? Oh. Yeah. All of them, eventually. But there're problems. With that thing I'm having trouble finding long enough poles that're still light. But we did test it. It'll work."

"Why?"

"Because we have an extremely lazy complement of wealthy people in this town. And a lot of unemployed young men who need something to keep them out of trouble. My notion is to build a fleet of those things and rent them out at nominal fees so some of those young men have a way to make a living. Which will keep them out of trouble at the same time."