Having done my dance to show off, I waited, leaving the next play in her hand.

"I'd suspected you possessed knowledge not at my command, Mr. Garrett. Now you've told me as much, for whatever motives move you. All right. We both know I want the rest. You want something for yourself. Can we arrive at a peaceful middle ground?"

"Probably. I doubt if our goals are too far apart."

"Indeed? What do you want, then?"

"The man or woman who gave the order that got Amiranda Crest murdered."

I guess when you play for stakes as high as she had for so long, you learn to keep yourself controlled. That face would have made her a deadly card player. "Go on, Mr. Garrett."

"I want the person no matter who it is. That's what I want."

She surveyed my companions. Sadler and Crask were blanks, but Saucerhead had leaned a little toward us. "It's obvious you know a great deal that I don't."

Saucerhead couldn't restrain himself. "Skredli and Donni Pell, Garrett. We get them, too."

The Stormwarden looked at me. I said, "My friend was there when Arniranda was murdered. He tried to save her and failed. He feels obligated to restore a bal­ance. He also has a personal score to settle. Show her."

Saucerhead understood. He started stripping. The wounds he exposed still looked nasty. The deeper cuts wouldn't lose their purplish-red color for months.

"I see," the Stormwarden said. "Would you care to tell me how it happened?"

Saucerhead put his shirt back on. I said nothing. Raver Styx muttered, "So that's the way it's going to be."

All the while I stared smoke and fire at Saucerhead. He had to mention Donni Pell in front of the wife! I'd wanted to reserve Donni Pell for the moment of maxi­mum impact.

She hadn't reacted to the name at all.

"I suppose the thing to do is hire you, Mr. Garrett. Then you might be more responsive."

"Maybe. Maybe not. I do my job my own way. Be­tween the hiring and the results I don't put up with meddling from my principal. I'm the specialist. If I can't be trusted to do the job without interference, I shouldn't be hired in the first place." I don't think my voice squeaked. I sure hoped it didn't. "What did you want to hire me for, anyway?"

She looked at me like I was a moron.

"I don't mind having multiple clients, but I don't take them on when their goals conflict."

She continued to stare. Serpents of temper had begun to stir beneath the surface of her calm. No more pushing permitted.

"Before we go on there's something I've got to show you, Stormwarden. I warn you up front, you're not going to like it. You're going to be upset. But you need to see it so you don't walk into anything with the web of illusion across your eyes."

The Dead Man brushed me with a touch of approval. The Stormwarden rose, her face carefully composed. I said, "You ought to finish that glass and pour yourself another before we go."

"If it's that tough, I'll take the bottle along."

Just one of the guys. "Come on, then."

I crossed the hall to the Dead Man's room, stepped inside, stepped aside. The parade followed, the Storm-warden first. The boys lined up against the wall beside the door. Crask and Sadler stared at the Dead Man and went gray around the edges.

Seeing is believing.

"A dead Loghyr!" The Stormwarden enthused, sound­ing like she'd just spotted a cute fairy toddler peeking out of the bushes. "I didn't know there were any around anymore. What do you want for it?"

"You wouldn't want this one. He's a social parasite. My personal charity project. He does nothing but sleep and amuse himself by playing with bugs."

"Laziness is a Loghyr racial characteristic. But even the dead can be trained to harness when you use the right lash."

"You'll have to explain that to me sometime. I can't get any work out of him. What you need to see is over here. Dean! Get some decent damned lamps in here!" He was supposed to have done that already. He came sidling in with the necessary and stammered apologies. He was shaking all over, and I didn't blame him. This was the moment that could explode.

She stood there staring at the bodies, not a hairline cracking her composure. She raised a hand, beckoned Dean, took the lamp, knelt. She studied Karl for a long time, taking him in inch by inch. Finished, she took a long pull on the brandy bottle, then did it all over again with Amiranda. Amiranda didn't get a second's less at­tention. In fact, she got a moment more.

The Stormwarden grunted, then set her bottle aside and rested the tips of two fingers on Amiranda's belly. After a minute she muttered, "So!" and reclaimed the bottle. She drew another healthy draft.

She rose. "I owe you a debt of gratitude, Mr. Garrett." She returned the lamp to Dean. "Can we talk now? Seriously? The two of us?"

"Yes. Dean, take these guys into the kitchen and feed them. Bring me a mug and a pitcher. In the office."

"Yes sir. Gentlemen?"

They didn't protest. I guess Chodo had given them orders to cooperate.

I settled behind my desk. The Stormwarden sat op­posite me, devoting herself to her bottle and her inner landscape. Finally, she said, "Karl was murdered."

"He was. By a man named Gorgeous and an ogre breed named Skredli. Gorgeous is dead. Skredli is on the loose but we intend to find him. He also led the gang that killed Amiranda. But he was just a hired hand. Someone paid for the blood."

"You have a great deal to tell me."

"If I take you as a client."

She thought for a while. "Your task now is to find the person responsible for Amiranda's murder. Correct?"

"Yes."

"I have a great deal of power, as you're aware. But I don't know how to go about rooting out a killer. Suppose I hire you to find Karl's murderer?"

"That might work. Assuming we agree on precedence of claims if the same hand directed the blades in both murders."

"There'll be no problem of precedence if you meet one condition."

"Which is?"

"You may take precedence for yourself, your friends, and your client—if you'll permit me to be present when you handle your end of it. It won't matter what you do. Not even death will be an escape for whoever did that in there."

I felt a surge of elation, wondered why, then realized that most of it came from the Dead Man. He knew something, or had something. "I think we can deal."

"I'll stay out of your way, Mr. Garrett. I'll give you whatever aid and assistance you require."

Dean brought the beer in. I poured my mug full, damned near drained it. The Stormwarden did likewise with a second mug Dean thoughtfully provided.

The Stormwarden said, "I expect you're out of pocket considerably for the bodies. You wouldn't have gotten them cheaply."

"That's true."

"Add that to what you need for a deposit against your expenses and fee."

"Let me make sure we understand one another. You're willing to take me on and turn me loose, without shoving your hand in, as long as you're there for the showdown?"

"Yes."

"And you'll lend me your authority along the way?"

"If that's necessary."

"It will be in a few cases."

"I have one goal only, Mr. Garrett. Laying my hands on the person or persons responsible for what happened to my children. Cost is no obstacle. Neither is the em­peror himself. Do you understand me?" Those ice-blue eyes were ablaze now. "You do what you have to do to deliver. I'll back you to the gates of hell itself."

"Pact?"

"You want a witch's oath, written in blood?"

"The sworn word of the Stormwarden Raver Styx will do."

She did the whole formal thing after allowing me to word the undertaking.

"Settled," I said. "We're on. I owe you a story." And I began telling it from the moment it intruded upon my life. J gave her the crop, reserving only my personal interactions with Amber and Amiranda. I don't think she was fooled.