By ‘‘underneath’’ Gerry meant through the caverns below the brewery. Those were the reason Weider chose to build where he did. The beer is stored there till it’s shipped.

‘‘How’s business? Any cutbacks because of the weather?’’

‘‘I hear tell a ten percent drop-off on account of it’s hard to make deliveries. The local brew houses picked up most of the slack. The boss didn’t lay nobody off. He’s got the extra guys harvesting ice. It’s a good year for that.’’

‘‘So I hear.’’ They would be cutting the ice from the river. ‘‘Thanks, Gerry. I’ll head on across.’’

Would he believe I was just looking for the boss? The whole brewery would know I was on the prowl before I found Max. Any villainy would scurry into the shadows to wait the danger out.

Privilege, private law, is vibrantly alive. Max Weider is a comfortable practitioner. He cares for his troops. Most return the favor by limiting their pilferage.

It seemed colder outside. Because it’s always hot inside the brewery. From the fires used to boil water and warm the fermenting vats.

The steps up to the Weider mansion door had received only a half-hearted cleaning since the last snow. I understood. We’d all had enough of that.

I knocked.

The man who answered was new. And a disaster on the hoof. If there was a race that could mix with the human, his ancestors had mixed it up. There had to be a half dozen kinds of human in the blend, too.

He would be five feet tall on his tippy-toes on his best day. His head was huge for his height and almost perfectly round. With a couple saucers smashed onto the sides where his ears belonged. The only hair on him was a huge, drooping black mustache. Its twisted ends hung four inches below his nonexistent chin. His eyes were slits stuffed with chips of coal. His mouth was a lipless gash under a nose fit for an elfin princess. He didn’t look worried about her showing up to claim it.

His body was another globe. His stubby arms sort of stuck out at his sides. How the hell did he dress himself?

He didn’t speak, just stared at me. Filling the doorway. Immovably.

‘‘Name’s Garrett. The boss wants to see me.’’

One bald eyebrow twitched.

‘‘Alyx came by my place. Said the Old Man wanted me to come by.’’

The other naked eyebrow shivered.

‘‘Be that way. I didn’t feel like working today, anyhow.’’

I could go down to the river, see what it looked like frozen over. It wasn’t far past the brewery. I could watch the ice sledges bring the harvest home.

The living art form of ugly did nothing to help me out. He just stood there.

I turned away.

‘‘Hang on, Garrett.’’ Manvil Gilbey, Max’s sidekick, materialized behind the short and wide. ‘‘Come on in. Don’t mind Hector. It’s his job to keep the riffraff out.’’

‘‘Then I’d better start hiking. I’m about as riffy a rack of raff as you’re likely to step in.’’

‘‘Always the charmer.’’

‘‘One hundred and ten proof.’’

‘‘We didn’t expect you this soon. I would’ve told Hector to bring you straight to Max.’’

Gilbey belongs to Dean’s generation. Old as original sin. He and Max have been best friends since their Army days, in a war that began before they were born and continued till their grown children were dead. Until a year ago. Devouring Karentine youth all the while.

Hector stepped aside. I followed Gilbey through the foyer, down into the vast ballroom that takes up half the ground floor.Click-clack across the bare serpentine floor. Then up to the mezzanine on thick, custom carpeting.

I murmured, ‘‘What was that?’’

‘‘Hector?’’

‘‘Yeah.’’

‘‘Son of a man Max and I soldiered with. A hero himself, Hector was, but he was having a hard time making it. Life is tough if you don’t have pure blood.’’

‘‘Crap,’’ I said. ‘‘We’re not getting into all that human rights bullshit again, are we?’’

In Karenta, in TunFaire especially, ‘‘human rights’’ means the rights of humans to preferential status. The Other Races and artifact peoples get whatever is left.

‘‘No. Our problems are in a new arena now.’’

‘‘Alyx said something about building a theater. That seems out of character.’’

‘‘I’ll let Max explain.’’

I glanced back. Hector was standing by, ready to answer the door. Beside a rack of lethal tools, there in case his immovable object had a showdown with an irresistible force.

‘‘A true exotic. Maybe even a unique.’’ Slang terms for mixed breeds of extreme aspect.

‘‘Would you believe Hector has a wife and five kids?’’

‘‘If you say so. But I don’t want to meet the kind of woman who finds him attractive.’’

‘‘He may have hidden assets and unexpected talents.’’

‘‘He’d have to have, wouldn’t he?’’

‘‘You’ve got a bad attitude, Garrett. People could tag you for some kind of racialist.’’

‘‘I am. The kind that don’t give a shit what you are so long as you leave me alone.’’

It had been a while since I’d seen Max. But when I stepped into his den it seemed I’d been away only minutes.

It was a room twenty people could fill and all be comfortable. A fleet of overstuffed chairs jockeyed for position in front of a big fireplace. A major accessory to that was a lackey whose calling was to feed the flames. The room was sweltering hot. The fireplace end was almost intolerable. But Max was in a chair up close, roasting himself. I guess so he’d make a good-looking corpse when he was done.

Max is not a big man. He stands maybe five feet six when he stands. Which he doesn’t do much, anymore. Since Hannah’s death he spends most of his time by the fire, waiting. Once a day he ambles over to the brewery, mainly to be seen taking an interest.

Max rose as I approached.

Max Weider is a round-faced man with rosy cheeks and a twinkle in his eye even when he’s down so deep he can’t figure out which way is up. He still has hair but his barber isn’t getting rich charging by the hour. The part down the middle is six inches wide.

Max’s mustache was bushier, maybe to balance the weak crop up top. Though it would never threaten the beast lurking under Hector’s nose.

I was startled. There was a definite twinkle in Max’s eye this morning. I asked, ‘‘Manvil, what’s happened?’’

Gilbey understood. This was the surprise he’d promised. ‘‘He’s found a reason to live.’’

Max shoved a beefy hand at me. ‘‘Damned straight. How you doing, Garrett? Enough friggin’ snow for you?’’

Sounded like he had been taste-testing the product. ‘‘I’m filled up on it, yeah. Alyx came by the house. With a covey of—’’

‘‘Felt like a rooster in a henhouse, didn’t you? That Bobbi makes me wish I was forty years younger, I’ll tell you.’’

I glanced at Gilbey. Manvil had a twinkle in his eye, too. ‘‘Have you guys suddenly turned into dirty old men? Suddenly?’’

‘‘No,’’ Max said. ‘‘We’re too far past it even to pretend.’’

‘‘Speak for yourself, Weider,’’ Gilbey snapped. ‘‘This soldier ain’t ready to lie down.’’

‘‘It ain’t the lyin’ down, Bubba. It’s the gettin’ up.’’ Old Man Weider made a wave-off gesture, then indicated a chair close by. ‘‘Park it. Let’s talk.’’

‘‘I can’t take the heat.’’

‘‘I should remember. I’m the lizard. The rest of you are warm-blooded.’’ He compromised. He moved far enough from the fire that I would just sweat, not drip drops of grease.

‘‘So, what’s the story? Alyx was vague.’’

‘‘That girl’s always vague. She ain’t right. I need to find her a husband.’’

‘‘Don’t look at me.’’

‘‘I didn’t think you’d volunteer. One of the reasons I like you. Though never too close to my baby girl.’’

Gilbey asked, ‘‘Want a beer while we talk?’’

‘‘Sure. And you bringing that up makes me wonder if I shouldn’t change my mind.’’

‘‘About?’’

‘‘About marrying. Alyx. I’d have free beer for life.’’