‘‘My partner told you what he wanted done?’’ Since this was all a surprise to me.

‘‘We got it,’’ Rindt Grinblatt grumbled.

‘‘The Dead Man told me. I explained,’’ Winger said. ‘‘In case Mindie gets distracted.’’

Rindt grumbled, ‘‘You just show us where the house is.’’

Grinblatt was not in a bad temper. He was being upbeat. For a dwarf. He had a paying job.

I looked to Winger for further illumination. She told me, ‘‘You take them to the abandoned house. And turn them loose.’’

‘‘Follow me,’’ I grumbled, cheerful as an employed dwarf. Snowflakes had begun to swirl. I wasn’t looking forward to manning a shovel. I wondered if Max and Gilbey would notice the charge if I hired a stand-in shoveler.

I led. Grinblatts followed, none with any enthusiasm. They were working only in response to the supreme motivator, hunger.

Very upbeat. For dwarves.

Winger brought up the rear.

We hadn’t gone half a block before a brace of flying thunder lizards wheeled through the random snowflakes overhead, hitting something on the roof of the World. The lead flyer flapped back up with a pair of struggling beetles, one neatly mounted atop the other. The bottom bug fell. It crunched into the cobblestones a dozen yards away, the fall instantly fatal.

The dwarves surrounded the beetle. Its limbs continued to twitch. Rindt Grinblatt said, ‘‘I didn’t believe it. But dere it is. You cain’t argue wit’ dat.’’

I explained, ‘‘They’re big but not dangerous. They haven’t—’’

‘‘I know dat. We’re supposed ta find out where dey’re comin’ from. An’ git rid a’ any a’ dem we runs inta.’’

Looking at those four, with all the mail and armament, I decided the Dead Man had been very clever indeed. Dwarves were perfect exterminators for these vermin. They were used to tight places, underground. And they were unlikely to be hurt by the bugs. The darkness, smells, and spells wouldn’t bother them, either.

I visited Dwarf Fort once, a long time ago, warrens where dwarves who won’t acculturate live once they come to the big city. The perfume of countless never-washed dwarf bodies, in tight quarters, while potent enough to water the eyes of a maggot, go unremarked by the denizens of the place.

‘‘Here we are,’’ I said when we arrived. The abandoned house looked bleaker than ever. ‘‘I can’t tell you much. I went in there once myself but I didn’t get very far. Be careful on the stairs.’’

Grinblatt rumbled, ‘‘We’ll let you know what we find.’’ He and his tribe had gone native, but he wasn’t going to let some mere human get too friendly.

‘‘I’ll be back at the World when you want me.’’

Clan Grinblatt unlimbered axes and tromped up the shaky steps. They vanished into the abandoned house.

Winger and I headed for the theater. I observed, ‘‘Joyful bunch.’’

She responded with a Grinblatt grunt, then asked, ‘‘You got any idea what Pilsuds is up to?’’

‘‘Who?’’ It took a moment. ‘‘Oh. The Remora. I forgot that was his real name. No. I don’t.’’ I dared not tell her that the Dead Man was more interested in enlisting Jon Salvation than her.

‘‘Why can’t you just call him by the name that he wants, Garrett?’’

‘‘Because Jon Salvation is ridiculous. And you just called him Pilsuds.’’

Winger is no addict of consistency. She ignored me. ‘‘Jon Salvation is gonna be famous. He already finished his second play. He read it to me. It’s really good.’’

Winger is no fan of the arts. Nor has ever been. Unless she can find someone willing to buy it, off the books.

She said, ‘‘The little shit drives me nuts when he’s around. He’s so damned clingy. And needy. And horny. But now that he hasn’t been underfoot for a few hours, I’m missing him.’’

She’d be nervous about the constituents of the crowd who meant to perform Jon Salvation’s plays. Alyx. Bobbi. Lindy. Cassie Doap, who had yet to show her primo self. Even Heather Soames. Every one definitely worth considering a threat.

I was nervous about the redhead of the set. Though not that a wannabe playwright would carry her off. I was afraid that someday she’d go away because old Garrett couldn’t help going right on being Garrett.

There have been rare moments when I haven’t been the most lovable guy roaming these mean streets.

A train of wagons had appeared outside the World. Saucerhead was directing traffic, moving them on to park farther along once they unloaded.

Curious bystanders had begun to turn out. We had giant bugs, flying thunder lizards, and now, ratpeople by the wagonload. That’s entertainment.

Morley and his crew continued working rentable buildings nearby.

The wagons spilled ratmen and cages full of cranky rats. More than ever before. I spotted John Stretch. He must have been preparing for the callback for days. I headed his way. ‘‘Thought you’d had enough of this place.’’

‘‘I do not like it, Mr. Garrett. It is a bad place. But it could make me rich.’’

‘‘And me poor. The Dead Man hired you?’’

‘‘Yes. He wants one more offensive against the bugs from down below.’’

‘‘They’re so big now, your best rats may not be able to hold their own.’’

‘‘This could be the last time this approach is possible. Rats are not smart. They are cunning. But they do learn. And they pass their learning along. By the time today’s game is played out, it may be impossible to gather any significant number of feral rats willing to be used here.’’

‘‘Ratpeople could take over.’’

‘‘You are mad.’’

‘‘It’s completely safe. Hell, there’s a family of dwarves down there poking around right now.’’

‘‘There are ghosts.’’

‘‘That only bother humans.’’

‘‘Till now.’’

John Stretch was well on into an extended graphic description of what I could do with my idea about sending ratmen down when an unexpected visitor interrupted.

‘‘Rocky? Hey!’’ It was the midget troll who made deliveries for a living. ‘‘What’re you up to?’’

Rocky is a blazing fast talker. For a troll. He’s had too much exposure to human beings. It took him only ten seconds to get going on an answer. ‘‘It is my day off. Playmate told me you might could use some help. I could use a little extra money.’’

‘‘Playmate had a good idea.’’ I sure could use Rocky. Nothing much will dent a troll, let alone do serious damage. Plus, Rocky was small enough to get around in the same kinds of places dwarves can go. While being a dozen times stronger.

Hell, this was an idea so great it was embarrassing that it took a preacher man to think it up.

There was a problem, though. Trolls and dwarves are not an inert mix. No way could I send Rocky down to help Rindt Grinblatt. The Grinblatts would, almost certainly, attempt to test to destruction Rocky’s natural invulnerability.

‘‘Here’s what you do to start. John Stretch!’’ I beckoned the ratman. ‘‘John Stretch, this is Rocky. He’s going to go inside with you. He’ll handle any physical challenges that come up.’’ I told Rocky what we were up against and how he could protect the ratmen.

He said, ‘‘I hope it’s warmer inside there, Garrett. This cold really slows me down.’’

‘‘Warm won’t be a problem.’’ John Stretch’s people were complaining about the heat. And ratfolk like it hot.

Rocky went off with John Stretch.

Luther planted himself in front of me. Before he started, I said, ‘‘Work around them.’’

‘‘There’s ghosts already. They don’t usually come out this early.’’

‘‘We’re trying to deal with that. Remember, they’re harmless. They just manipulate your emotions.’’

‘‘Yeah. I know. But knowing and believing are two whole different buckets of monkey piss.’’

That was hard to argue. I’d seen it too often. Fear has its own logic. Too often, there isn’t a dread of physical harm driving it. ‘‘All right. If you must, take breaks. That’s all right. As long as I see everybody challenging their courage.’’ I leaned in, whispered, ‘‘We don’t want no ratmen making us look bad, do we?’’