He was trying to keep a low profile, though. The shirt had arrived hidden inside a ragged brown coat so long its hem was wet.

When he’s in public John Stretch swaggers and is loud. At my house, with nobody to impress, he’ll turn mildly intellectual. He’s marginally less smart than Singe. And less driven to learn and excel. Even so, he has a knack for insights into motivation, human and rat.

And he has one incredibly useful extra talent.

He can reach inside the heads of ordinary rats. The way the Dead Man taps into mine. He can read them and, I think, can control them. Thus, he can know what they know, see what they see, and smell what they smell.

I extended a hand. John Stretch shook. He still had trouble with the mechanics. I said, ‘‘Let me guess. Singe went straight to the kitchen.’’

‘‘Yes.’’ His sibilants were harsher than Singe’s. But he was polishing them. He worked on his Karentine almost as fiercely as she did. He’d leave a mark. If he survived. ‘‘She said there is something I can help with.’’

‘‘On a strictly cash for labor basis.’’ I explained what I wanted to do.

‘‘The bugs are how big?’’

‘‘The one I saw up close was about this long.’’ I resisted the temptation to exaggerate.

‘‘Sounds like some good eating. For regular rats,’’ he hastened to add. ‘‘They like roaches.’’

«Then they’re living large in this town. TunFaire has the finest herd of roaches anywhere.’’

I caught a mental sneer from my deceased sidekick. He disagreed. He wasted no time telling me where they were bigger and better, more numerous and tasty, though.

John Stretch disagreed, too, offering as proof testimony from rats off foreign ships. Then Singe arrived with mugs and a pitcher. The mugs came fully charged with proof that mortal men are beloved by the gods. At least, by those gods who favor fermented barley.

Singe and John Stretch are bottomless sumps when it comes to beer.

I asked, ‘‘How much organizing time would you need?’’

‘‘A few minutes,’’ John Stretch said. ‘‘Getting a pack of rats together does not take long if you know where to look.’’

It wouldn’t in this berg. If you had a magic whistle.

‘‘Then I’ll just holler whenever Playmate comes up with a coach.’’

‘‘Sounds good to me.’’

We got serious about the beer. Singe asked me questions about my childhood. ‘‘What’re you, writing a book?’’

‘‘I have one written already. Now I need some stories to put in it.’’

‘‘Huh?’’ Maybe that made sense to her.

«You know that Jon Salvation who follows Winger around?»

‘‘The Remora? The playwright? What about him?’’

‘‘He just finished his second story about her adventures. They are making the first one into a play.’’

‘‘I don’t believe it. Stuff like that doesn’t happen in the real world. Damn! Who’d come knocking at this time of night?’’ I looked at my sidekick.

He didn’t help out.

Singe was wobbly already. She mumbled something about it not really being all that late.

Dean was preoccupied in the kitchen.

I pried myself out of my chair.

I opened up after a look through the peephole, mainly out of habit. ‘‘What the hell are you doing here?’’

Colonel Westman Block stepped forward. I let him come. Because the Dead Man sent,Let him enter if he wishes. He has no ulterior motive.

That I did not buy. Block is head of the City Watch and Civil Guard. Lurking behind him, like shadowy, avenging devils, is the Unpublished Committee for Royal Security. Whatever their handle may be this week.

They change names but never stop being the secret police. And they’re having a huge impact on TunFaire’s darker side.

Block said, ‘‘I’ve been to the Hill. Enjoying a first-class ass-reaming. A certain sorcerer’s overly indulged second son is locked up in the Al-Khar. All he did was rape some foreigner’s four-year-old daughter. Prince Rupert showed up during the chat. I don’t know how he knew what was going on. Maybe Deal. But he told the Windsinger to be grateful that we didn’t cut the little asshole’s pecker and balls off.’’

Prince Rupert had a set of his own.

‘‘So you thought you’d drop by, mooch a beer, and fill me in?’’

‘‘I did want to ask why a known criminal was seen entering your house an hour ago.’’

‘‘So now I’m a known criminal?’’ I failed to steer him away from the Dead Man’s room. Once he invited himself in he had no trouble seeing John Stretch.

‘‘I’m not convinced. Deal has fewer doubts.’’

‘‘Deal thinks everybody but Deal Relway is a crook. And he’s keeping an eye on himself.’’

Block chuckled. ‘‘Letting you run free is more profitable than pulling you in. We’re like gulls behind a ship. We follow you and pick off the fish you turn up in your wake.’’

Took me a second to get it. I had to go back to the islands, us moving from one hellhole to the next aboard troop transports.

Singe left the room as we entered. She returned with a new mug and the pitcher refilled. Block accepted the mug. He didn’t mind it having been touched by a ratperson.

He took a long drink. ‘‘That’s good.’’ He eyed the Dead Man.

‘‘He’s asleep,’’ I lied. That being Old Bones’s preferred state.

‘‘I don’t believe you. But it doesn’t matter. The world is at peace. I hope winter never ends. So, what do you have going?’’ He looked at John Stretch.

I saw no reason not to tell him. He wouldn’t believe me, anyway.

I didn’t betray John Stretch’s secret power. The Crown doesn’t need to know everything. Especially if that might cause feelings of vulnerability.

‘‘Giant bugs? You’re shitting me.’’

‘‘I might be. By accident. I only saw one. But it was huge. I’m more worried about the ghosts.’’

‘‘Why would there be ghosts around there?’’

‘‘I don’t know. An old burial ground?’’

‘‘With the tenants just now getting disgruntled? Be rational. The usual reasons ghosts jump up would’ve brought them out a long time ago.’’

I’d spotted that flaw on my own. ‘‘Weider thinks it might be somebody angling for a payoff.’’

‘‘Villains. Breathing villains. Stupid, breathing villains.’’

We were getting sloppy already.

Possibly with a little subtle assistance.

I closed the door behind the colonel. ‘‘What was that all about, Chuckles?’’

He was passing by. Feeling lonely. Colonel Block will not admit it, especially to himself, but he is a lonely man. He may have created an adversarial relationship here but it is a relationship.

None of which was alive in his surface mind.

Another day, half of it wasted on morning. I wakened early, feeling good, and couldn’t go back to sleep. I ambled down to the kitchen, where I surprised Dean, though he wouldn’t admit it. He just poured tea and started the eggs and sausage. ‘‘This could turn into a habit.’’

‘‘A good one, I’m sure you’ll argue.’’

He wasted no breath responding. ‘‘There was a message from Miss Weider.’’

‘‘Um? What does she want?’’

‘‘To know why you haven’t cleaned up the world.’’ He seemed both amused and puzzled.

‘‘It’s a big place. And I don’t run so fast anymore.’’

‘‘I’m sure that isn’t what she meant.’’

‘‘That kid Penny still running messages?’’

‘‘I wouldn’t be surprised. But I don’t know how to get hold of her.’’

‘‘Figures.’’

‘‘You need a message carried?’’

‘‘I do. To Playmate.’’

‘‘There’s a new family moved in down by the corner. They have a boy who could do it. Joe Kerr. He seems like a good kid.’’

I gave him the look. ‘‘You’re kidding.’’

‘‘What? How?’’

‘‘Joe Kerr?’’

‘‘Yes? So? There’s a problem with that?’’

‘‘Maybe not. Maybe it’s just me. Is he trustworthy?’’