“Yeah,” Winger said. “That’s him. Definitely the man who.”

Set beside Winger this guy was almost invisible. He was ten inches shorter, bone skinny, bone pale, twitchy as a whore in church. “Jon Salvation, Mr. Garrett. It’s a huge honor to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“His name is Pilsuds Vilchik,” Winger barked. “I call him the Remora.”

Jon Salvation broke out a big, nervous smile.

Saucerhead said, “He’s the boy I told you about. Follows Winger around and writes up everything she does.”

Jon Salvation smiled again and bobbed his head.

I asked, “How come?”

Winger said, “On account of I’m a heroic figure and I’m so busy being heroic I don’t have time to write my own saga down.”

“Not to mention that you’re illiterate, eh?”

Saucerhead chuckled. “The real story is, she let the boy have a little one time when she was plotzed. He liked it so much she ain’t been able to shake him since.”

Winger snarled, “That ain’t what happened. Not quite.”

I glanced at Jon Salvation. Seemed he didn’t mind being talked about like he wasn’t there. The story of his life, probably. Some people are like that. Naturally invisible. There are years when I envy them.

Salvation produced a little board with sheets of cheap paper fastened to it by rivets at the top. He scribbled furiously using the writing stick we make in the manufactory where I’m a minor shareholder.

Feel sorry for them if you like. Jon Salvations create themselves.

“Pleased to meet you,” I said. “Don’t write down anything the Watch can use for evidence.” I wondered what he’d done in the war. Obviously, he’d survived.

Winger sneered.

I told her, “You’re always on the edge, sweetie.” That’s her nature. The way she wants it. Fine by me. As long as she don’t drag me in. “Saucerhead. One more time. Where’s the item of interest right now?”

“On the shelf, I reckon. Worried about getting out and about.”

“Actually, she’s right over there, skulking around in front of Scuttleman’s coal yard. Watching you.”

Nobody looked. Not even the Remora. Tharpe muttered, “Damn sharp for a kid.”

“I don’t know.” Plenty of kids Penny’s age are resourceful enough to survive. Saucerhead was one himself once upon a time. “This one may have more talents and resources than most.”

Saucerhead eyed me expectantly.

I told him, “I’m headed home. If somebody turned up at my door with a special prize, I might turn up holding a fat bonus.”

“Gotcha.”

Winger tried to horn in, hoping she could carve off a slice. I ignored her, which isn’t always wise. She’s liable to knock you down just to get your attention. “Good job, Saucerhead. Thing you could do next is, find Harvester Temisk.”

“The shyster?”

“Him. Don’t be obvious. Especially not if you find him. Teacher White wants him, too. And not to give him a birthday present.”

“Gotcha.”

“Later, then. Winger. How about you stun the gods above and the gods below speechless?“

“What?”

“Stay out of trouble.”

“You’re a complete horse’s ass, Garrett.”

“But snuggly, warm and lovable.”

“Like one a them giant porkypine thunder lizard things.”

She is a woman. She will have the last word. Since they live longer, there was no point me trying to win out of stubborn. I made my getaway.

Jon Salvation wrote it all down.

There was a subtle difference about home when I got there. And it wasn’t all the loiterers from the Watch and Teacher White’s gang. Welby Dell and a sidekick. Welby’s partner was a six-foot-five albino so emaciated a little girl once called him Skelington. It stuck. They seemed unaware of the presence of the law. The law, on the other hand, was well aware of them.

There were Relway Runners all over. Mrs. Cardonlos’ place was busier than a termite mound.

I knocked. The door man obviously hadn’t come round yet. My key would be useless.

Pular Singe let me in. “Did you learn anything?”

“I’m more popular than I thought I could ever be. Fans by the legion are following me around. None getting in my way, though.”

Singe hissed. She saw something behind me. I turned, too late. “What?”

“One of those men with the obscene trousers.”

“So Relway hasn’t caught them all. What’s going on?”

“Unh?”

“Something feels funny.”

“John Stretch is in the kitchen.”

“And he wants something.”

“He wants to give you his report. Why don’t you come in so I can shut the door?”

Not a bad idea with a Green Pants goon around. He might own a sling and have a pocket full of rocs’ eggs.

On cue something whizzed past my right ear. Not a sniper’s effort, though. It was Melondie Kadare. She hovered momentarily, then headed for the kitchen, doubtless after hair of the mad dog. Where she got into it with Dean. Dean had no sympathy for her. The man has an attitude problem. He’s determined to call a hangover a self-inflicted wound.

Being a trained observer, I observed, “He’s in a foul mood.”

Singe said, “Things have not gone his way today.”

I sensed a story. She didn’t give it up.

John Stretch followed his nose from the kitchen to my office. I said, “I never noticed how long his snoot is before.”

John Stretch scowled. As much as a ratperson can.

“Just messing with Singe,” I said. I helped myself to a seat behind my desk. My lap had a cat on board almost instantly. Melondie Kadare whirred in a moment later. “He didn’t use a flyswatter on you. Puts you ahead of the game. So don’t go whining to me.”

John Stretch started telling me what his rats had seen at Whitefield Hall. I stopped him. “Hang on. I need to write stuff down.” He had much more than I’d expected. He had quotes from Belinda’s underbosses, some quite revealing of their thinking.

Before he finished I had an idea where every major player stood. I just hoped he wasn’t making stuff up because he thought I wanted to hear it.

“You’re a gold mine, John Stretch.” These nuggets would set Director Relway to singing and dancing. Plainly, Chodo’s appearance at Whitefield Hall had changed the underworld dramatically.

Unfortunately, none of it was of any use to me.

“Hang on,” I told the lord of the rats, figuring John Stretch so styled himself in his own heart. “Melondie, girl of my fantasies, I see you bubbling. You remembered something you haven’t told me already?”

Not really, it turned out.

“So, did anybody figure out how the fires started?”

No. All those eyes hadn’t seen a thing I’d missed.

“Was it some kind of sorcery?” Fire just doesn’t materialize out of nowhere. Does it?

Neither Melondie nor John Stretch had detected any obvious sorcery.

“Any speculations? The first victim was a rat. Then Buy Claxton. How did they catch fire? Nothing else in that kitchen was harmed.”

They had nothing.

It made no sense. Though it did look like Chodo Contague was the common denominator in a lot of incidents.

Damn! I wished I hadn’t sent Saucerhead to catch Penny Dreadful. He could go up north to do all the miserable but necessary legwork.

“I’d tell you if I could. If I knew!” Melondie Kadare snapped. “You’re special to me.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Eleanor seemed amused. Which convinced me immediately that things were about to get worse.

It began as I pulled the notion together.

Dean appeared with refreshments. His clock radiated the kind of smug, wicked look he gets when he knows that I’m inescapably in for a life experience involving a whole hell of a lot of work. Not because we need money but because, in his lame view, it’s good for my soul.

Somebody started pounding on the door.

Dean’s smirk deserted him.

He couldn’t avoid answering. The rest of us were busy. Plus, it’s his job.