Even the most daring and wicked ratfolk get scared around humans. The sorcerers who created them saw no need to take that timidity out.

“He was human. From one of the far fringes of the species.”

“What did he do?”

“He tried to kill me. With an old-fashioned sling. Using that egg for ammunition.”

“Bathing would not appear to be one of his human vices.”

I told Dean, “That tongue gets more wicked every day.”

Dean scowled. He can’t shed all his prejudices. Singe bounced, though, pleased by the compliment. She has one great character flaw. She tries hard to be human.

She’s smart enough to know they’ll never let her be.

“Why a day-old trail?”

“I don’t have time today. I have Chodo’s birthday party to do.”

“Who are you taking? Tinnie?”

“Nobody.”

“Can I go?”

“No. I’m not taking anybody. It could get ugly fast. I don’t want anybody getting hurt.” Not to mention that she wouldn’t be welcome. Virulent prejudice can be ignored only at great peril. Particularly by persons of goodwill.

Singe knows that on the practical and emotional levels. She doesn’t let on when she gets her feelings hurt. She thinks that by revealing her feelings, she’d belittle my effort to save her some pain.

I know. But it works for us.

I asked, “Anything stirring on the undead front?”

If the Dead Man hates any one thing enough to almost let it get his blood pumping, it’s being lumped with the undead. Vampires, zombies, and whatnot are all predators. He insists that he isn’t.

“Not a sign,” Dean said. “Looks like he’s down for a while this time.”

That wasn’t good news. I could use some advice. Like maybe the top ten ways of surviving Chodo’s shindig, barring the obvious: Don’t show up.

When you have no choice about hiking the valley of the shadow, you need to brainstorm ways to cover your ass. I got busy.

I had options. I had connections. Some might even be useful.

Singe’s brother, for example.

I recalled a conversation with Morley about the truth of what I mean to Belinda Contague. Not the business meaning. Not the former-lover meaning, nor the outright-fear meaning. The symbolic or fetishist meaning to the secret, frightened little girl hidden way down deep inside Miss Belinda. The little girl who, Morley believed, wanted me for the daddy she hadn’t had when she was coming up because her real daddy was Chodo Contague, hardly a paragon as a parent.

I’ve rescued the woman, one way or another, from the deepest shit several times. Morley says she’s chosen me as the bellwether of her personal fortunes because of that. That she’ll never let me be hurt because the little girl needs Daddy Garrett out there in case another terror closes in.

“Singe. I’ve got an idea. Maybe a dumb one. Come in the office and help me brainstorm.”

“What’s up?” she asked, hissing like a sack of rattlers as she forced the contraction.

“You think your brother might help us with something? If we offer him an appropriate fee? I know! I know! But you had the same mother. Humans figure that makes him your brother.”

John Stretch-real name, Pound Humility-is the boss of the ratpeople in my part of TunFaire. He’s top rat partly thanks to me. He’s Singe’s half brother from an earlier litter. They have a stronger relationship than most related ratfolk. He tried to rescue her from my clutches one time. She spanked him verbally and told him to go the hell away-she was happy right where she was.

“I do not know. He suspects that you took advantage of him last time.”

“I understand a pride problem. You know better than me if we can do business.”

“What do you want him to do?”

“This party tonight. He could help me with it. If he really talks to regular rats.”

Singe considered. We both knew John Stretch could get inside the minds of regular rats and use them as spies. He had admitted it in front of us.

“You want him to go over to the place where Chodo Contague’s birthday party is going to happen.”

“Yes.” But now my idea was growing up. “If we could hide him close by, he could stay on the job right through the party and warn me so there wouldn’t be any ugly surprises.”

“You might not be able to meet his price.”

“I’m not hurting for cash.”

“He will not ask for cash.” I groaned. “A favor for a favor.”

“What use can you be to a ratman gangster?” A human agent could be very useful to a rat king who knew what he wanted.

“You want me to find him? You do not have a lot of time.”

In fact, it was too late. Almost certainly. Nevertheless, “See what you can do.”

Singe was ready to go in minutes. I told her, “Leave the kitten. It won’t be welcome where you’re headed.”

She returned the critter to the bucket. “They grow on you.”

“So do lice. Don’t get too attached. They aren’t staying.”

I let Singe out right into a major pixie squabble. Those bugs are worse than sparrows. But they’re so constant about it that I don’t much notice anymore.

I told them, “I want to talk to Shakespear and Melondie Kadare, please.” Polite helps a little. Sometimes. Unpredictably. About as often as it does with big people.

If I couldn’t get ratpeople help, I might enlist some pixies. Which would be cheaper, anyway, since helping me is how they’re supposed to pay their rent.

Melondie Kadare came out, a gorgeous specimen of pixie womanhood. Sadly, pixies live fast. Melondie will hit middle age in about six months. She was a typically obnoxious adolescent when I met her, a month ago. Now she was a woman of standing in her nest.

She piped, “Shakespear isn’t here anymore, Garrett. He married a Daletripses. He decided to join her nest.”

Pixie clusters are strongly matrilineal. Most times the boys follow the girls.

“Congratulations. I guess. That’s an important connection.” My pixies are newcomers to TunFaire. Refugees. The Daletripses cluster is an old line, as local pixie tribes go. A marital alliance would serve my tenants well. “Though I thought that you and he…”

“Let’s not talk about that. I have a husband of my own now. And he don’t like hearing about the good old days.”

“I’m sorry. If that’s the appropriate sentiment.”

“Not to worry. He’s a little stupid, a lot lazy, and way too jealous, but I’ll whip him into shape.”

Marriage doesn’t take the same form with pixies. Passion is unimportant. Forging alliances and preserving estates are. Passion gets indulged on the side. In some clusters a girl isn’t marriage material unless she’s demonstrated her fertility with several merrybegots.

“I want to know if I can get some help with a case.”

“Hey! We’ve got to pay the rent, don’t we?”

“It might be dangerous.”

“Talk to me, Garrett.”

I told my story.

“So you have a history with the Contagues.”

“More than one.”

“Better tell me about that, then. It could have an impact on how decisions are made at the head table.”

Belinda wouldn’t let sentiment hamstring business decisions. She was harder than her father. And Chodo seldom let emotion get in the way.

“This hall, Garrett. Where this will happen. Is it far out of our territory?”

“You know where the Bledsoe is? The charity hospital? That whole area was all government buildings in olden times. When the Empire was in charge. The hall is over there. It was something else before they turned it into a war memorial. They were more frugal in the old days.”

“Are there any pixies around there? Or anybody else who might think we’re trespassing?”

TunFaire is a hundred cities piled onto the same hapless patch of dirt, a different one for every race. Some peoples are so different, their TunFaires scarcely intersect. More often, they do, and only us big, numerous types don’t need to invest in getting along. We can be as awful as we want to be. And usually are.