Fortunato might not have cared, but Hiram was growing concerned. Had the Astronomer already gotten to Tachyon? Was there another name to add to the list of the dead?

There was a tightness in the pit of his stomach that no amount of food would cure. Restless, uneasy, unhappy, Hiram Worchester got to his feet and strode out into his restaurant.

The doors would be opening in less than two hours. Nearly every ace who counted would be arriving, and he devoutly hoped that Dr. Tachyon would be among them. By then, the worst would be over. Even the Astronomer was not insane enough to attack the kind of power that would be assembled at Aces High in two more hours.

Hiram strode to the long, curving bar. The wood gleamed, and the mirror was spotless and brilliant with reflected light. A quartet of bartenders in sky-blue shirts were tapping into fresh kegs of Guinness Stout, New Amsterdam, and Amstel Light. Modular Man was way down on the last stool, drinking a rusty nail. The android liked to experiment.

" I detect no sign of any hostile presence," Mod Man said. Hiram nodded absently. "Keep watching," he said. He headed for the kitchen with long light strides, still thinking about Tachyon. He must be at home, nothing else made sense. But if he were home, why not answer his phone? Because he was dead, whispered some dark part of Hiram's brain, and he could almost see the small alien lying on his carpet, blood seeping through his long red hair and staining his hideous clothing.

In the immense kitchen, the whirring of the great ceiling fans filled the room with a steady throbbing hum as they struggled with the heat from the ovens. Paul LeBarre was in a corner with his spices, mixing his own Cajun blackening powder for the tuna, and roaring his displeasure at anyone who tried to see what he was doing. Rows of potatoes Hiram covered a dozen long trays, cut and seasoned and ready for baking, and six fat suckling pigs were being dressed and prepared. Prep cooks were washing vegetables and slicing them with slim, sharp knives, and the pastry chef was fretting over a triplechocolate sour-cream torte fresh from the oven. Hiram surveyed it all, tried a taste of the sour cherry sauce being prepared for the pork, exchanged a few words with his saucier, and escaped every bit as restless as when he'd entered.

What if Tachyon wasn't dead yet? What if he were just dying? Someone needed to check on him. But Fortunato had warned Hiram not to leave, hadn't he? If he went over to Tachyon's apartment and the Astronomer attacked Aces High in his absence, and perhaps even killed someone, he would never be able to live with himself. But how could he live with himself if he stayed here and Dr. Tachyon died as a result?

Aces High occupied the entire floor, its dining areas terraced so all the customers might enjoy the magnificent views its altitude afforded in all directions. The kitchen, storage lock ers, freezer, rest rooms, service elevator, and offices were in the center. Hiram made the grand circuit, supervising everything, nodding to his staff, his mind a long way off.

The temporary waiters were clustered around one of the tables, listening to his captain explain how things were done at Aces High. They looked a motley crew in their jeans and shoddy jackets and Dodger windbreakers, but once in tuxes and blue silk shirts, they'd look as good as his regulars. Elsewhere, linen carts were making the rounds as teams of busboys unfolded crisp clean tablecloths across the round banquet tables. Curtis was talking to the wine steward.

Off by a window he saw Water Lily, standing by herself and staring out at the gold reflections off the top of the Chrysler Building. She wore a floor-length blue satin gown that left her right shoulder bare. She looked very lovely and somehow sad. Hiram started toward her, but there was something in her eyes that made him hesitate to intrude on her. He paused a moment, then turned and left.

Peter Chou had a small office next to Hiram's, in the center of the floor, but instead of one television screen in the wall, he had a dozen. Hiram entered without knocking. "Are we secure?" he asked.

Peter looked at him with cool brown eves. "I've added a few men," he said. "No one will get in without us noticing, believe me." He gestured at the screens. "The monitors are all working, and so is the metal detector in the main door. I'll have six men on the floor instead of three. We're as secure as we're going to get, at least against human beings."

"Excellent. I have to go out for a little while. I'll try to be back as quickly as possible, but it may take longer than I anticipate. Wait till I've left, then bring Modular Man and Water Lily into your office. Explain our security system to them. Explain the system in great detail. Keep them in here, with you, together, for as long as possible, preferably until I return." Chou nodded.

Hiram went to the foyer, pressed the elevator button, rocked back on his heel for a moment, then pressed the button again, as if that would make the elevator come more quickly. When the doors finally opened, he rushed to board, and almost slammed into Popinjay getting out.

"You!" Hiram exclaimed. "Excellent, just the man I hoped to see. Come with me, we're going to see Dr. Tachyon." Ackroyd stepped back inside the elevator. Hiram pushed for the lobby, and they began their descent. "How did it go with Gills?" Hiram asked.

"Not real good," Popinjay said. "By the time I talked Gills around, Bludgeon was out again. He's got good lawyers. I think they're going to sue me." His mouth twisted in a half-smile. "You too, probably. Gills was afraid to go home. I popped him back to rry sister's place, he ought to be safe there, and we'll know where to find him if we need him."

"Damnation! Can't we get rid of even one of the bad guys? I don't know what this city is coming to!"

Ackroyd shrugged. "Why are we visiting Tachyon?" Hiram gave him a glum look. "I'm afraid," he said, "that he might be dead."

Bagabond leaned forward, away from the brick wall of the alley. She steadied herself with a dumpster. The alley smelled of recent garbage. Rosemary was looking around a bit apprehensively. "Relax. We're alone."

"You don't get to read all the crime reports I do," Rosemary said. "You haven't seen the photos detectives snap in places like this. You haven't had to go to the morgue to check out-"

"Quiet," said Bagabond. "Get him?"

"He's uptown from us, and a ways to the east. I'd guess about Stuyvesant Square. Underground, of course."

"I don't think anyone would even notice today," Rosemary said. "Does he still have the books?"

"As far as I can tell. He doesn't really remember or notice what's in his gut. It's the absence that makes the difference. But there's no reason the packet shouldn't still be there."

Rosemary took a step toward the mouth of the alley. "It's quite a ways, especially today. We'd better get started if we're going to make it back to the Haiphong Lily by eight." She smiled ruefully at Bagabond. "Then I'll figure out what I'm going to do."

Bagabond frowned. "Jack's still moving, but so slowly we can connect with him easily. We should take the subway. Cabs'll be a mess." She saw Rosemary tense, but didn't com ment. Then she grinned. "I've never known an animal to be so constantly hungry as that alligator. I just hope he doesn't connect with us."

Rosemary's eyebrows rose.

"He's too worried about his niece for that," Bagabond said. "He just doesn't know it on the surface level of that reptile brain." She shook her head, thinking about appetites, and led the way out of the alley and into the loud, holiday_ crowds.

They entered the chaos of chants, exotic food carts, screams, and rock 'n' roll.

"The book'sss not here, Tachy. Where isss the book?" The explosive silibants indicated the joker's fast-vanishing patience. "Almost a thousand books, and thev can't find one that suits them. I call it churlish, and a reflection upon my taste."