After Will was tied to the chair beside Jonah’s, the Butler left, and Claymore and the other one started tearing the workhouse apart, unearthing plants and throwing Titus’s hefty books around, plunging their heads into the cupboards and shelves.

“They asked about the map,” Jonah whispered. “But I stuffed it in my underwear. Luckily they’re not perverts. But I do wish I wore my helmet.”

“Shut up,” Will said, smiling despite his clunking heart.

Then the other man left, leaving only Claymore, who was turning over Titus’s mattress and peering into the birdfeeders Outside. Titus remained unconscious, crashed on his face, hands bound behind him. By then his breathing had quieted and sounded trifling as a fire flickering out. Soon Claymore gave up his search and sat across the room thumbing through Titus’s books, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette that smelled of creosote.

“How did you get here?” Will whispered. “I thought you were done?”

“Because I couldn’t sleep. I knew you were crazy enough to come back down here. I figured you’d be needing some medical attention.”

“Jonah,” Will said, leaning as close as he could manage. “You were right about Titus. He did do something to Marcus,” Will whispered. “I think he might have sunk him in the lake during one of his moods. But I don’t think he remembers. For some reason I’m not convinced he meant to. I can’t explain it, but whatever he’s done is what’s making him insane.”

“Well, our best bet is to give the Butler his map and leave Titus to them. He deserves whatever’s coming for what he did to Marcus,” Jonah said, managing to dig in his pants, extracting the map and balling it in his fist.

“But it’s not just Marcus,” whispered Will. “Today he was wearing the exact hexagon boots. And last night I found his fingerprints inside my house.”

“That’s not possible,” said Jonah, shaking his head.

“Where. Were they?” Titus said, suddenly awake, neck straining upward in agonized rapture.

“Where were what?” said Will. “The tracks? Right behind my house. Made by the same boots you’re wearing.”

“The fingerprintssss …,” Titus said, his lungs letting go.

“Doesn’t matter where they—”

“In. My room?”

“No,” Will said, “they were in my room.”

“I watched. Her paint. Everything. When she returned. Where. Was it? Up high?”

After matching the prints, Will had dusted other surfaces like the doorknob and the light switches and moldings, and he’d found plenty of his own, even a few of his mother’s, but the prints on the light fixture were the only trace of Titus he found. “Yeah, so what, what does it matter?”

“Wouldn’t get. Wiped. There. Not unless. A neat freak. Which she never. Was. Exactly,” he said heaving.

“Will,” Jonah said, before leaning in to whisper that he remembered studying a passage near the end of their fingerprinting manual that said latent prints left on ideal surfaces like glass or metal when kept in a climate-controlled environment could last for years, sometimes indefinitely.

“But why were you in our house?” Will said.

Titus managed to roll onto his back, and his breathing came easier. “After. I saw you both in the. Window,” he said. “I waited. For her to come. Out. But she never did. I knew. Something wrong. So I watched. I would. See you. In the window. Icarus. Number One. You always looked. So busy. I liked to observe. You. Paint.”

“So you were watching us,” Will said angrily.

“I told Marcus. To leave your. House alone. That it. Was vacant. But he. Didn’t. And then out. You. Came. I knew you. Were hers. The night. At Marcus’s. Shack. Recognized your name. From. Paintings. You threw away.”

“Then why did you write that note trying to scare me into staying home?”

“Too dangerous. Down. Here. For you and Icarus. Number Two. Didn’t want to draw you. Into this. Thought she. Would keep. You home. But you came. Back. Your decision. I knew she’d never. Forgive me. But you brought. Her bread. And I liked. You Icaruses. Here. Selfish. Now look. I’m. Sorry.”

“Okay, okay,” Claymore said, nudging Titus’s ribs with his foot. “Normally I knock people around to make them blabber, but today I may have to do so in the interest of quiet.”

Then the Butler returned through the boiler, a tall glass of water balanced between two long fingers. “Sorry for all the hubbub, Corpsey,” Butler said in mock sympathy, standing over Titus. “It pains me to say that this has all grown more convoluted than I’d have preferred. But that’s why I left my girls at home in their kennels today, because I want to resolve this peaceably.”

Then he turned to Jonah and Will. “You see, this old ghost here was supposed to do something for me.”

“I’ve always. Done,” gasped Titus. “What you asked.”

“The problem is,” said Butler, still addressing the boys, holding the glass of water. “Now that our trust is broken. I can’t be sure.

“You see, me and Corpsey here are old friends,” the Butler went on. “And I was glad to see him return to Thunder Bay after so long. I promised to keep it under my hat, especially with respect to particular acquaintances of his, if only he’d do me favors now and then. Tell the boys what you do for me, Corpsey?”

“Asked you a question,” said Claymore, dinging Titus’s head with his shovel. Titus buried his face.

“Did you think he pulls those crisp bills he pays you with from the trash? And it’s not just finding me good, unsprouted grain in old Pool Six for my operation or procuring me hoses on the cheap, is it Corpsey?” said the Butler, his eyebrows vaulting suggestively. “No, he loses things for me, too. Don’t you Corpsey? You see, a lot of people down on their luck on this fine harborfront aren’t exactly Jesuits, if you understand. And sometimes, due to their own miscalculations of course, they end up in need of—shall we say—disappearance?”

“Like that guy in the wheelbarrow?” said Will defiantly.

“Sure. I mean, who can blame someone with so few prospects who’d rather remain woefully inebriated for their life’s sad duration than suffer the humiliations of unemployment and dashed expectation,” the Butler said. “Well, I can ensure it’s done safely. For one. And I can ensure it’s done affordably—which is why Neverclear is crucial to Thunder Bay. Especially given how things have turned out.” Then the Butler noticed the glass in his hand. “Speaking of refreshments, you look parched, Corpsey. Stand him up,” the Butler snapped at Claymore, who dragged Titus to his feet.

“You boys know where I got this water?” he said, examining the glass sidelong like a suspect diamond. “I got this water on our very doorstep. Right down where all those beautiful grain boats used to tie up at Pool Six. But old Corpsey here is picky. Yes, unfortunately this beggar is choosy. He says it’s polluted, but you boys know why Corpsey here really doesn’t care for this particular water?” The Butler tapped the glass with his clipped nail. “Well, he and this water have some history together. His pop died right down there, crushed like a chestnut by a ship in its berth. I saw it happen. A tragedy. And then old Corpsey here went and dumped his poor, poor friend in that very same water. But your pop and your best friend aren’t the only secrets sunk in that wharf are they, Corpsey?”

The Butler stepped closer to Titus, glass held high. Titus turned his head away, and from behind him Claymore wrapped the shaft of his shovel around his throat and pressed.

“You see,” the Butler went on, “what Corpsey really excels at is sinking. Always has. And recently there was a certain boy who decided it was a good idea to sneak into one of my storehouses and steal my property, then mocked and disrespected me by offering to sell it back. He was setting a bad example for good, honest, hardworking boys like yourselves. So since they knew each other so well, I asked old Corpsey here to fix our problem, for the good of everyone.”