My hand went to my back right hip pocket. It was empty.

“Now, we got all your possessions right here, Mr. Markhat,” said Big Pile of Stupid. “Nothing missing. Money, city-issued finder’s card, pad and pen. All safe and sound.”

I grunted. My head was spinning again. But I was glad they hadn’t thrown that finder’s license in the gutter-damned thing costs me half a crown a year, and like everything else issued by the City they don’t hand out free replacements.

“So why the special greeting?” I asked. There was a knot on my head the size of an egg. “What did I do to rate all this?”

Mama gruffed and started to say something, but the big man dove in instead.

“My name is Owenstall,” he said. He almost extended a hand for me to shake, thought better of it and stomped back behind his desk and sat. “Regency is my neighborhood. My men and I keep it safe and orderly.”

“Depends on who you ask.”

I took a deep breath and tried to clear my head. Some things were starting to make sense. A lot of neighborhoods had taken to patrolling themselves during the war, and had continued the practice after and until the present. Given the general effectiveness of the Watch, I couldn’t blame them.

“So, you keep the streets clear of thugs and ruffians by giving them badges and having them pound on passing finders.”

“They were never told to beat down-to act with violence toward anyone,” said Owenstall. “That’s against policy. I assure you, Mr. Markhat, the man responsible for instigating this will be fired.”

“Gonna be worse than fired, I learn his name,” muttered Mama.

“You know this upright defender of law and order, Mama?” I asked.

Mama snorted. “Knowed him since he was knee-high. Knowed him when he was stealin’ apples off’n barges. Knowed him when he was gettin’ beat half to death onced a week by the Leaf Street gang. Knowed him when he had him that there problem with the ladies-”

All six and a half feet of Owenstall shot to his feet and turned the color of fresh-cut beef.

I managed to start talking first. “I get the picture. Look. I’m here asking questions on behalf of a client. That’s it. If I’d known you boys were so picky about who soils your sidewalks, I’d have asked permission first.”

Owenstall nodded the whole time I spoke. I wondered briefly just what else Mama knew about him, and resolved to ask later in case the dent in my skull proved permanent.

“The boys got out of line. But Mr. Markhat, see, we try to keep this a nice neighborhood. We’ve kept out the gangs and the whammy-men and the lay-abouts. People can walk the streets, kids can play on their stoops, nobody has to worry about nothing as long as we keep the wrong people out.”

I raised an eyebrow. Since it was the one over my swollen eye I hoped it made my point.

Owenstall raised his hands in surrender.

“Didn’t mean you. Meant people actin’ suspicious-like. That’s what they thought, and I’m telling you to your face they were wrong and I am sorry.”

He’d turned and looked right at Mama when he said the words “I am sorry.” I just grunted. It was obvious who he was really apologizing to.

“Looks like I’ll live.” I leaned forward and scooped my belongings off the desk and put them back in my pockets. “Now, since we are all best friends, I’m going to ask you the same questions I asked everybody else.”

Mama snuffled and crossed her stubby arms over her chest, but she turned down the furious glare a few notches and Owenstall visibly relaxed.

I laid out my standard spiel-I was looking for Marris Sellway who had a daughter named Doris Sellway who had lived in Number Six on Cawling before the fires. I hinted that an inheritance was involved.

And once again I got blank stares and mumbled “Nos” in response. No to knowing the name Sellway, to knowing a Marris with a Doris, no, no and no.

I made my address known and resolved to stand. I did it, without wobbling too much, and I decided it was time to head home.

Owenstall rose with me, and this time he stuck out his hand.

“I truly am sorry, Mr. Markhat.”

For the first time, he sounded sincere. I forced a grin and shook his hand.

Mama gave everyone a last shake of her dried owl and stomped out the door ahead of me.

The street was engulfed in shade. People gave Mama and I wide berth. Between Mama’s furious scowl and the blood on my good, white shirt, I guess we were very much out of place on scenic, peaceful Regency Avenue.

I didn’t make it far before I had to plop down on a bench and rest. Mama joined me, her dried owl clutched in her hand in case, I suppose, anyone passing by needed to be warned off.

“You can get into the biggest messes, boy.”

I rubbed my temple. My jaw was too sore to point out who’d dropped this mess square in my lap.

“I reckon you’re of a mind that Granny Knot is a put-on, ain’t you, boy?”

“No, Mama, I figure anybody named Granny Knot can naturally talk to spooks. Why do you ask?”

Mama guffawed. “Most of them what claims they can talk to ghosts is crazy. Granny Knot ain’t crazy. You hearin’ me, boy?”

“I’m hearing you, Mama. Not saying I believe you, but I’m hearing you.”

“Good. Now, boy, I don’t hold with talking to dead ’uns myself. They had their time, had their chances. They ought not to pester the living, in my way of thinking.”

A cab rattled past, and I lifted my hand to hail it, but the cabby gave us a hard eye and snapped his reins and urged his ponies on to less bloody fares. Mama shook her owl at him and whispered a long string of words I couldn’t understand.

“I reckon Granny knows more about such things than me. Still, boy, I wants you to be extra careful with this.”

I laughed out loud, which hurt, so I finished with a groan and my face in my hands.

“Granny may know them dead folks, but I knows the livin’ ones,” said Mama. “And I knows trouble when I sees it too. This here is trouble, and a lot worse trouble than that knot on your fool head.”

“But you brought her to my door anyway. Thanks, Mama.”

Mama shrugged. “She just said she needed her a finder what she could trust with money. I knowed she could trust you. Also knowed you needed some money-or have you and that mangy tom-cat got rich without me knowin’ it?”

“Not rich. Just bruised.” I took a deep breath and stood, since it was becoming obvious cabbies in this part of town were picky about their fares.

Mama rose as well.

I started walking. “You sure put the fear in big and ugly back there, Mama.”

Mama guffawed. “That young ’un’s been scairt of me for years. I likes it that way.” She huffed and puffed as we crossed the street. “He ain’t a bad man, deep down. I reckon them goons of his are going to have some fast talkin’ to do. So, what’s next, boy? You gonna just go door to door askin’ about that woman?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Mama grunted. “Well, you got the mouth for it.” Mama eyed me critically, then waved her owl at an approaching cabby.

He didn’t even slow until Mama stepped out in the street, directly in his path, and screeched something at his ponies.

They came to dead halt, whinnying nervously, and Mama cut the cabbie’s curses off with a glare.

“Get in, boy,” said Mama. “We’s ridin’ home on Granny Knot’s coin. Reckon she owes you that much expense.”

I wasn’t going to argue. I flipped the scowling cabby a coin and clambered aboard the cab, after holding the door for Mama.

I was back at my desk holding one of Mama’s infamous herb poultices over my swollen eye when the Big Bell rang out Curfew.

Three-leg Cat waited until the last peal died away before he sauntered to my door and demanded to be let out. I watched him dart into the deserted street, heedless of the Curfew or the threat of the thirsty halfdead that were free to roam the streets once the Bell sounded.