“You are wrong,” said Lady Merlat, reading my face. “Money has nothing to do with this. My husband did not come back from the dead to engage in a petty squabble over the terms of a will.”

“I’d hardly call it a petty squabble, Lady,” I said. “And you’ve got to consider my point of view-that your husband isn’t out there at all. But someone is, and we need to figure out who.”

“I saw Ebed,” she said. “I tell you it was him!”

“Then tell me why he came,” I said. “What brought him back? What is this vengeance he needs, and why has it brought him back to you?”

She stood, and the look in her eyes matched that of her husband in the portrait. “I don’t know!” Her voice rang off the tiles. “He died of a fever. What vengeance shall he take? Upon whom shall he visit it?” Her eyes flashed, but she bit her lip and I could tell she was glad she wasn’t facing her late husband’s portrait.

“I don’t know, Lady,” I said. “Not yet.”

The widow sat. “Find a way,” she said, her jaw clenched tight. “Mistress Hog said you could put him to rest. She said you would find a way.”

I stood, backed away from the table. “You really ought to eat something, Lady Merlat,” I said. “And get some sleep, too. I’ll be watching tonight.”

She shook her head. “Put him to rest,” she said. Her eyes were wet, and she clenched her jaw tighter to keep it from quivering. “Please.”

I backed out of there, Ebed Merlat glaring down at me every step of the way.

Jefrey and I took up residence in the Gold Room, so called because the wall and door trim was covered with a small fortune in gold leaf that had begun to peel at all the corners. We shoved furniture around until we wound up with a pair of chairs against the wall opposite the room’s three windows.

Jefrey sat. “Well,” he said. “I reckon you’ll see something tonight.”

I sat. “Why do you say that?”

“They’re all here,” he said. He lowered his voice. “The kids. I reckon it’s one-or all-of them the old Master has come back to get.”

I frowned. “I thought you didn’t believe,” I said.

“I never said that,” he said. “I never did. I just never said I believed in front of Lady Merlat.”

“So what have you seen, Jefrey?” I asked.

Jefrey shrugged. “Not a damn thing,” he said. “Not even when Harl and the widow and that fool butler Ichabod was pointin’ and wavin’. I can’t see it, Markhat.” Jefrey shook his head, and his voice fell to a whisper. “But that don’t mean he ain’t there.”

I stared out across the lawn. Even with dusk lingering, I could barely make out the shapes of the trees and the statues through the window-glass. Three-bolt glass, I think it was called, meaning it was so thick you’d need to shoot it three times with a crossbow before it shattered. Old Bones could be out there dancing with the angels, I thought, but unless he was carrying a pair of torches, I’d never see him.

“Why do you think it’s the kids he’s after?” I said.

“They’re always here when he comes,” said Jefrey. “Always, at least one of ’em.”

I turned in my chair, recalled the notes of dates I’d made. According to the widow, the revenant had walked several times when the kids were away.

“Hold on,” I said. “That’s not what I heard.”

“Don’t care what you heard,” said Jefrey. “They were here, every time. You think the widow always knows what that bunch is up to? You think they don’t come here to hide or stash weed or defile the Master’s house whenever they take a whim?” Jefrey snorted. “They come and go as they please,” he said. “But the dogs know. Oh yes, they do.” Jefrey snickered. “Dogs was trained not to raise ruckus at the kids, early on,” he said. “Bet I could train ’em to forget that. Love to see them bastards try to sweet-talk Thufe.”

I rose, started pacing. If someone walked the grounds only when the Merlat heirs were around, there was bound to be a reason.

“Tell me about Master Merlat’s last days,” I said.

“Ask the Lady,” said Jefrey.

“I’d rather hear it from you,” I said. “The Lady seems disinclined to discuss it.”

Jefrey shrugged. “I reckon she does,” he said. “He caught fever.”

“I heard.”

“Something out of them swamps down south,” said Jefrey. “Turned his insides into sores. Open sores in his mouth. In his nose. Ruined his eyes. His ears, too, I reckon. Got all down his throat. He’d try to talk and cough up puss and blood.”

I’d heard of it. Wet fever, it was called. Rare, and not contagious, but so nasty a fear of it lingers to this day. I wasn’t surprised the widow hadn’t named it.

“Wet fever.”

Jefrey nodded. “Worst thing I ever seen,” he said. “Tried to help out. The smell-god, the smell.” He shook his head. “She never left him, though. Never did.” His gaze went up to the ceiling. “Sickroom is right above us. Door’s locked now. I think she buried the key with him.”

An odd custom, the death-room key burial. But not an uncommon one, though I hadn’t figured the Merlats as Reformists. I nodded. “And the kids?”

Jefrey snorted. “Didn’t show ’til the funeral,” he said. “Othur fell out during the service. Abad asked his mother for a loan. The girl had a screaming fight with her man of the week.” He would’ve spat, but he eyed the polished oak floor, had to swallow instead. “Bastards.”

“You say she never left him.”

“Not once,” he said, and his wrinkled face softened. “She loved him, Markhat. You mark that. I don’t know nothing about vengeance or haints or what-not, but she loved that man and he loved her and if he’s come back looking for trouble it ain’t with the Lady.”

I knew when not to speak.

Instead, I watched the light fail. Jefrey rose, lit more lamps, then sat with his shiny black walking stick across his bony knees.

“So what’s the plan?” he said after a time. “You just gonna walk outside and grab him when he shows?”

I shrugged. That was my plan, all right-wait until Lord Merlat’s shade appeared, then take it by the collar and shake it and see who fell out of the shroud. It had seemed a good plan in the cheery light of day.

Jefrey whistled. “Well, I reckon anybody that cleared Troll tunnels during the War ain’t afraid of spooks in a yard,” he said.

I put on my best war-weary veteran face, nodded and watched the darkness gather.

By the time the sun turned the windows to haze and sparkles, Jefrey and I were drinking the Lady’s too-strong coffee and nibbling at biscuits Thufe couldn’t have bitten in half.

“We didn’t see nothing, Lady,” said Jefrey, bleary-eyed. “I hope you slept.”

“I did,” she said, though she didn’t look it, and her hands had been shaking when she poured us coffee. She turned her eyes upon me. “Have you any new impressions, goodman Markhat?”

“Only on my backside,” I muttered. None of the Lady’s chairs should ever really be sat on for any length of time.

Jefrey snickered. I sipped, put down my cup. “Sorry,” I said. “I do have a few ideas, though. None you’re going to like. And none we ought to discuss unless we’re alone.”

She sighed, pulled a chair around to face us, sat. “Jefrey,” she said. “I’m filing a new will. The children will get an allowance, but be barred from the bulk of the estate. You will receive half a million crowns every year for as long as you live. If you want the money so badly that you’d kill me to get it, ask for it now and you’ll have it tomorrow.”

Jefrey went pale, dropped his biscuit.

The widow gave me the eye. “Now talk to me.”

“Fine.” I took in a breath. “I think someone is making a play against your will, Lady,” I said. “You can’t file a revision, and make it stick, if someone contests it on the basis of your impaired mental state,” I said. “It’s called the Nutty Uncle defense, and the Court has historically favored the heirs.”

The widow took in a breath and set her jaw.