“What happened to him?”

“While back, couple four months I guess, he had a stroke or something. They found him still alive but like a vegetable. They took him over to the compound. Far as I know, he’s still there. Feeding him like a baby. That kid that was here to inspect you is the one to ask. Him and Corbie was friends.”

“Corbie, eh? Thanks. Another pitcher.”

“Come on, Croaker,” One-Eye said in a low voice. “Lay off the beer. The guy makes it himself. It’s terrible.”

He was right. But I was getting adjusted for some heavy thinking.

We had to get into that house. That meant night moves and wizards’ skills. It also meant our greatest risks since Goblin and One-Eye went silly in Roses.

One-Eye asked Goblin, “Think we’re up against a haunt?”

Goblin sucked his lip. “Have to look.”

“What’s this?” I asked.

“I’d have to see the man to know for sure, Croaker, but what happened to that Corbie don’t sound like a stroke.”

Goblin nodded. “Sounds like somebody pulled out of body and caught.”

“Maybe we can arrange to see him. What about the house?”

“First thing is to make sure there isn’t a big-time haunt. Like maybe Bomanz’s ghost.”

That kind of talk makes me nervous. I do not believe in ghosts. Or do not want to.

“If he was caught out, or pulled out, you have to wonder how and why. The fact that that’s where Bomanz lived has to be considered. Something left over from his time could have gotten this Corbie. Could be what gets us if we’re not careful.”

“Complications,” I grumbled. “Always the complications.”

Goblin snickered.

“You watch yourself,” I said. “Or I just might sell you to the highest bidder.”

An hour later a savage storm arrived. It howled and hammered at the inn. The roof leaked under the downpour. When I reported that, our host blew up, though not at me. Evidently making repairs was not easy under current conditions, yet repairs had to be made lest a place deteriorate entirely.

“The damned winter firewood is the worst,” he complained. “Can’t leave it set out. Either gets buried under snow or so damned waterlogged you can’t dry it out. In a month this place will be loaded ceiling to floor. At least filling the place up makes it less hard to heat.”

Along about midnight, after the Guard had changed watches and the oncoming had had time to grow bored and sleepy, we slipped out. Goblin made sure everyone inside the inn was asleep.

Toadkiller Dog trotted ahead, seeking witnesses. He found only one. Goblin took care of him, too. On a night like that nobody was out. I wished I was not.

“Make sure nobody can see any light,” I said after we slipped inside. “At a guess, I’d say we start upstairs.”

“At a guess,” One-Eye countered, “I’d say we find out if there are any haunts or booby traps first.”

I glanced at the door. I hadn’t thought about that before pushing through.

The Colonel summoned Case. He shook as he stood before Sweet’s desk. “There are questions to be answered, lad,” Sweet said. “Start by telling me what you know about Corbie.”

Case swallowed. “Yes, sir.” He told. And told much more when Sweet insisted on rehashing every word that had passed between them. He told everything but the part about the message and the oilskin.

“Curious,” Sweet said. “Very. Is that all?”

Case shifted nervously. “What’s this about, sir?”

“Let’s say what we found in the oilskin was interesting.”

“Sir?”

“It appeared to be a long letter, though no one could read it. It was in a language nobody knows. It could be the language of the Jewel Cities. What I want to know is, who was supposed to get it? Was it unique or part of a series? Our friend is in trouble, lad. If he recovers, he’s in hot water. Deep. Real bums don’t write long letters to anybody.”

“Well, sir, like I said, he was trying to track down his kids. And he may have come from Opal...”

“I know. There is circumstantial evidence on his side. Maybe he can satisfy me when he comes around. On the other hand, this being the Barrowland, anything remarkable becomes suspicious. Question, son. And you must answer satisfactorily or you’re in hot water, too. Why did you try to hide the packet?”

The crux. The moment from which there was no escape. He had prayed it would not arrive. Now, facing it, Case knew his loyalty to Corbie was unequal to the test.

“He asked me if, if anything happened to him, I would get a letter delivered to Oar. A letter in oilskin.”

“He did expect trouble, then?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what was in the letter or why he wanted it delivered. He just gave me a name. And then he said to tell you something after the letter was delivered.”

“Ah?”

“I don’t remember his exact words. He said to tell you the thing in the Great Barrow isn’t asleep anymore.”

Sweet came out of his seat as though stung. “He did? And how did he know? Never mind. The name. Now! Who was the packet to go to?”

“A smith in Oar. Named Sand. That’s all I know, sir. I swear.”

“Right.” Sweet seemed distracted. “Back to your duties, lad. Tell Major Klief I want him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Next morning Case watched Major Klief and a detail ride out, under orders to arrest Sand Smith. He felt terribly guilty. And yet, just how had he betrayed anyone? He might have been betrayed himself if Corbie was a spy.

He assuaged his guilt by tending Corbie with religious devotion, keeping him clean and fed.

It took Goblin and One-Eye only minutes to examine the house. “No traps,” One-Eye announced. “No ghost, either. Some old resonances of sorcery overlaid by more recent ones. Upstairs.”

I produced a scrap of paper. Upon it were my notes from the Bomanz letters. We went upstairs. Confident though they were, Goblin and One-Eye let me go first. Some friends.

I checked to make certain the window was shuttered before permitting a light. Then: “Do your stuff. I’ll poke around.” Tracker and Toadkiller Dog remained in the doorway. It was not a big room.

I examined book titles before starting a serious search. The man had had eclectic tastes. Or had collected what was cheapest, perhaps.

I found no papers.

The place did not look ransacked. “One-Eye. Can you tell if this place was searched?”

“Probably not. Why?”

“The papers aren’t here.”

“You looked where he hid stuff? Like he said?”

“All but one.” A spear stood in a corner. Sure enough, when I twisted it, its head came off and revealed a hollow shaft. Out came the map mentioned in the story. We spread it on the table.

Chills crept up my back.’

This was real history. This chart had shaped today’s world. Despite my limited grasp of TelleKurre and my even more feeble knowledge of wizardly symbols, I felt the power mapped there. For me, at least, it radiated something that left me teetering on the boundary between discomfort and true dread.

Goblin and One-Eye did not feel it. Or were too intrigued. They put their heads together and examined the route Bomanz used to reach the Lady.

“Thirty-seven years of work,” I said.

“What?”

“It took him thirty-seven years to accumulate that information.” I noticed something. “What’s this?” It was something that should not have been there, as I recalled the story. “I see. Our correspondent added notes of his own.”

One-Eye looked at me. Then he looked at the chart. Then he looked at me again. Then he bent to examine the route on the map. “That has to be it. No other answer.”

“What?”

“I know what happened.”

Tracker stirred uncomfortably.

“Well?”

“He tried to go in there. The only way you can. And couldn’t get out.”