Goblin fell into a chair, forgetting One-Eye. One-Eye collapsed at his feet. He vomited on Goblin’s boots, tried to continue his song. Goblin muttered, “Where the hell is everybody?”

“Out carousing around.” I exchanged looks with Raven. “Do you believe this? Those two getting drunk together?” “Where you going, old spook?” Goblin squeaked at Soulcatcher. Soulcatcher went out without answering. “Bastard. Hey. One-Eye, old buddy. That right? Old spook a bastard?”

One-Eye levered himself off the floor, looked around. I don’t think he was seeing with the eye he had. “S’right.” He scowled at me. “Bassard. All bassard.” Something struck him funny. He giggled.

Goblin joined him. When Raven and I did not get the joke, he put on a very dignified face and said, “Not our kind in here, old buddy. Warmer out in the snow.” He helped One-Eye stand. They staggered out the door.

“Hope they don’t do anything stupid. More stupid. Like show off. They’ll kill themselves.”

“Tonk,” Raven said. He spread his cards. Those two might not have come in for all the response he showed.

Ten or fifty hands later one of the soldiers we had brought burst in. “You seen Elmo?” he demanded.

I glanced at him. Snow was melting in his hair. He was pale, scared. “No. What happened, Hagop?”

“Somebody stabbed Otto. I think it was Raker. I run him off.”

“Stabbed? He dead?” I started looking for my kit. Otto would need me more than he would need Elmo.

“No. He’s cut bad. Lot of blood.”

“Why didn’t you bring him?”

“Couldn’t carry him.”

He was drunk too. The attack on his friend had sobered him some, but that would not last. “You sure it was Raker?” Was the old fool trying to hit back?

“Sure. Hey, Croaker. Come on. He’s gonna die.”

“Im coming. I’m coming.”

“Wait.” Raven was pawing through his gear. “I’m going.” He balanced a pair of finely-honed knives, debating a choice. He shrugged, stuck both inside his belt. “Get yourself a cloak, Croaker. It’s cold out there.”

While I found one he grilled Hagop about Otto’s whereabouts, told him to stay put till Elmo showed. Then, “Let’s go. Croaker.”

Down the stairs. Into the streets. Raven’s walk is deceptive. He never seems hurried, but you have to hustle to stay up.

Snowing was not the half of it. Even where the streets were lighted you could not see twenty feet. It was. six inches deep already. Heavy, wet stuff. But the temperature was falling, and a wind was coming up. Another blizzard? Damn! Hadn’t we had enough?

We found Otto a quarter block from where he was supposed to be. He had dragged himself under some steps. Raven went right to him. How he knew where to look I will never know. We carried Otto to the nearest light. He could not help himself. He was out.

I snorted. “Dead drunk. Only danger was freezing to death.” He had blood all over him but his wound was not bad. Needed some stitches, that is all. We lugged him back to the room. I stripped him and got sewing while he was in no shape to bitch.

Otto’s sidekick was asleep. Raven kicked him till he woke up. “I want the truth,” Raven said. “How did it happen?”

Hagop told it, insisting, “It was Raker, man. It was Raker.”

I doubted that. So did Raven. But when I finished my needlepoint, Raven said, “Get your sword, Croaker.” He had the hunter look. I did not want to go out again, but even less did I want to argue with Raven when he was in that mood. I got my swordbelt.

The air was colder. The wind was stronger. The snow-flakes were smaller and more biting when they hit my cheek. I stalked along behind Raven, wondering what the hell we were doing.

He found the place where Otto was knifed. New snow had not yet obliterated the marks on the old. Raven squatted, stared. I wondered what he saw. There was not enough light to tell anything, so far as I could see.

“Maybe he wasn’t lying,” he said at last. He stared into the darkness of the alley whence the attacker had come.

“How do you know?”

He did not tell me. “Come on.” He stalked into the alley.

I do not like alleys. I especially do not like them in cities like Roses, where they harbor every evil known to man, and probably a few still undiscovered. But Raven was going in... Raven wanted my help... Raven was my brother in the Black Company... But, damned, a hot fire and warm wine would have been nicer.

I do not think I spent more than three or four hours exploring the city. Raven had gone out less than I had. Yet he seemed to know where he was going. He led me up side streets and down alleys, across thoroughfares and over bridges. Roses is pierced by three rivers, and a web of canals connect them. The bridges are one of Roses’ claims to fame.

Bridges did not intrigue me at the moment. I was preoccupied with keeping up and trying to stay warm. My feet were hunks of ice. Snow kept getting into my boots, and Raven was in no mood to stop every time that happened.

On and on. Miles and hours. I never saw so many slums and stews...

“Stop!” Raven flung an arm across my path.

“What?”

“Quiet.” He listened. I listened. I did not hear a thing. I had not seen much during our headlong rush, either.

How could Raven be tracking Otto’s assailant? I did not doubt that he was, I just could not figure it.

Truth told, nothing Raven did surprised me. Nothing had since the day I watched him strangle his wife.

“We’re almost up with him.” He peered into the blowing snow. “Go straight ahead, the pace we’ve been going. You’ll catch him in a couple blocks.”

“What? Where’re you going?” I was carping at a fading shadow. “Damn you.” I took a deep breath, cursed again, drew my sword, and started forward. All I could think was, How am I going to explain if we’ve got the wrong man?

Then I saw him in the light from a tavern door. A tail, lean man shuffling dispiritedly, oblivious to his surroundings. Raker? How would I know? Elmo and Otto were the only ones who had been along on the farm raid...

Came the dawn. Only they could identify Raker for the rest of us. Otto was wounded and Elmo had not been heard from... Where was he? Under a blanket of snow in some alley, cold as this hideous night?

My fright retreated before anger.

I sheathed my sword and drew a dagger. I kept it hidden inside my cloak. The figure ahead did not glance back as I overtook it, drew even.

“Rough night, eh, old-timer?”

He grunted noncommittally. Then he looked at me, eyes narrowing, when I fell into step beside him. He eased away, watched me closely. There was no fear in his eyes. He was sure of himself. Not the sort of old man you found wandering the streets of the slums. They are scared of their own shadows.

“What do you want?” It was a calm, straightforward question.

He did not have to be frightened. I was scared enough for both of us. “You knifed a friend of mine, Raker.”

He halted. A glint of something strange showed in his eye. “The Black Company?”

I nodded.

He stared, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “The physician. You’re the physician. The one they call Croaker.”

“Glad to meet you.” I am sure my voice sounded stronger than I felt.

I thought, what the hell do I do now?

Raker flung his cloak open. A short stabbing sword thrust my way. I slid aside, opened my own cloak, dodged again and tried to draw my sword.

Raker froze. He caught my eye. His eyes seemed to grow larger, larger... I was falling into twin grey pools... A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He stepped toward me, blade rising...

And grunted suddenly. A look of total amazement came over his face. I shook his spell, stepped back, came to guard.

Raker turned slowly, faced the darkness. Raven’s knife protruded from his back. Raker reached back and withdrew it. A mewl of pain passed his lips. He glared at the knife, then, ever so slowly, began to sing.