Admittedly, something was developing on the Annah front. Maybe. If I wasn't misconstruing the situation. And maybe the next time Gretchen sent me a peremptory message (Tonight, 10:00, and for god's sake, don't wear that sweater), I'd have the backbone to answer, "Sorry, I'm busy with someone else."

All of which assumed I'd survive the next few hours. It'd be just my luck to get killed before I could brush off the exalted Fraulein Kinnderboom at least once.

By the time we entered Dover's minuscule "business district," even Impervia admitted we'd lost the sorceress. We'd never caught a glimpse of our quarry… and once she'd reached town, she could have gone any number of directions. To the docks, for example: either the "pretty" tourist docks, dotted with food stands, craft shops, and music halls, or the real docks with their omnipresent reek of small-mouth bass. Our sorceress might also have headed toward the palatial beach houses in Gretchen's neighborhood, or the more modest residences belonging to fisherfolk and shopkeepers. For that matter, she might have left Dover entirely, taking the lakeshore highway east or west to destinations unknown.

We therefore stopped at the town's main crossroads to discuss our next move… only to have the discussion cut off by Impervia saying, "Here's what you're going to do."

Dictatorship is so efficient.

Pelinor, Myoko, and Annah were dispatched to the fishing docks in search of anyone who'd seen Sebastian, the sorceress, or the Divian with the sword. Impervia, the Caryatid, and I would make inquiries at inns and taverns. No one liked that we were splitting up-Annah met my gaze with owlish regret and the Caryatid stared similarly at Pelinor (hmm!), while Myoko took me by the arm, squeezed my hand, and whispered, "Don't let Impervia get you into trouble"-but none of us had the nerve to argue, or could suggest better arrangements. With whispered good-byes and fervent last glances, our two trios went their separate ways.

Three-fifteen by my pocket watch-not the best time for visiting rum-holes, especially in Dover-on-Sea. All decent establishments were closed up tight as a tom-tom: nobody awake except for whichever stablehand was stuck with the midnight shift, watching for horse thieves. Surprisingly, all such stablehands seemed to be avid readers of penny-dreadfuls, the kind where no self-respecting hostler will speak until given a handful of silver. I had plenty of cash for such shakedowns… but with Impervia watching, there was no point reaching for my coins. She didn't believe in paying for information when others should supply it "out of the goodness of their hearts"; she did, however, believe in the threat of violence, using fists or the Caryatid's candleflame. Her violence led precisely nowhere, since none of the stablehands we browbeat had seen anything of relevance.

This left us to investigate establishments which were not decent: hole-in-the-wall taverns and fleabag inns. Places frequented by folks in murky professions where 3:15 is a regular working hour. Such people do not take kindly to questions; and Impervia was incapable of being diplomatic.

Ergo, she barged into a dive called The Buxom Bull and glowered at the patrons therein. She did not speak; perhaps she was watching which patrons guiltily averted their gaze. As for the assemblage of hard-bitten men and hard-biting women, they showed no surprise to see a nun enter the premises. Either they were too jaded to care, or else Buxom Bull patrons were used to "ladies" whose jobs occasionally required them to dress in nun's habit.

The inn's clientele were not so blasé about persons dressed in sorcerer's red. Since the Caryatid wore a plain black overcoat, her crimson body-sheath was not immediately visible; but the tavern was hot and stuffy, filled with people who spent their days in hard physical labor on boats reeking of fish, so the Caryatid shucked off her coat as soon as she came through the door.

That caught everyone's attention.

Most of the tavern was dark-business would suffer if customers could actually see what they were drinking. However, there were three bright oil lamps near the door to let management give the once-over to whoever entered… in case any newcomers were waving pistols, swords, or badges. Therefore, everyone in the taproom could see the Caryatid's outfit as soon as she revealed it; and within seconds, every drink-slurred conversation faded to a strained silence.

Impervia gave an offended sniff that the onlookers could possibly be more impressed by a chubby little sorceress than a lean mean Magdalene. She recovered quickly and spoke to the crowd in her usual piercing tones. "Ladies and gentlemen… using the terms loosely…"

I gave her a warning nudge. "Be nice. We want answers, not bloodshed."

She glared at me, then returned to addressing the room. "We're teachers from Feliss Academy. One of our students has run off tonight-"

"She's upstairs blowing my brother!" a male voice shouted from the back corner. The crowd laughed.

"Very amusing," Impervia said. "However, the student we're looking for is a sixteen-year-old boy…"

"He's upstairs blowing my other brother!"

More laughter.

"How nice for your brothers," Impervia said. "It must be a pleasant change from paying you to do it."

"Oh yeah?" In the back corner, the man who'd been yelling witticisms jumped to his feet: a surprisingly handsome fellow of Chinese extraction, black hair, slight but sturdy. He wasn't especially imposing at first glance… but I'd seen enough fights to know that looks can be deceiving. Big burly types can sometimes crumple after a single punch, while slimmer middleweights can turn out to be as tough as terriers. The Caryatid, standing close by my shoulder, knew the same thing; in a low voice, she told Impervia, "Be careful."

"Don't worry," Impervia said. "I have a plan."

"What kind of plan?"

"I'll make a show of strength. To loosen the tongue of any patron who has useful information."

"Provided it doesn't loosen your teeth instead."

Impervia gave the Caryatid a withering look. Then she turned back to the man… who was attempting to barge through the crowd in an angry rush, but had trouble weaving between the tightly packed tables. Though he wanted to appear livid with outrage, I could see he was trying not to jostle people as he pushed past them. That boded well for Impervia. She wasn't facing a hot-tempered brawler; it was only a man who was acting hot-tempered, as if he wanted to impress the assembled spectators.

When the man finally reached Impervia, he stopped in front of her and opened his mouth to say something. I don't know what the words would have been. A threat? A demand for an apology? The truth will remain a mystery… because Impervia grabbed him by the lapels, swung him off his feet, and slammed him down on a nearby table top.

"Good evening," the good sister said. "My name is Impervia. What's yours?"

The man was slow to answer, maybe because his collision with the table had knocked the wind out of him. Impervia lifted him slightly, then slammed him down on the table again. "Your name?"

"Uhh… uhh… Dee-James. Dee-James Mak…"

"Well, Dee-James Mak, I've told you what I'm here for. A boy is missing from Feliss Academy. Have you seen him?"

Dee-James shook his head.

"Do you know anyone who might have seen him?"

Dee-James shook his head again.

"The boy might have booked passage on a boat. Do you know any boats that left harbor tonight?"

"N-no," said Dee-James.

"Who would know something like that?"

Dee-James didn't answer. Impervia thumped him against the table again. "Who would know?"

"Uhh… uhh… Hump."

"Who is Hump?"

"Me." The single word came from the table where Dee-James had been sitting, far in the shadowy corner. A chair scraped across the floor and thudded into the wall. A man rose slowly to his feet-an extremely large man. Because of the darkness, I couldn't see details… but size is size, and this man's size was intimidating.