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than Morley, who, till now, had
held the record. In my experience. And he was strong. He flung me
thirty feet, easy.
    We took turns bopping him from behind. Which was kind of like bull
baiting, only this bull never made a sound. He didn’t answer questions.
He just fought on, emphasizing doing damage to Ma Garrett’s only
surviving son.
    We outnumbered him only eight to one so it was our great good
fortune that police whistles began squealing in nearby streets. We
broke it up immediately. Nobody wanted to visit the Al-Khar. Not today.
    As though there’s any good day now.
    “That was exhilarating,” Morley said as we inventoried limbs, combed
cobblestones out of our hair, and figured out who got bragging rights
for suffering the biggest bruises. “If I’m alive in the morning, I’m
going to give that guy another look. With Doris and Marsha doing the
heavy lifting.”
    Doris and Marsha Roze are relatives of his. Somehow. They’re part
giant, part troll, part other stuff. They stand twelve feet tall and
can bring down small buildings with a single pound. Too bad they
weren’t along a few minutes ago.
    “Why not? There must be another ten thousand streets that could use
a good dusting.” It’s rare as frog fangs to see Morley Dotes all dirty
and spiffed up in rags. “I wish I could preserve this vision for
posterity.”
    “I’ll put on old clothes next time. Get back to me on this.”
    He was upset. I wasn’t sure why. You can’t win them all.
    “I’ll do that. Good luck tonight.”

    10

    “What happened?” Dean demanded as he let me into the house.
    “Somebody tried to kill me.”
    He grunted, unimpressed.
    “You should see the other guy.”
    He grunted again. He has no respect for my way of life, though it
keeps him full of bread and beans.
    “Not a scratch on him. Even though I had Morley and six of his guys
there lending a hand. We would’ve turned it around, though, if the
Watch hadn’t shown up.”
    That was for Singe’s benefit. She’d come to the kitchen to find out
what was up. She had a kitten in her paws, petting it. The baby cat
didn’t mind the incongruity.
    I asked, “Think you could pick up a day-old trail using this?” I
tossed her the green egg.
    “Gak! Underwater. What was it? A bear or an ogre?”
    Singe has a talent.
    Ratpeople are blessed with an exceptional sense of smell. Some can
embarrass a bloodhound. Singe stands out of that crowd.
    As noted, she’s a genius. For a ratwoman. And has more courage than
ten other ratpeople put together. Excluding only her brother.
    Even the most daring and wicked ratfolk get scared around humans.
The sorcerers who created them saw no need to take that timidity out.
    “He was human. From one of the far fringes of the species.”
    “What did he do?”
    “He tried to kill me. With an old-fashioned sling. Using that egg
for ammunition.”
    “Bathing would not appear to be one of his human vices.”
    I told Dean, “That tongue gets more wicked every day.”
    Dean scowled. He can’t shed all his prejudices. Singe bounced,
though, pleased by the compliment. She has one great character flaw.
She tries hard to be human.
    She’s smart enough to know they’ll never let her be.
    “Why a day-old trail?”
    “I don’t have time today. I have Chodo’s birthday party to do.”
    “Who are you taking? Tinnie?”
    “Nobody.”
    “Can I go?”
    “No. I’m not taking anybody. It could get ugly fast. I don’t want
anybody getting hurt.” Not to mention that she wouldn’t be welcome.
Virulent prejudice can be ignored only at great peril. Particularly by
persons of goodwill.
    Singe knows that on the practical and emotional levels. She doesn’t
let on when she gets her feelings hurt. She thinks that by revealing
her feelings, she’d belittle my effort to save her some pain.
    I know. But it works for us.
    I asked, “Anything stirring on the undead front?”
    If the Dead Man hates any one thing enough to almost let it get his
blood pumping,