Chapter Seventeen

The restaurant was actually a beer garden, a place of long wooden tables whose antiquity was attested to by the way graffiti carved in them was covered by lacquer darkened by grime and worn smooth by friction from countless hands and arms.

On the walls were the coats of arms of dozens of kings of Weseria and smoke-darkened posters advertising various types of beer. There was no sign of the modern nation here, no acknowledgement of the Sonneheim Games, no Reini symbols.

Most unusual of all in the modern Bardulfburg, the place admitted duskies. Among the clientele were squat men and women the color of pecan shells who came barely up to Zeb's belt buckle; there were tall, fair-skinned lights; and there were men and women of every shape, hue and height in between.

Alastair and Gaby were already seated when Zeb and Noriko arrived, holding down a long table in the dimmest end of the room. Doc, Rudi, and Swana, all still in disguise, and Ish arrived minutes later, just as the waiters were bringing out the first orders of sausage and schnitzels. Harris was last to arrive.

Doc looked longingly at Gaby's plate of cutlets and spätzel. "We appear to have survived our first full day of trouble making. Now we need to assess the damage we've done. Gaby, would you like to go first?"

She shook her head. "Hell, no. You're the one with no food. You go first."

"Thus we demonstrate the respect I have earned from the Foundation associates . . ." With what looked like an effort, Doc dragged his attention from Gaby's plate. "The Teleri deception has paid off. Swana and I were followed when we left the Sword venue. Our shadows were not uniformed, of course, so we have no concrete knowledge of who they are. Still, it's encouraging that they're observant and numerous enough to have spotted her and interested enough to follow her. We had to go to some considerable effort to elude them and get here unseen, and we only lost them a couple of blocks from here." He glanced at Alastair, but the doctor, his mouth full of sausage, shook his head vigorously. Doc turned instead to Harris.

Harris cleared his throat. "You might not have seen, Doc, but our good friend Ruadan was among the competitors in Sword."

"I saw."

"And was spending a lot of his time on the sidelines talking to what looked like a good buddy in the Sonnenkrieger."

"That I did not see." Doc frowned.

"Anyway, at one point it looked as though Ruadan and his buddy were discussing our Teleri here, and the buddy took off. So I followed. He headed off to a talk-box booth and made a call. Since I don't speak Burian, I didn't get any of what he said. I didn't hear Teleri's name used."

Doc nodded. "Or mine, I hope."

"You were protected by the sheer brilliance of my makeup, Doc. Of course your name wasn't used."

"Of course. What then?"

"He returned to the door to the gym and waited. He was watching Swana, I'm pretty sure. He was there another twenty minutes or so, and then he was joined by six other guys in street clothes. All lights, young, really good posture. He pointed your section of the bleachers out to them and talked. I couldn't hear anything they said; I'd had to pull back down the corridor so as not to be conspicuous. Anyway, the guys filed into the gym by twos and merged with the crowd."

"And it was as we left the Sword event that Rudi noticed our first shadow," Doc said.

Rudi, finishing a glass of beer, nodded. He raised his glass to get the waiter's attention. "Two lights. Looked like military. Not too good at following."

Swana, obviously reluctant to speak up in this gathering, finally found her voice. "What will happen if they decide to do more than follow me? Do they not want to talk to this Teleri? Could they try to capture me?"

Rudi made a contemptuous noise. "They're no damned good at what they do. Sure, they'll try to grab you, but not tonight—we've already lost them once and will lose them again if they spot us on the way home."

"It's true." Doc's voice was reassuring. "And from now on, as it was this morning, you'll constantly be surrounded by more firepower than they're ever likely to bring to bear in a kidnapping attempt. Still, after we get back to the quarters tonight, I'll work with you on a set of answers you can give to officials if you're ever interrogated. These will be answers that will keep you safe long enough for us to find you and spirit you away."

They quieted as the waiter came over to refill Rudi's glass and stayed that way moments longer as a woman, four feet tall and built like a Franklin stove, arrived with the food orders of the latecomers. Then Doc turned to Zeb.

"I've got nothing but glorious victory to report so far," Zeb said. "I wasted Tanuki Kano this morning in All-Out, and Noriko wiped out her opponent this afternoon in Sword of Wo. Oh, yeah, that guy Förster was at Sword of Wo. I don't know whether it's because of some conspiracy between the Reinis and Hayato's group or just because he's supposed to be curious about all sorts of fighting arts. Anyway, the opponent draw in the All-Out is fixed; I'm going to meet every badass on the field. I don't know whether the draw in the Sword of Wo is rigged."

"I do not believe it is," Noriko said. "That sort of thing is not among Hayato's many flaws of character."

Doc nodded. "Alastair? Can you now put off chewing for a moment?"

"Reluctantly." Alastair set his fork and knife down. "I found the tribe of Kobolde who tried to kill you at the Fairwings plant."

Doc's eyebrows rose. "You've done some travelling today, then."

"No. They're here in Bardulfburg. And they're very anxious to meet you. Not for a return engagement."

"Very well. Let's have the full story."

"Well, I estimated that the best way to find Kobolde would be to find Kobolde—meaning, I'd look for any that might be living in the big city and see if they could tell me anything about their country cousins. So I looked at the various newspapers and found one, distributed only in a few places, that is written for the dusky communities. I visited the newspaper itself and asked about Kobolde, and the editor told me they're pretty rare in Weseria—except for a performing troupe here in Bardulfburg. When I went to visit them, their responses—they're not proficient actors—made it clear that they were related to your captors."

Doc looked mildly amused. "I was held prisoner by a circus?"

Alastair nodded. "Oh, I'm not saying they're not a dangerous, violent group of madmen. They are. Very, very primitive deep-forest folk. But they also perform. Anyway, I went to talk to them. They were surprised to hear that I worked with you and tried to persuade me that you were using me—that you only tolerated me because I could help you get close to duskies and then destroy them."

"My master plan is at last revealed." Doc's voice was dry. Ish snorted, amused.

"I asked them why they thought this about you. It was partly because they see the way things are developing in the Burian lands, the way the lights in charge are taking more and more actions against the duskies, and since you're a light, you're obviously one of the enemy. It was also partly because they had a friend who helped explain such things to them, helped them get along in the world of the lights and darks." Alastair shifted, looking uncomfortable. "There was more to it than that. I got the impression that this `friend' was also inciting them to acts of violence. Against the lights who are tightening the vise on them."

"That makes no sense," Ish said. "Someone leading the duskies in a guerilla war against the lights? No. We've assumed all along that the real Teleri and the people who kidnapped Doc were part of the Reini movement or at least shared their ideals. Now we have a third group, duskies waging a secret war against the lights?"

"It makes perfect sense," Gaby said. "If this `third group' really is part of the Reinis or their friends . . . and they're inciting the duskies to acts of violence."

Alastair nodded. "That's what I told them. I said that their `friend' had convinced them to murder the famous Doc Sidhe and was now probably working up plans to kill some of the high-ranking Reini leaders. That they'd be caught in the act and reprisals would be taken on behalf of an offended light and dark population against duskies. That got them thinking, though they're not admitting to anything. But they want to meet you, Doc. I also told them that Zeb was one of us. That impressed them. They want to meet him, too."

"So the All-Out is getting us some results," Doc said. "Well, let us meet them."

Ish shook her head, vehement. "They just want to finish killing you, Doc."

"Perhaps." Doc stared over the heads of the associates, past the dark wood panel of the walls, off into the unseen distance. "But we still need to meet these Kobolde. If we can convince them we're telling the truth, perhaps they can identify some of our enemies so we'll have a better idea of who specifically they are."

"I was going to take Alastair and Noriko and break into the Hall of Tomorrow, or whatever they call it in Burian," Harris said.

Doc frowned. "Explain that."

"It's an exhibit in one of the new buildings on the Coliseum grounds. I asked around and found out that's where the big model of Bardulfburg is. The one your friend General Ritter displays to show how the city looks now and is going to look in the future. I need Alastair's Good Eye and Noriko's skill with lockpicks."

"You'll have to do that tomorrow night." Doc gave Harris a conciliatory look.

"Then I'll go with you, Doc." Harris fixed his employer with a stern look. "In case your bloodthirsty midgets decide to get violent."

"And I," Ish said.

"Me, too," Gaby said.

"Me," Noriko said.

Zeb just raised a hand to indicate he was in.

Doc turned his attention to Rudi and Swana. "Which leaves only the two of you."

"I want to get away from all this madness for the evening," Rudi said. "Eat a nice, slow meal. See a film play. Walk about a bit."

"That would be nice," Swana said.

Doc pulled at his beard. "Harris, can you get us all out of makeup?"

Harris patted himself down. From a pocket, he removed a small brown bottle half full of fluid. "Not with what's on me. I can probably get either you or Rudi out of your extra facial hair, but not both."

"Restore me to normal, then, and we'll leave to visit the Kobolde from here," Doc said. "When Rudi and Swana return to our quarters, they can get out of makeup themselves or wait for your return."

"He makes it sound so neat," Gaby said. "Here's what it really boils down to. Rudi and Swana can go home so that bad people can try to follow them around tomorrow. And the rest of us can go talk to the Kobolde so that they can try to kill and eat Doc, tonight."

"That would seem to sum it up," Doc said, and turned his attention to his plate.

The Kobold man—dressed, unlike those they'd seen at the Fairwings factory, in modern pants, shirt, and suspenders, but barefoot—met Doc and associates at the building's front door. He led them through the unlit antechamber into the main worship hall and gestured for them to sit on stone benches on one side; the benches had been pulled around so that, instead of facing forward down the hall, they faced the center of the room. Some twenty Kobolde, also in modern dress, were already seated on benches opposite; the building's hearth was between the two groups.

The hearth was, in traditional style, a stone circle with an upraised lip at the edge, holes sunken in the stone where metal posts could be set to suspend meat above the fire, but this hearth had never been used for cooking; it was free of ashes, its stone darkened by age but never by fire.

The building was Bardulfburg's temple to the goddess Ludana. Doc was familiar with this persona; under several variant names, such as Hludana and Hlodyn, she was goddess of the earth, of the spirits of the dead and the spirits of the newborn, for many of the Burian peoples. Interestingly, this was the place where Casnar's gathering was scheduled to take place tomorrow night. Doc supposed it was symbolically a rallying point for people opposed to the changes being implemented by the Reinis.

The temple was old, a massive thing whose interior and exterior walls were faced with irregular stone. The building had been recently fitted with electricity, but the light for this meeting was cast by candelabra, four floor-standing pieces each bearing nine candles grouped three by three. The light was dim, flickering shadows making the impassive faces of the Kobolde seem more alien and inhuman.

The Kobolde were taking every advantage—seating the Foundation members last to make them guests instead of hosts, placing them on hard benches while the Kobolde had appropriated flat bench pillows, keeping up a sinister facade.

Doc grinned. He hadn't anticipated the benches; that was a nice touch. This tribe of fair folk might be rural, but they were obviously familiar with the politics of intertribal gatherings. Their other tactics, however, he had anticipated. "Alastair," he said.

Alastair stood and, carrying a cloth sack that looked fully packed, moved up to the hearth. On the hearth's lip, halfway between the two groups, he began placing items from the sack: loaves of bread, sausages, bottles of beer and wine. "We eat bread and we drink water," he said, a ritual phrase.

Alastair returned to sit. The two groups stared at one another again. But now, some of the Kobolde glanced from time to time at the food and drink—not out of hunger, but in slight confusion. They were supposed to be the hosts, but the newcomers had provided food. It blurred the lines of who was who. Suddenly a bit of their social advantage was gone.

In Burian, Doc asked, "Who speaks for you?" He heard Alastair murmuring translations to the other associates.

An older man, not the oldest of those present, but still possessing streaks of white in his black hair and beard, stood. "I am Valek," he said. "Prince of Glucksmännchenheim." His voice was deep and rough. It was not the voice of a leader who gave speeches or campaigned to win the affection of his people.

"I am Desmond, son of Prince-Consort Correus of Cretanis," Doc said, "Guard-General of Novimagos, Godsent of the Hu'unal. I thank you for being willing to meet with us." He did not stand; though it would have given him a psychological advantage, he did not need these people to be on the defensive for what was about to come. "Allow me to introduce my associates." He gave the names of Alastair, Ixyail, Harris, Gaby, Noriko, and Zeb, noting the interest of the Kobolde in the last one.

"In the interests of speed, and so that we may speak freely," Doc continued, "I make this public declaration before these witnesses present and before the gods: I formally abandon all rights to revenge against or redress from the people of Glucksmännchenheim for actions they have taken against me."

Some of the little men and women looked at one another, but none spoke before Valek did. "Why do we need to speak freely on this, or at all?" he asked.

"Because our mutual enemies have set us against one another." Doc composed his expression into one made up partly of sympathy, partly of a leader's acceptance of the inevitable. "Of the members of your people sent against me in Novimagos, twenty or more are dead. Some died in honorable combat against my associates. Most died because they were betrayed by their employers. Those men placed powerful explosives, magnacendiaries, in the building where I was held, so that all might die."

Valek looked dubious. "What proof do you have of this claim?"

"Only my pledge of faith, and logic. Alastair Kornbock has spoken to you already. He has guessed that your employers would be planning with you the killings of famous Burians, of highly-placed Reinis. Now I will go a step further. I will tell you who you are planning to kill."

Valek gestured for him to continue.

"General Rombaud Geisel, General Klas Schneemann, and Minister Datan Graumann."

Valek's expression did not change; he was much too experienced and canny a leader for that. But several of the other Kobolde showed surprise. For that many people to react, Doc surmised, the tribe must be very close indeed, with every member trusting every other . . . or else the murder plot must be well along toward completion, with all those involved having already received instructions.

"Why these names?" Valek asked.

"Since arriving in Weseria, I have been looking into the national politics and the politics of the Reinis," Doc said. "The politics that will ultimately doom you to flee the Burian lands. Even in their own ranks, the Reinis see members they consider weaklings, detriments to their plans whom they nonetheless cannot easily be rid of—these men have done too much for the party over the years.

"But if duskies were to assassinate these men, the people of Weseria would begin to cry out against the duskies, and the wrath of the Weserian government could descend upon the duskies. And the Reinis could promote the harder, crueler men they prefer into the positions made vacant by murder." Doc gestured, a palms-out motion suggesting reasonability, that there was no argument to be had with his logic.

Valek stared at him for long moments. Then he walked, a waddling motion, to the food Alastair had brought, selected a bottle of beer, and returned to his seat. "You are wrong," he said, and pried the cork from the bottle. "We are to kill Geisel and Graumann, but not Schneemann."

"But I was close," Doc said.

"Yes." Valek took a drink. The other Kobolde, evidently released by his action, began to move in twos and threes to select food and drink. Ixyail, familiar with the world of tribal politics and manners, hopped up to join them and selected a bottle of wine—it wouldn't do for the associates to ignore the food, as the Kobolde might suspect poison. Harris brought a small loaf of bread back for himself and Gaby.

"You are too wrong to be part of the plan," Valek said, "but too close for it to be just a guess. I will ask you to tell me more. But first I wish to speak with this man." He indicated Zeb.

Alastair moved to sit beside Zeb and spoke in his ear. Zeb spoke back and Alastair translated. "Ask whatever you like."

One of the Kobolde, obviously one who understood Cretanis, whispered in Valek's ear. Valek said, "These games are for lights and darks. Why are you here?"

Zeb shrugged. "If they were for lights and darks just because of where they were being held, I wouldn't care. But they're for more than that. They're to help the lights and darks think they're better than the duskies. That's not right. I'm here to prove that they can't point and say, `We're better than they are.' "

Valek indicated Doc. "What if this man has tricked you? What if he is on their side?"

"He isn't. He's already risked his life to fight them. I was there. I was also there when the bombs went off and killed your people. Doc didn't plant them. Whoever hired your people planted them."

"Did you kill any of my people?"

Zeb hesitated a moment before answering. "Yes. I'm not sure how many. A couple at least."

"Why should we not kill you?"

"Because I'm going to do some real harm to the Reinis and the way they think. Maybe more than you can. Try to kill me, and you lose more people. Leave me alone, and you get to see me hammer in the faces of some of the local boys you don't like."

Valek considered that, then turned to his people and nodded. A half dozen of the Kobolde rose from their benches and approached Zeb.

Zeb stood. Doc could see that he was on guard, but not yet poised to repel an attack—the approach of these little folk was not quite threatening.

The nearest of the Kobolde dug around in a breast pocket and brought out a scrap of paper and a fountain pen. These he extended to Zeb. He said a few words.

Alastair translated. "He'd like your signature. As a keepsake."

Rudi lingered over his meal long after Doc and his companions had left for the Kobolde errand. Swana, to his relief, did not seem inclined to rush him. Nor did she seem nervous two bells later, after they'd seen their film play—a mystery from the League of Ardree, in which a master detective deduced which of three impossible devisements had actually caused the murder—and begun their walk home, a roundabout route chosen by Rudi.

Had he not been in a city full of potential enemies, Rudi might have enjoyed the colorful foot and wheeled traffic, the Old World buildings, the presence of a pretty girl. As it was, though, he had to use the skills he'd sharpened looking for police and even rival gangs who might be shadowing him.

He took a zigzagging path back toward their quarters so that no one who remained behind them for more than a couple of blocks could be doing so accidentally. He kept his eye on storefronts across the street, trying to watch, in the reflections of larger windows, foot traffic behind him. He took note of passing cars in case one should show up more than once.

"So tell me, Swana, what do you do? When you're not being thrown into jail, that is."

"Last week, I was a store clerk. But they hired a new clerk who belonged to the Nationalreinigungspartei. Now I look for another job where they do not require you to be a Reini."

"Well, if it'll keep you working, why not join the party?"

"Because it's wrong. It's all about blame. They want to blame everything that has gone wrong in the Burian nations on foreign conspiracies and the duskies. But it was nothing more than bad rule that led to the last war, and now we just have new bad rule."

Rudi made a noncommittal noise. He didn't know much about the politics of the region and cared less. But he figured they looked less conspicuous talking than not talking.

Though it was probably too late to avoid being conspicuous. About fifty paces behind them was a lean, bland-featured eamon in a cheap, inconspicuous bright yellow suit. Rudi caught sight of him again when they turned at the next street corner. He hadn't been behind them for the last several blocks, but had been with them shortly after they left the beer garden—though at the time he'd been wearing a dark overcoat and a hat. Assuming, of course, that Rudi was remembering correctly and not just being suspicious, this meant they were probably being followed, and it was probably being done by two or more people trading off with one another.

Swana said, "If I may ask, why do you act and talk and dress like a gangster from the film plays?"

"I am a gangster, darlin'. Best shot for three kingdoms in any direction. But like you're a clerk without a store, I'm a gangster without a gang. For the moment, anyway."

"I thought that the Sidhe Foundation caught gangsters."

He managed a chuckle. "So did I." He sobered. "Listen, Swana, it's not going to do much good to keep it a secret from you, so I'll just tell you. We're being followed."

To her credit, she did not react, did not immediately look around for their shadow. When she answered, her voice was subdued. "Oh."

"And we need not to be followed if we're to get back to our rooms. Now, the problem is that the pumps you're wearing just aren't suited to running across traffic, jumping on the backs of passing motorbuses, that sort of thing."

She managed a faint smile, though to Rudi it looked nervous. "I suppose they're not."

"So what we're going to do is this. See that beer hall just up there? You're going to go in and I'm going to stay outside and look impatient. You find a coin talk-box and call our rooms. If any of the associates are back from this Kobolde thing, tell—oh, futter it all."

"What is it?"

"Well, Harris said our talk-box was probably being listened to by the authorities, Doc being a famous troublemaker and all." He walked in silence for a few paces and thought. "No, I have it. Find out if any of the grimworlders are there."

She frowned, puzzled. "Grimworlders? That's just a legend."

"Of course it is, darlin'. But the Foundation associates fall into two groups that call themselves grimworlders and fairworlders. It's a sort of code." Rudi spun the lie easily with part of his thoughts, while trying to remember as much as he could of the slang of the grim world from his brief trips there. "If there's a grimworlder there, have him come to the talk-box, and tell him this: It's Swana, and you've got a tail."

"I have a tail. Like a cat or like a dog?" She looked amused.

"It doesn't matter. You have a tail, and you want to shake it."

"Oh, please."

"No, you need to remember this. You want to shake your tail, and you can't shake your tail. Can they help you shake your tail?"

"This is no joke?"

"No joke. It's the private code of the grimworlders. They'll understand and they'll tell you what to do. You understand?"

"Perfectly. But why do you not make the call? Why do we not go in together?"

"If we go in together, they follow us in and keep us under observation, so they'll know we're making a call instead of getting a beer or going to the water closet or something. If I go in and you don't, they might choose to grab you right off the sidewalk—it's you they're following, not me - and Doc will have me dragged behind horses across the length of the New World, and I'll have to take it because I did something stupid enough to deserve it."

"Oh."

So he waited under the beer hall's awning, exchanging false nods and smiles with patrons entering and leaving the place, and made a show of impatiently checking his pocket watch a couple of times. He couldn't spot the man in the yellow suit, but a young woman pushing a perambulator had stopped to admire glassware in a shop two doors down when Swana had entered the beer hall and hadn't yet moved on.

Rudi frowned over that. He didn't like the idea of their opponents using female agents that way. Then it occurred to him that the Sidhe Foundation was doing the same thing, and he liked it even less.

Swana emerged from the beer hall. He took her arm and they continued. "Well?"

"Zeb was there. He and Noriko had just gotten back." She looked surprised. "You were telling the truth. He understood and told me what to tell you."

"Which is what?"

"We're to walk by where our `convertible' usually is, and keep going, and there's going to be a `mugging.' "

Rudi smiled. "Oh, he knows what sorts of words I'm likely to learn, doesn't he?"

Zeb sat in the driver's seat of the roadster, one of two vehicles Ruadan had left the Foundation. Its cloth top was up, keeping him in deep shadow. Zeb's knuckles would have been pale on the wheel, for he was gripping it with inappropriate pressure, even though the vehicle was not moving—it was parked on the street only a few dozen paces from the entryway to the building where the Foundation had its rooms.

His knuckles were not visibly pale because they were within thin black gloves, the sort Noriko wore to keep from touching iron. His merry-hat was pulled low over his brow and a dark green scarf was wrapped around his neck and lower face. In the darkness—which is where he expected to meet the man tailing Rudi and Swana—he'd be almost invisible. That would help when, with the twin automatics he carried in his overcoat pockets, he mugged the man.

The thought almost made him laugh. Honest, upstanding, tediously ethical Zeb Watson. This morning he was pretending to be a two-fisted Jesse Owens; tonight he was going to perform his first mugging. But the thought was only so amusing, and the coat and gloves and hat were making him sweat heavily, and Rudi and Swana still weren't here. He was getting irritable and wondered if all muggers were as impatient as he was. He was also hoping Doc or the others would get home soon. Zeb and Noriko had left the Kobolde meeting early to get rest for their matches tomorrow; now it looked as though that early departure had earned him no relaxation at all.

Further up the street before him, under a streetlight whose bulb she had ruined with a thrown rock, Noriko would be waiting a few steps into the alley. She would watch as Rudi and Swana passed, then as their pursuer passed, then as Zeb passed, waiting long enough to make sure that Zeb himself had not picked up a tail—and eliminating that tail if he had. This whole caravan of pursued and pursuers would continue on another few blocks, until they reached a spot where it was dark enough for Zeb to feel more comfortable. There, he'd draw his guns, demand the tail hand over his wallet, and keep him pinned there long enough for Rudi and Swana to double back and elude further pursuit.

Simple, it was simple. None of which kept his hands from shaking.

A gold-and-black taxicab pulled up in front of the Foundation's building and idled there. Zeb watched it in the rearview mirror, in case Rudi had gone crazy and taken a cab here, but no one emerged from it. It was waiting for passengers, not delivering them.

Zeb brought up the end of his scarf and dabbed the sweat from his upper face. He and Noriko had taken Swana's call, improvised their plan, told Swana what to say to Rudi, gotten dressed, gotten situated, all very quickly—perhaps too quickly. His time sense thrown off by their haste and his accelerated heart rate, Zeb did not know whether five minutes or fifteen had passed since he'd first gotten behind the wheel.

Then, in the mirror, he spotted them. They were at the back of a stream of foot traffic, walking slowly enough that the other pedestrians passed them at a steady rate, Rudi still artificially graybearded and the false Teleri looking unhappy beside him. Harris had said that her unhappiness was an act, designed to draw attention, designed to persuade those who knew Teleri that she might not be with her companions of her own free will.

Zeb breathed a sigh of relief even as his heart rate accelerated further. Now this could end. It would only be minutes. He put his hand on the door lever.

As Rudi and Swana passed the entrance into the Foundation's building, two men stepped out of the entryway behind them. Both were tall by fairworld standards, dressed much as Zeb was except without scarves.

One hefted something black, like a short club, and brought it down on Rudi's head. The other brought up a large cloth sack and brought it down over Swana from above.

Zeb froze with his hand on the door handle. Rudi, his eyes rolling up in his head, began to fall backward, an action made slow by the sudden acceleration of Zeb's senses. Swana's captor was cinching the cloth bag tight around her waist; she struggled, a futile effort, and cried out.

The door to the taxi was already opening and a man emerging, and it was this last element that had caused Zeb to freeze. This newcomer was coming out of the rear door, meaning that there was at least one other man still in the taxi. And if Rudi and Swana were being followed on foot, that man was also still out there. Zeb could spring out and charge, but, though five or six-to-one odds might not deter him, the fact that any of his opponents might have guns, and that Rudi and Swana were in the possible line of fire, did.

Swana's captor picked her up by the waist and hustled her into the taxi. Her legs kicked. The two other men bent over Rudi, looking at his face, and then moved so that one stood at his head, the other at his feet.

Zeb swore, then started his car. He slipped forward, half his attention on the action he was watching in the side mirror, half on the dark building wall and unseen alley ahead.

The kidnappers gave Zeb a few moments by putting Rudi in the trunk. First they put him down behind the taxi, then got the trunk open, then spent some time hoisting him in and doing something Zeb couldn't see, their actions hidden by the upraised trunk lid.

Zeb pulled to a halt beside the alley mouth. "Get in, get in!" he called, though he could not see Noriko. "It's blown, we're screwed."

A human-sized shadow detached itself from the blackness of the alley mouth and Noriko slipped into the back seat. Like him, she was dressed all in dark garments, in her case a silken pantsuit in black and a black scarf binding up her hair and throwing her features into deeper shadow. "What happened?"

The taxi raced past them, the growl of its engine made more distinctive by a mechanical clatter—bad lifters, Zeb thought. "They're in that car." He set his roadster into motion, pulling out behind the taxi.

"Drop back," Noriko said. She slid over the seat back to settle into the seat beside Zeb. "We don't need them to realize they're being followed. What happened?"

Zeb told her, meanwhile following her directions to fall farther back, to allow other vehicles to come between him and the taxi.

"Do you see their taillights?" she said. "One large single taillight on either side, oval instead of circular. Very distinctive, a late-model Alpenhaus. We don't see many of those in the League of Ardree. Plus the light on top is not glowing, indicating they have a fare. We've little chance of losing them, Zeb."

"Is there anything about vehicles you don't know?"

"I hope not."

In spite of Zeb's fears that they'd be stopped by Bardulfburg police just for being two duskies driving an expensive car, they were able to tail the taxi for a considerable distance. Their path led them around to the southeast, along back streets. These were narrow, twisting roads built between long blocks of brick tenements and were little trafficked by cars. Illumination here was poor, streetlights being infrequent and often burned out when they were present.

"They're trying to determine if they're being followed," Noriko said.

"That's not good. Because they are."

"Turn your lights off."

"I don't think so, Noriko. Too much foot traffic on these streets." Indeed, residents of the district were as common on the bricktop street as they were on the sidewalks, moving aside only grudgingly as vehicles passed.

"I will do it, then. Switch places."

"If we stop long enough to trade places, as often as they're taking turns, we'll lose them."

"Don't stop, then. Just switch places."

"Are you—never mind." She was crazy, of course, else she'd never be in this business. But she was right.

He waited until the street ahead was straight for a while and clear of foot traffic. "Ready." Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he slid leftward on the seat, into the middle.

Noriko brushed across him. Having to maneuver around the steering wheel forced her to settle into his lap; then she slid into the seat to his right, her legs draped across his. She took the wheel and dragged her legs across his, getting her feet into position beside the pedals.

He slid into the passenger seat, suddenly made aware, acutely aware, of her physical presence. Focus, idiot, he told himself. Now is not the time to be distracted. 

Noriko switched off the car's headlights and accelerated, trying to close the gap between vehicles. Zeb grabbed the dashboard and wished that more of the damned cars of this world had seat belts. He couldn't see a thing on the road ahead beyond about thirty feet, and at the speed they were going couldn't have reacted to seeing something before hitting it. But Noriko seemed to have excellent night vision, and the fact that she swerved all over the road and occasionally tapped her horn to warn pedestrians ahead meant that she was seeing them in time to avoid them.

They took a half dozen more turns over the next half mile, during which time Zeb had to remind himself on several occasions to breathe, and then turned onto a major thoroughfare. Situating herself three cars behind the taxi, Noriko turned the headlights on again.

"Please, God, let them stay to the main roads from now on," Zeb said. His voice sounded weak. As they passed a streetlight, he caught sight of Noriko's face; her eyes were hidden by the scarf she wore, but she seemed to be smiling.

They made one more turn, leftward onto a street that was two lanes in each direction, and almost immediately passed entrances into what seemed to be a gravel-topped parking lot. Beyond it were long single-story buildings, people leaving taxis and other autos, many of them carrying luggage, to join lines leading to what looked like ticket windows.

Through the gaps between buildings, Zeb could see trains beyond—what looked to him like passenger cars, mostly. "Railyards," he said.

"We are in trouble," Noriko said.

Zeb returned his attention to the taxi. It had just turned right into a narrow bricktopped lane. It ran to what looked like a small guard station. There, guards dressed in the uniforms of Weserian soldiers flanked a barricade. One of the guards was already advancing to speak to the taxi's driver.

"We are so screwed," Zeb said.

"There is no place to park."

"Pull past that lane and slow down." Zeb clambered into the back seat and slid to the right-hand door, immediately behind Noriko. "I'll follow on foot. Follow when you can. I'll try to leave a sign for you."

"Chalk."

"Chalk?"

"Chalk." She reached over her shoulder, handing him a long piece of white chalk. Now dozens of yards past the turn the taxi had taken, she began to decelerate.

"Look for a peace sign."

"A what?"

"Uh, like an upside-down fork in a circle." He pocketed the chalk, then opened the door and jumped out.

The car was still doing nearly twenty miles an hour—he stumbled, nearly falling, then ran up to the sidewalk. People heading on foot toward the train station, luggage in hand, gave him a curious look. He dipped his hat so they couldn't see his eyes.

A fence—man-height, with spikes on top, of corroded green metal bars and with bushes equally tall planted behind it—ran the length of the sidewalk, all the way back to where the taxi had turned in, and forward as far as he could see. He cursed. It had to block public access to the entire rail yard, excepting only normal—guarded—entrances.

Well, by God, he was a Sonneheim Games athlete with something to do. He increased his running pace and jumped up, grabbing the rough bars, getting his foot on the horizontal bar about five feet up, and swung up and over the spikes. As he came down, he felt something yank at the back of his coat, heard and felt it tear—one of the coattails had to have caught on a spike. He rolled across the top of the bush, its thickness slowing his fall, and then dropped into empty air behind. But he landed on soft earth just on the other side of the bush. He came out of his crouch and sprinted into the darkness ahead of him.