The Pathfinder Tales Library

Novels

Prince of Wolves by Dave Gross
Winter Witch by Elaine Cunningham
Plague of Shadows by Howard Andrew Jones
The Worldwound Gambit by Robin D. Laws
Master of Devils by Dave Gross
Death's Heretic by James L. Sutter
Song of the Serpent by Hugh Mattews
City of the Fallen Sky by Tim Pratt
Nightglass by Liane Merciel
Blood of the City by Robin D. Laws

Journals

The Compass Stone: The Collected Journals of Eando Kline edited by James L. Sutter
Hell's Pawns by Dave Gross
Dark Tapestry by Elaine Cunnningham
Prodigal Sons edited by James L. Sutter
Plague of Light by Robin D. Laws
Guilty Blood by F. Wesley Schneider
Husks by Dave Gross

Short Stories

"The Lost Pathfinder" by Dave Gross
"Certainty" by Liane Merciel
"The Swamp Warden" by Amber E. Scott
"Noble Sacrifice" by Richard Ford
"Blood Crimes" by J. C. Hay
"The Secret of the Rose and Glove by Kevin Andrew Murphy
"Lord of Penance" by Richard Lee Byers
"Guns of Alkenstar" by Ed Greenwod
"The Ghosts of Broken Blades" by Monte Cook
"The Walkers from the Crypt" by Howard Andrew Jones
"A Lesson in Taxonomy" by Dave Gross
"The Illusionist" by Elaine Cunningham
"Two Pieces of Tarnished Silver by Erik Mona
"The Ironroot Deception" by Robin D. Laws
"Plow and Sword" by Robert E. Vardeman
"A Passage to Absalom" by Dave Gross
"The Seventh Execution" by Amber E. Scott
"The Box" by Bill Ward
"Blood and Money by Steven Savile
"Faithful Servants" by James L. Sutter
"Fingers of Death—No, Doom!" by Lucien Soulban
"The Perfumer's Apprentice" by Kevin Andrew Murphy
"Krunzle the Quick" by Hugh Matthews
"Mother Bears" by Wendy N. Wagner
"Hell or High Water" by Ari Marmell

"Husks" © 2012 by Paizo Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or conveyed via the Internet or a website without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles and reviews.

Paizo Publishing, LLC, the Paizo golem logo, and Pathfinder are registered trademarks of Paizo Publishing, LLC; Pathfinder Roleplaying Game, Pathfinder Campaign Setting, and Pathfinder Tales are trademarks of Paizo Publishing, LLC.

Story by Dave Gross.
Cover art by Doug Stambaugh.
Interior art by Doug Stambaugh.

Paizo Publishing, LLC
7120 185th Ave NE, Ste 120
Redmond, WA 98052
paizo.com

ISBN 978-1-60125-485-6

Originally published in Pathfinder Adventure Path #49-#54.

Chapter One: The Flayed Man

My first look at the other side of the world was of a girl kneeling beside a corpse.

They were just outside the conjuring circle we'd appeared inside. The boss and I turned back to back, scanning the room for movement as our eyes adjusted after the white flash of teleportation. The boss drew his sword. The big knife was already in my hand. Beside us, Arnisant tensed but remained silent. In just a few months, the boss had him trained well. Better than me, he liked to say. Funny guy, the boss.

A closed sliding panel door was the only exit. Except for the flicker of light from huge candles in each corner, nothing stirred.

The boss went to the corpse. I went to the girl.

That's pretty much the difference between us.

The dead guy had to be our host, a Pathfinder named Yamana Hisao. I figured the girl for his daughter or a servant.

"Come here, kid." She looked up, and I realized she was not a child but a tiny young woman. When she saw my face, she said a few quick foreign words.

"Help me out here, boss."

"Hm?" One of his hands came away bloody from the corpse. "Of course."

He plucked a riffle scroll from one of the little holsters on his belt and thumbed a spell at me. My nose tickled. I suppressed a sneeze until the feeling passed.

"You all right, miss?"

"I am unharmed." Her words were perfectly understandable with the spell on my tongue.

"What's your name?"

She glanced back down at the corpse until I took her hands and pulled her up. In this light I should have passed for human, but she shuddered at my touch. "I am Kazuko, Yamana's housekeeper."

Her eyes and hair were black. Her skin was the color of seashells except for her flushed cheeks. The top of her head barely reached my chin, which made her tiny compared to Chelish women.

"Well, Kazuko, you're safe now. I'm Radovan. This is the count. He's good at sorting out this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?"

"Mysteries."

Count Varian Jeggare was half a head taller than me and slim as a rapier. Like me, he was not fully human, but his half-elven ancestry made the girls flutter, not flinch. If he had half my charm and rugged good looks, he'd be a lady-killer.

The boss returned the corpse to its original position, slumped facedown over its left arm. He tugged a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped the blood from his fingers.

"Is there anyone else in the house?" he asked Kazuko. He didn't need a spell to communicate. The boss collected languages the way he collected books.

"No, honorable sir."

"Wait here," he said. "Come, Arnisant." The hound took his place just behind his master's left heel. The boss plucked another riffle scroll from his belt and stepped out of the room.

I showed Kazuko the little smile. "How long you been keeping house for Yamana?"

She kept her eyes on the floor. "Almost ten months. I assisted his former housekeeper while she was with child. Since she gave birth, I have worked alone."

"You live here?"

"No," she said. "Usually I am home at this hour, but tonight Master Yamana asked me to attend his guests."

"That'd be us. He good to work for?"

"Yamana was kind and generous to all of his servants."

"You can't think of anyone who'd want to hurt him?"

Kazuko considered the question. "Yamana had no enemies."

She seemed more shy than evasive, but her eyes told me she understood I was interrogating her.

"What do you know about Pathfinders?"

"Yamana was one, but he no longer traveled. Sometimes he provided information for colleagues visiting Oda. He bought this house from a fellow conjurer and maintained this room as a place where Pathfinders could transport their colleagues from distant lands."

That information jibed with what little I knew of Yamana and our reason for being here. We'd left Absalom in a hurry after the Decemvirate, the boss's bosses, had summoned him to some secret meeting. Whatever they'd discussed, it made him mad as hell. When he's irritated, he complains for hours. When he's furious, his lips turn white and he speaks in ordinary sentences instead of his usual floral arrangements.

The boss had sent me to fetch supplies before returning to the Pathfinder headquarters in Absalom. It was all high ceilings and arches until we arrived at the summoning chamber, a hollow granite cube. There, a tall masked man—at least, I think it was a man under all those robes—stared daggers at the boss until a portly woman arrived to cast the spell that sent us here.

Loud voices outside interrupted my reverie. The law had arrived.

Kazuko led me through a few chambers of wooden frames and paper windows. The boss and Arnisant joined us at the front door, and together we stepped out into a garden lit only by the waxing moon. The Decemvirate's conjurer had teleported us from Absalom in the middle of the afternoon, but here on the other side of the world it was past midnight. Thinking how far we'd traveled and whether we'd gone across Golarion, through it, or neither made me dizzy. I put it out of my mind.

Outside the gate stood three men, two tidy guards and their shabby-looking commander. The tallest of them was still an inch or two shorter than me. The guards stiffened at the sight of Arnisant.

The commander made a short bow. His men bowed a couple inches deeper.

The boss murmured in Taldane, "Return the gesture. Lower than the leader, but higher than his men."

I did that, but the boss himself barely nodded. The commander noticed the pecking order and accepted it as his cue.

"Takeda Yoshio of the eleventh precinct of Oda city, inspector second class."

Kazuko is cute as a bug, but that won't protect her if the killers decide to take out the only witness.

"Count Varian Jeggare of Imperial Cheliax, venture-captain of the Pathfinder Society, and invited guest of my late colleague, the honorable Yamana Hisao."

Takeda bowed again, this time slightly lower. His men did the same, but their eyes flicked between Arnisant and me. I tipped them a wink to give them something to think about.

Kazuko led us back into the house. At the threshold, one of Takeda's men pulled a face as the hound followed. All three constables looked at me like I should do something about it. The boss noticed the exchange and gave me a discreet Pathfinder hand sign. I showed Arnisant an obvious signal for "stay," and he did.

The wolfhound was born in Ustalav, where the people love dogs, even giving them the run of the streets in some towns. In Greengold we couldn't bring him inside a tavern, and in Absalom we tried four inns before we found one where the hound could sleep at the foot of the boss's bed. When we presented ourselves to the Decemvirate, the boss told me that Arnisant had to appear to be my dog rather than his, lest someone among the Decemvirate consider the count unclean.

They paused at the entrance to take off their shoes. Kazuko's were a pair of wooden clogs that looked uncomfortable, while the men's were thick-soled slippers. I looked to the boss. He removed his fancy buckled shoes. I took off my black leather kickers.

At the scene of the crime, Takeda took one look at the summoning circle and a longer one at me. He didn't like the hint of Hell in my eyes.

He didn't make such a good first impression either. Even from a few feet away, Takeda smelled like a man who hadn't been home for a couple of days. He'd shaved the top of his head and tied his hair back in a sloppy queue. His robe needed mending here and there. The zinnia leaves printed on its fabric had faded. Unlike his men, who wore two swords in their sashes, he had only a single short blade.

The boss stayed back as Takeda examined the body. Kazuko stood two steps behind the count, meek as a mouse. Despite her timid demeanor, she didn't look away as the constables turned over the body and peeled away the bloody robes.

Someone had skinned Yamana's left arm with a sharp knife. The edges were perfect at shoulder and wrist. There were no other obvious wounds, but Yamana's face was all twisted up. His open eyes peered down and to the left. I got the idea that those who'd flayed him made him watch.

Takeda stepped back and pinched his lower lip. I caught one of his men smiling at the other. They'd seen that reaction before. The smile vanished the moment the man saw me looking.

"Please do me the honor of answering a few questions," said Takeda. He asked the obvious things.

The boss didn't go into detail about our mission in Oda. When he admitted that he had touched Yamana's body, Takeda asked why.

"To ascertain whether his life was beyond saving," said the count. "And to uncover any clues the killers left behind."

"You say 'killers,'" said Takeda. His tone wasn't sly, but I figured it was a trap. The boss didn't step into it.

"There were at least three assailants. No fewer than two to restrain Yamana, and one to flay the tattoo from his arm."

"What makes you think he had a tattoo?"

"Look here." He turned one of his rings around and cupped his palm. He stroked the diamond with his thumb, triggering a bright light. He shone it on Yamana's face.

"Observe the marks on either side of the mouth and these thread fragments in the teeth. They indicate that Yamana was gagged with a red cloth. Finding no such cloth here, I postulate that the killers took it away. Also note this ligature around the throat. It trends upward across the outer jawbone. At this angle, the garrote would not have caused asphyxiation. Thus it is probable that Yamana was not strangled but constrained by someone standing behind him. That person stands five or six inches taller than Yamana, whose height I estimate as five feet five inches."

I watched the faces of the locals while the boss did his thing. Their skepticism gradually relaxed as the boss listed a dozen details they had overlooked.

It had been a long time since I'd heard him go at it with such confidence, but he was back in fighting trim after our expedition in Ustalav. All it took was some distance from court, from his peers—and, most of all, from his wine cellar.

"Here at the wrist you will note a ligature similar to the one around the neck. The bruise on the back of the hand indicates a knot in the cloth. I expect a man, another strong one, held Yamana's arm stretched out from his body—a position consistent with the copious blood spatter on the floor—as a third party cut away the tattoo."

"But how, honorable count, do you know there was a tattoo?" Takeda's polite tone kept the question just short of an accusation.

The boss has a knack for keeping a straight face when he's showing off. "The presence of a tattoo is suggested by the particular course of the flaying implement. See here in the exposed muscles the deeper incision along the inner arm? It is an irregular but not random path, suggesting that those removing the skin wished to cut around the borders of a pattern, in this case a sinuous line. Perhaps Yamana had a snake or dragon tattooed on his arm."

Takeda rubbed the back of his neck and smiled. "Your observations are most keen, honorable count."

"How many previous victims have you found?"

Takeda blinked.

The count was too polite to explain what I'd already sussed out: the inspector had obviously been without a bath for days, too busy on the case to go home.

"Yamana is the third such victim."

"Since you are the investigating official, may I assume all of the murders have occurred within the eleventh precinct?

"The second victim was found within the twelfth, but I retain jurisdiction."

"When did they begin?"

"We found the first victim two nights ago, another last night."

"And the others were flayed in areas other than the left arm, yes?"

Takeda smiled his appreciation. Back in Cheliax, the boss had trouble with officials afraid he was out to steal their glory. This guy seemed more concerned about getting the job done. "Right and left legs.

"And the subjects of the missing tattoos?"

"A tengu and a yeti."

"Miss Kazuko, can you tell us what your master had tattooed on his arm?"

I was looking at her when the count asked the question, so I saw her shock at the question. "I was my master's housekeeper only."

"Did he have a wife?"

"My master's wife died seven years ago."

"A concubine?"

"No."

"A body servant?"

She shook her head.

The count returned his attention to the inspector. "Have you compiled a list of the city's tattoo artists?"

Takeda gestured, and one of his men presented a scroll.

"There are more than one hundred such persons in Oda," said Takeda. "With our meager resources already stretched thin, we have only begun to inquire."

"You may find it useful to prioritize the interrogations by neighborhood," said the boss. He scanned the list of names. "If I may be so bold as to offer a suggestion..."

"Please, honorable count, be so bold."

"First question those tattoo artists who work in proximity to the victims. It will be helpful to annotate a map."

Takeda dispatched one of his men to summon a stretcher for Yamana and to return with a map. The other he set to guarding the gate. When they were gone, he straightened his robes and bowed low toward the count.

"How else would you advise me, honorable Count Jeggare?"

The boss returned the bow, lower than before, but still not as low as Takeda. "Forgive my manner, Inspector Takeda. I mean no disrespect to the efforts you and your men have undertaken. It is all too easy for an armchair investigator like me to dispense opinion after the hard work of dutiful men."

Yamana accepted the compliment with a bow. They did it again. I'd never seen so much bowing before, and I'm from Cheliax.

"You are too kind, honorable count."

They compared bows again, so I sidled over to whisper to Kazuko.

"What's a tengu?"

"A bird spirit," she said. "Half man, half raven. They are thieves and cutthroats."

"Shapeshifters, is it? We've dealt with their kind before."

Kazuko shot me a skeptical look. "You have never been to Minkai, have you?"

I shrugged.

"Tengus do not change shape. They are always half men, like—" She covered her mouth, but I saw the smile.

Go on, I thought. Say, "Half men like you and your boss."

She didn't. The boss and Takeda weren't the only polite ones in the room. I'd heard enough about tengus.

"What's a yeti?"

∗ ∗ ∗

Half an hour later, more guards arrived to remove Yamada's body. As they departed, I caught the names of the first two men, Shiro and Osamu. They followed Takeda and the boss as they inspected the grounds and house. I followed them, just in case my Hell-touched vision picked up something the boss's elven eyes missed. No chance of that with the moon all fat and bright. In the dark, I'm the one you want searching for that coin you dropped. In the moonlight, the boss is your man.

We left Arnisant to stand sentinel in the yard. If anything bigger than a squirrel put its head over the wall, he'd let us know. I sat in the kitchen with Kazuko as she boiled water for tea. It was ready by the time the other men returned. They accepted the porcelain cups without looking at her.

When it was my turn—last, of course—I nodded over the cup to thank Kazuko. She blushed and looked away. She'd come around.

The boss and Takeda consulted the list of tattoo artists, marking their locations on the map. Comparing them with the sites of the murders, they narrowed the list to nine.

"It is possible that the murdered men went to an artist outside of their district," said Takeda. "That is assuming they received their tattoos from the same source." His voice was weary, like he was all too used to running down dead leads.

"Indeed," said the count. "Yet when time is of the essence, we must explore the probable before the merely possible."

Takeda nodded agreement. "Here." He pointed to one of the marks indicating a tattoo shop. "This is the Felicitous Moon. Its owner is known throughout the city for the quality of his work."

"Is his price high?"

Takeda nodded.

"Yamada was a man of substantial means. What of the other victims?"

"Both were wealthy."

"And yet there was no evidence of theft at any of the murder scenes?"

Takeda shook his head. "The absence of other robbery convinced me the thieves are after the tattoos alone."

"The people of Oda are fortunate to have such a man as you investigating this crime."

Takeda bowed. "If you and your man do not have pressing business elsewhere, perhaps you would be so good as to accompany me to the Felicitous Moon. I would be grateful if you would offer your advice as we proceed with the investigation."

They weren't fooling me with this little pantomime, but Takeda's men looked impressed. They stood a little straighter, proud in the reflected glory of the boss's compliment. I'd have bet a fat purse that the boss and Takeda arranged this mummery while the guards were busy elsewhere. Or maybe guys like them just knew when to put on the show.

While the boss protested that we would only be in the way—a ruse even Shiro and Osamu saw through—I watched Kazuko. She had become still once she saw that we were about to leave her there alone.

"Want me to walk her home?" I asked the boss. Only then did I realize the problem: I didn't know the way to this tattoo shop. It would have to be one of Takeda's men.

He considered the question for a moment before addressing Takeda. "Were there witnesses to the previous murders?"

Takeda pinched his lower lip. "I take your meaning." He looked at his men, and I could see each of them trying to make himself less conspicuous than his partner. "I need at least one of my men to maintain this site."

"Please do not trouble yourselves," said Kazuko.

"No," said Takeda. "It is best you remain with us until I can assign protectors to watch over you."

Kazuko accepted his decision by lowering her gaze.

"We shall await you outside the gate," said the boss.

Beyond Yamada's garden was a narrow lane bordered on one side by high brick walls, on the other by a row of single-story houses. The moonlight turned the roof tiles blue, but I could barely see past the flared edges. I looked straight up, and Desna smiled on me. There was her Stair of Stars. My gaze climbed it to Cynosure, the pole star, and I got my bearings.

To the north the alley disappeared into darkness, although I could make out a cat prowling east to west at the end. To the south was a wider street full of narrow townhouses.

"Questions?" asked the boss. He likes to quiz me during a case, to see how well I'm keeping up.

"I'm good," I said. "You want to know what a yeti is?"

Takeda clearly has the respect of his men—and for good reason.

He started to answer before realizing I was having a joke.

"This is not the time for levity," he said. "Our only contact is dead, and there is no sign of the pearl in his house."

"The pearl?"

"It is the pleasure of my... superiors," he nearly choked on the word, "that we recover a rare magical pearl. Or rather, the husk of a pearl that once held a powerful magic, now expended."

"What for?"

"It was deemed unnecessary to supply us with the details."

"Huh," I said. "I guess you pissed off some high mucky-muck in your little club."

He glowered. "Not the time for levity."

"Got it."

"What is your impression of Takeda?"

"I like him. He doesn't seem too crafty, but he's smart. He's tired, but it doesn't make him irritable. His men look to him."

The boss nodded. He often already knows my opinion, but he likes to hear it all the same. He grew up in a high tower, me in the gutter. We see things from different angles, and he likes to compare the difference when there is one. He calls it "triangulating."

"Did you notice his wakizashi?"

The spell that let me understand the local lingo also let me know that word meant the shorter of the two blades the other men wore. "Yeah, he doesn't have the long one. Maybe he lost it in a bet."

"No, the katana is not only a weapon but a sign of station. Takeda and his men are samurai, knights."

"Knights lose at dice."

"Samurai do not lose their katanas."

"Maybe he likes fighting close-up." That's another difference between the boss and me. He fights at the end of a long blade. I like the personal touch.

"What of the housekeeper?"

"Kazuko? She's cute as a bug. I think she likes me."

He sighed. "I mean, what is your impression of her testimony?"

I knew what he meant. "She seems straight enough. Scared, but not so much that I figure she's putting it on."

"She left the house to summon the constabulary," said the boss. "Upon finding her employer dead, she could have removed the pearl to a hiding place."

"In that case, why did she come back?"

He shot me a disappointed look, but I got it. "Sure, sure, to throw us off the scent. But what would a servant girl need with some magic—or formerly magic—pearl? You'd expect her to steal something she could use or fence."

The boss, like his peers, tends to suspect the servants first.

A sound on the nearest roof alerted me to the intruder. The boss heard it too, but before his hand could touch his sword, I whipped him around against the wall, under the sheltering eaves.

That move made me his shield against the second attacker, the one we hadn't heard. Metal struck divots in the bricks to either side of me. Three solid blows hit me in the neck and shoulder. I glimpsed one of them out of the corner of my vision.

It was a throwing star the size of a biscuit.

Arnisant barked to wake the moon.

The boss dipped low and stepped to his right. A riffle scroll in his hand came alive, shooting a beam of white flame under my arm and across the alley. It struck a figure crouching on the opposite wall. The fire lit up his black clothes and washed over his leather mask.

There was something eerie about that mask. Its surface was irregular but all black. I couldn't make out the details.

His target marked, Arnisant leaped at our attacker. The wolfhound was big enough to put his paws on my shoulders and look down at me. His jaws snapped at the man's hands. Startled, the masked man fell back behind the wall, slapping at the flames.

The big knife was in my hand, a pair of throwing knives in the other. I turned my back on the boss and scanned the wall for any other movement. Seeing none, I whirled diagonally away to have a look at the roof. Two more figures knelt there.

One fired a little bow. I swept out my arm to deflect an arrow, but instead a hard lead ball deadened my wrist. I lost the big knife.

The second figure flung more stars. One tugged at my jacket as it passed through the leather.

"Ninja!" yelled Shiro. Through the boss's spell, I understood the word to mean "spy," "assassin," and something more than either of those words. Shiro and Osamu rushed out of Yamada's yard, each drawing his katana. Behind them, Takeda pushed Kazuko behind the shelter of the gate and raised his wakizashi over his head.

His sword drawn and a riffle scroll in his other hand, the boss moved toward me, but I waved him back.

I flicked my knives at the archer. One hit, but I saw the other wink in the moonlight as it flew past. The hit didn't drop the man, but it spoiled his aim. Shiro cursed as another lead shot cracked off the pavement at his feet.

Osamu fumbled with a whistle he wore on a string around his neck, but by the time the shrill note woke the neighborhood, the assassins were gone. We withdrew to Yamada's yard and stood near the gate. Arnisant followed close behind. He coughed up a pair of black-gloved fingers. I kicked them away before he could gobble them up again.

The boss opened my jacket and eased a ragged dart out of my neck. It hurt worse coming out than it had going in. He examined the star and took a whiff of it.

"Not poisoned," he said, sniffing again. "Probably."

"Terrific."

More constables' whistles answered Shiro's call. Judging from the sound, they were close.

I shrugged off my jacket to let the boss remove the other darts without spoiling the leather. Kazuko tore strips off her hem to bandage me.

"You don't have to," I said, but it was too late. And it was a good thing she'd done it, because my bleeding was, as the boss might say, copious.

The count gave me a crystal flask the size of my thumb. It was one of the healing potions he'd had me buy in Absalom.

"You sure?" I knew how much they'd cost.

"Drink it," he said. "And pray we do not need them all before this night is through."

Chapter Two: The Felicitous Moon

As we left our contact's house, I realized how bad it was that Yamana Hisao was dead. The Pathfinders in Absalom sent us to the Minkai conjurer so he could teleport us back after we'd fetched his magic pearl.

I whispered to the boss, "Who's going to send us back to Absalom?" His lips tightened, but he didn't say anything.

We were screwed.

I rubbed the back of my neck and shoulder where the throwing stars had hit me. The wounds had shrunk to chubby little scars, but I felt the tender bruises underneath. After giving me the healing potion, the boss suggested lighting me up would have had the same effect.

The boss once saved my life by dropping a fireball on me to incinerate a swarm of undead. Not only didn't the spell kill me, but it healed my broken back. The problem is that enough fire burns away my good looks and cool temper.

All things being equal, I'd rather drink a potion.

We hustled down the hill to the lower districts of Oda. Along every third or fourth street, yellow lamps bobbed ahead of the watchmen's shadows. Cresting the hill, we saw the ocean half a mile away, the water a black mirror to the sky, the stars winking at their reflections. The shore was brighter still, with hundreds of lanterns forming constellations on the land.

"There lies the thirteenth district, the Seahorse." Inspector Takeda paused to gesture at the bright area. A strip of land curled out into the ocean, fading into a coiling sandbar exposed by the retreating tide. Black piers jutted from the beach, where hundreds of fishing boats lay on the sand.

"Where is the tattoo shop?" asked the boss.

Takeda indicated a spot halfway along the slope between us and the Seahorse. He set a brisk pace. The boss, Arnisant, and I had no trouble matching his speed, but I worried about Kazuko. The housekeeper's wooden clogs sounded like a drum roll on the pavestones. She managed to stay exactly eight steps behind the inspector. She'd hitched up her robes, revealing a couple of inches of skin above those cute little toe-socks. She saw me looking, and I threw her the little smile. She returned her gaze to the street.

Takeda's men Shiro and Osamu watched our backs in case the ninja came back for another go. They'd acted spooked ever since the attack. Despite their identical clothes and haircuts, the constables didn't look much alike. Osamu was ten years older, with a scar on his lip over a missing tooth. The way they held their swords steady as they jogged reminded me of what the boss had said about Takeda's missing katana. If it was such an important symbol of his samurai status, I had to agree that it was weird he didn't have one.

Since Takeda's boys had our backs, I kept an eye on the rooftops. The only prowlers I spied were a couple of cats. A mangy orange tom hissed at Arnisant. The wolfhound ignored the challenge, so I hissed back for him. The cat yowled at the sight of my teeth.

Most of the single-story houses were wood with paper windows, but every third building had a stone wall between it and its neighbor. I didn't need the boss to explain why. Back in Egorian, letting your house burn down earns you a beggaring fine. The penalty grows worse with every neighboring home destroyed. After three or four, you end up on the tines.

Takeda rounded a corner and slowed. The row houses gave way to shops. The boss's spell let me speak and understand the local lingo, but I couldn't read the signs. Even so, I knew our destination as soon as I saw the crescent moon sign tattooed with the images of a fancy dragon and unicorn. The Felicitous Moon.

Takeda banged on the door, calling up to the second-floor balcony. "Wake up! Wake up! By the authority of Lord Koga, I command you to open the door."

He kept up the racket, but no one called down. I didn't see any lights on the other side of the closed windows.

Takeda pulled the latch, but the door was locked tight. He glanced at Osamu, who bowed and ran around to the back. Takeda banged on the door and repeated his commands. From the other side of the row houses, Osamu called out, "Locked!"

Takeda frowned. "Perhaps Ichisada spends the night elsewhere. We shall move on to the next tattoo shop and return here tomorrow."

The boss raised his head and inhaled through his nose. He moved closer to the door and sniffed again. Half-elves are known for sharp hearing, but the boss's nose is at least as keen as his ears. I couldn't smell anything but the faint odors of charcoal and roast pork. Arnisant's stomach rumbled. Ropes of saliva dribbled from his jaws. The drooling was the wolfhound's one really unattractive trait.

"Inspector," said the boss. "I suspect we shall find Ichisada inside, yet unable to answer his door."

Takeda turned to Shiro. "Fetch a locksmith."

"There is no need for such a delay," said the boss. He gestured to me. "With your permission..."

Takeda hesitated a moment before nodding. I slipped a feeler and the snake rake from my sleeve. Tipping a wink to Kazuko, who stood behind Takeda, all cute and demure, I knelt before the door.

"Radovan once worked as a locksmith," the boss said.

It wasn't exactly a lie. Anyway, Takeda didn't complain.

The boss twisted his ring to produce a bright light in the cup of his hand. He held it over the lock to give me a better view. I didn't need it to pick the lock, but it never hurts. I can't see colors in the dark, and it's good to be able to spot the indigo stain of black lotus extract or the sheen of sassone leaf residue.

The keyhole didn't look much different from those back home. There was no cover, and the cylinder was nice and roomy. I ran the feeler inside and counted four pins. The shear line was too ragged to rake open, but it wouldn't take long to crack the hard way. I lay down the tools, slipped a half-diamond pick and torsion wrench from my boot.

As I trapped the first pin, I felt a little more spring than I expected. A funny feeling tickled in my gut.

"Step back a bit, will you, boss?"

He moved away, still holding up his palm to light the door.

So this is what was worth torturing a man to death for.

The trap slit was in the first place I looked, half an inch from the surface in the doorframe to my right. I looked up, left, and back down, checking for others. The boss realized what I was doing and followed my gaze with his light. We did it again to be sure. Then he held the light to the side, illuminating the slit. Inside I saw the razor edge of a spring-bound blade. Sure enough, it glistened with a ruddy paste. I didn't recognize the stuff. The hairs on the back of my neck rose.

"Give me the small and medium hooks," I said, still holding the first pin half-triggered. "Upper left sleeve, inside."

The boss had to search for a second, since it was a new jacket, but he got the picks without jostling me. He popped them in my mouth like a pair of slim cigars. Careful, I offered him the torsion wrench and half-diamond. He held them steady, and I let go.

"What is it?" Osamu panted after his sprint back from the rear. Shiro shushed him.

I ignored the junior constables and turned my attention to the trap. I probed with the hooks until I found a couple of narrow wedge points. I wiggled the hooks until they were nice and tight before taking the lock picks back from the boss.

The rest was easy, except for the tense second when I triggered the lock. The door swung open an inch, and the hooks trembled as they held the blade trap in place. Behind me, Shiro and Osamu sighed in relief.

Takeda stepped forward to push open the door, but the boss stopped him. "A moment more, Inspector. To be safe."

What he meant was I should go first. After all, I'm the bodyguard.

I checked the door for tripwires or any other surprises. Finding none, I pushed it open and peered around.

Inside was a tiny lobby. Dozens of scrolls hung on the walls, each depicting a tattoo design: demons, courtesans, soldiers, swords, tigers, snakes, sharks, octopuses, falcons, ogres, phoenixes, unicorns, dragons—lots of dragons. Thick straw mats covered the floor. To one side lay a clutter of empty cabinet drawers. Torn books, scrolls, and single pages formed a mound on top of them.

I crept over and pushed aside a curtain to see into the next room. It took me a few seconds to speak after seeing the source of the odor we'd detected. It wasn't pork.

"I think this is our guy."

I stepped inside, making room for the others to follow. Takeda was first. He blanched at the sight of the naked body suspended by chains at eye level. Steel hooks pierced its flesh at the ankles, thighs, wrists, and arms, as well as four points on the back. It hung facedown, its head bowed over a brazier.

Whoever it was that tortured him left a couple of cooking skewers in his body. Half his flesh had been peeled away. What remained was a horror of black and red burns. I knew at once the poor bastard had been a long time dying.

The boss plucked a scented handkerchief from his sleeve and put it to his nose. Beside him, Arnisant snuffled at a dark stain on the floor.

Shiro gagged. Osamu caught Kazuko by the shoulders and turned her back toward the other room before she got a good look.

"We are too late!" blurted Shiro. "It is just like the murder of Yamana."

"No," said the boss. "This crime is entirely different."

Shiro jutted his jaw in a way that said he wanted an explanation. He had to wait while the boss continued his examination.

No one had stolen this guy's skin. The pieces they cut from him lay cracked and curled in the ashes beneath his charred face. I put a finger on the brazier. It was cool. From that and the decay of the body, I reckoned he'd been dead a couple or three days.

While the boss inspected the corpse, I followed Arnisant around the room. More tattoo patterns decorated the walls. Someone had pushed a padded table against the wall to make room for the torture. Three more cabinets stood with their empty mouths gaping, drawers pulled out and smashed. Broken jars littered the floor in pools of green, purple, and yellow dye.

Arnisant nosed a bit of Ichisada's skin that had escaped the brazier. I snatched it away. First the fingers, now this. The last thing I wanted was the hundred-and-sixty-pound wolfhound getting a taste for human.

The scrap of flesh was round as a coin, about two inches wide with a zinnia tattoo. Once I had the nasty little morsel in hand, I didn't know what to do with it. I didn't want it in my pocket, and Arnisant was taller than the table, so it was no use putting it there. I laid it on Ichisada's shoulder, tattoo-side up.

The scrap caught the boss's attention. He peered at it a few seconds before continuing his circuit of the room.

Takeda sent his men through the rest of the house, cautioning them not to disturb any evidence. The inspector stayed behind, watching the boss.

Since Arnisant was nearby and the boss knew how to use a sword as well as his scrolls, I saw no harm in leaving him with Takeda. I followed Osamu and Shiro. When they paused to light a lamp in the kitchen, which was missing its cooking brazier, I went upstairs to check the dark rooms before they made a mess of them.

Someone had tossed the upper floor rooms just like those below. Except for a litter of art books in one room, I didn't find much. The killers had ripped open a quilted mattress but rolled it out of the way to pry up the floorboards. Beneath them was a little cache, probably for a lockbox they'd stolen. They'd dumped out potted plants and cut apart a few paper lantern covers.

I found closed latches on all the windows. By the time I got back to the balcony doors, Shiro had arrived with a lantern.

I waved him over to the door. He held up the light, and I saw a slender black thread on the latch. Only a quarter inch or so hung from the loop around the brass hook. It obviously wasn't a trap, so I eased open the doors. I spotted a couple of fresh vertical scrapes where the doors met and knew this was where the killers came in and went out. They'd slipped the latch with a blade to get in. They pulled it back in place with a thread to shut it on the way out.

On the balcony we found a few more overturned plants and a small round mat. In the light of Shiro's lantern, I spied a few partial footprints in the spilled potting soil. The shape suggested the intruders wore soft boots or slippers.

Shiro groaned. "Kappas."

"What?" The boss's spell didn't unfold that word for me, unless it meant some kind of weird turtle.

"The Kappas are criminals, a gang. They are rumored to have ninja among their members."

"Come on." I led the way back downstairs.

Osamu was back, but in his absence Kazuko had crept into the room to resume her post behind Takeda. It occurred to me that she followed him the way Arnisant heeled to the boss. I didn't like it. We might be servants, but we're not dogs.

Kazuko peered around Takeda's shoulder at the hanging body. Her eyes were a little wide, but her expression was more curious than frightened.

I liked her a little more for that. The kid had moxie.

The boss plucked a scroll from his belt of little holsters. I'd been meaning to suggest he conceal the things, but he liked showing off. Some guys in my old line of work do the same thing with knives and throwing blades. I think it's a bad idea to advertise where you keep your kit.

"Now," said the boss, "The late Ichisada Jiru will tell us why he died."

Osamu gasped, but he stopped his hand before it touched his katana. That was a good thing for him. I had the big knife in hand and was ready to do more than flash it if he got frisky.

Takeda tried to act cool, but he couldn't keep the disgust off his face. "Count Jeggare, do you mean to employ necromancy?"

"Certainly not." The boss stiffened, offended at the suggestion.

"Even so, I must tell you I am not authorized to pay for magical assistance. Our precinct's annual accounting—"

"I am neither a necromancer nor a hedge wizard seeking to conjure coins from your purse," the boss snapped. It was his turn to catch himself. He changed his tone. "Honored Inspector, I would consider it a privilege to assist your investigation with any means at my disposal. I assure you I practice no unwholesome magics, and there will be no charge."

Takeda looked relieved. He bowed, the boss bowed, Takeda bowed again, and the boss had enough.

Before triggering the riffle scroll, the boss pointed at the ceiling. I didn't see what he meant until he twisted his light ring and shone it on a space above the table. Years of smoke had stained most of the plaster brown, but a sharp rectangular area remained white.

"They took something off the ceiling," I said.

Arnisant is even less squeamish than I am.

"I think not. There are no signs of removed fixtures, nor any indication of a broken adhesive. Yet the plaster in the borders of that rectangle appears exceptionally smooth compared to the surface around it."

Shiro and Osamu exchanged blank looks, but I could tell by his expression that Takeda followed what the boss was suggesting.

The boss ran his thumb over the edge of the riffle scroll, releasing its magic. He held up a hand, looking through the V of his thumb and the rest of his hand. "As I suspected, an illusion conceals a box secured to the ceiling. There we will find what the intruders sought."

I hopped onto the table and reached for the blank spot. Eight inches below the ceiling, my hands touched an unseen surface. I felt around, tracing the borders of the wooden box until I found an open face. Inside, my fingers touched several slender books. They became visible as I pulled them from the magic box. I climbed down and put the books on the table for everyone to see.

Takeda kept looking back up at the ceiling. "I don't understand. Why do we not see smoke stains on the surface of the invisible compartment?"

"A most astute question," said the boss. "As particles of smoke and grime settle upon the enchanted object, they become part of the body originally rendered invisible. The effects of the spell immediately apply also to the blemishing material. This very issue has long been a source of debate between the instructors of the Acadamae in Korvosa and the docents of the Arcanamirium in Absalom. If you wish to study the matter further, you might be interested in a treatise I obtained during a diplomatic mission to Qadira some forty years—"

That was all I could stand before letting my attention wander to the books. Magic doesn't make sense like botany or engineering or any of the boss's hundred other hobbies. That's why it's called magic.

Kazuko moved beside me. I tipped her a wink to let her know she wasn't the only one bored by the lecture. She rewarded me with a brief smile before looking down. Takeda's politeness trapped him into listening to the boss, but it was his own fault for asking a question. While he suffered the penalty, I flipped through the hidden books.

One was some kind of ledger. I couldn't read a word of it without a different kind of translation spell from the boss, so I set it aside. The next one was not a ledger but a single page bound in pasteboard and tied shut with ribbons. At first it looked like a letter, but with two signatures at the bottom, I figured it for a contract. The boss was going to love that one.

The third book was more fun. Inside were more tattoo references, each one covering both pages. Even allowing for the difference in style between the Varisian tattoos I'd seen and the pictures on Ichisada's walls, I could tell a master artist had created these. They were full of detail, and every stroke was beautiful by itself. The weird thing was that all of the ink was faded, as if the pages had been left open to the sun a long time. There weren't many pages in the book. I flipped through them all to see a phoenix, a dragon, a tengu, an octopus with razor claws, a furry ogre, and a goblin with a turtle shell on its back and a bowl-shaped dent on top of its skull.

I pointed at the latter two. I recognized one from Kazuko's earlier description. After my chat with Shiro, I had a good guess about the other. "I know that's a yeti. What's this, a kappa?"

Kazuko nodded. She frowned down at the writing beside the drawings. Even without understanding them, I got the impression they were instructions of some sort. Maybe something about which lines to draw first and things like that. For all I knew, it might as well have been magic.

That was a thought.

"Say, boss," I said. "Take a look at this."

He hates being interrupted mid-lecture, but his irritation vanished when he saw the pages. The first book's pages had barely stopped fluttering when he picked up the third and ran his finger down each page. The others had to be thinking that he was just feeling the paper, but I knew he'd copied every word and image into the giant book he keeps in his brain.

Everyone else stared while he stood ruminating for a minute. I used the break to count the freckles on Kazuko's neck. Her pale skin was another kind of illusion, a thin layer of white powder that began to melt during our rush from Yamana's house. A few faint blemishes had emerged from the fading cover. Seeing her imperfections didn't make her any less pretty. It made her more real.

"This was the first killing," said the boss. "The assailants entered through the upstairs balcony—" he paused to see me nod "—between three and four days ago." The room got quieter as the Minkai held their breath, waiting for him to spill. The boss loves this part. When I've figured out a few clues on my own, I kind of love it, too.

"This is the key document." He held up the contract from the invisible box. "It is an agreement between Ichisada and someone known as the Master Kappa. The former pledges to safeguard six magical tattoos until such time as the latter designates a recipient for them. In exchange, Ichisada enjoys a lifetime exemption from the protection money owed to this Master Kappa."

"This district does not fall within the Kappas' territory," said Takeda.

"Are the gangs at war?"

"No," said Takeda, pinching his lower lip. "But there have been troubling reports. Members of the Red Knives and Snake Skin gangs have been killed over trifling disputes."

"Were they important figures? Lieutenants, perhaps?"

"Yes."

"The intruders came for this book of magical tattoos. Ichisada would not surrender it. Even if he had, the result would have been the same." He opened the book to the faded images. "Note that the enchantment has been expended. Ichisada had already applied the tattoos, probably to six different subjects. If the torture initially began to extract information, it must have been to gain the identities of those on whom he had applied the tattoos."

"What do you mean, if it ‘initially began to extract information'?" Takeda's stoic expression was beginning to crumble.

The boss lifted Ichisada's head and opened its slack jaw. Inside, the tattoo artist's tongue was a burned stub. I winced at the sight, thinking of someone else crippled in that manner. Someone I cared about much more than Ichisada.

"It is impossible to prove by visual examination alone, but it appears that Ichisada was silenced early in the..." He sought the right word and came up with "ordeal."

"Such cruelty," breathed Takeda. Beside him, the faces of Shiro and Osamu froze in grim expressions. Maybe they harbored anger. More likely they covered fear of what the criminals might do to them if they were captured.

"Why would Ichisada cross the Kappas?" asked Shiro.

"Someone offered him money for the tattoos?" suggested Osamu.

"Perhaps," said the boss. "Yet the ledger indicates Ichisada had no shortage of wealthy clients. If he crossed a dangerous gang for money, it seems likely that he would have fled the city rather than suffer their revenge."

"You are right." Takeda glanced at the scrap of flesh I'd left on the corpse. That's when I realized the zinnia tattoo cut from Ichisada looked almost identical to the zinnia designs on Takeda's robe. "I believe Ichisada knew he would suffer but accepted the consequences. He defied Master Kappa because he knew the man was evil."

Kazuko gazed at Takeda with a look of wonder or disbelief. He spoke with such intense sincerity that I couldn't believe him, either.

"To whom did Ichisada give these magical tattoos?"

"Unfortunately, the ledger includes no mention of these tattoos," said the boss. He waited while Shiro and Osamu slumped in disappointment before making his reveal. "However, the last page of the book shows unusual wear. Furthermore, it smells faintly of lemon juice, a crude but popular medium for creating hidden writing. Let us uncover its secret."

Activating his light ring again, he held the glowing crystal behind the final page and turned the book for Takeda to see. There in translucent characters were six lines of characters.

Takeda's finger moved to indicate two of the names. "These are the first two victims."

"Who are the others?" asked the boss.

"This one we call Square-Head. He is one of the Snake Skin gang. And this one is a moneylender."

Kazuko craned her neck to look at the list. Takeda took the book from the boss and snapped it shut, but she'd already seen something. Her hand flew to her mouth, too late to stop her exclaiming, "Matano Hideo!"

"The famous actor?" said Shiro. "How could a housemaid know a man like him?"

An indignant glare escaped Kazuko's eyes before she lowered her gaze. As her cheeks reddened, I wanted to slap Shiro upside his head. I didn't give a damn if he was a samurai or the king of Minkai. There was no reason to talk to her that way just because she was a servant.

"My neighbor is his housekeeper," she said, her voice still shrill as she wrestled down her anger. "His home is near the Flower and Willow Court."

"We must go there at once," said Takeda. "The death of such a celebrated personage would be an even greater catastrophe than we have already suffered."

"Of course," said the boss. I knew he'd agree. Nobles always stick together. I looked to Arnisant for some commiseration, but the big wolfhound sat beside the boss, pretending not to look at the meat hanging from the ceiling. He could have been a statue except for the streams of drool leaking out of his jowls.

Chapter Three: Flower and Willow Pavilion

It's a whorehouse."

Kazuko coughed and retreated behind Inspector Second-Class Takeda. The samurai kept a straight face, but his men flushed. I tried to decide whether they were amused, angry, or ashamed. It's harder for me to read Minkai faces. Their eyes look so different, and they hardly ever look you in the face.

"What?" I said. Maybe the spell on my tongue didn't translate everything right. "Brothel? Bordello? Cathouse? Help me out here, boss. What do they call it in Taldor? A seraglio?"

The count shot me the shut-up look. I shut up.

Could be I was wrong about this Flower and Willow Pavilion, but I didn't think so. We had a first glimpse of the place as we descended the hill from Matano Hideo's house. The actor wasn't home, and his servants didn't expect him until morning. After some indirect questions, Takeda dismissed the servants and told us we would look for Matano at this Flower and Willow Pavilion.

At first glance, the place looked like a temple. Inside the inner courtyard stood six or eight willow trees, their tresses green while all the other trees we'd seen in the city of Oda remained winter bare. I decided some wizard had enchanted the trees, but then I thought of the plant nurseries on the roof of Greensteeples. The boss had fooled plants into thinking it was summer all year even before he got his magic back. Maybe the gardeners here knew the same tricks.

The buildings formed two single-story squares with another narrow garden between the inner and outer halls. Leafless trees lined the avenue between them, but they looked like nothing I'd seen in Cheliax or Ustalav, or the handful of other countries I'd visited with the count.

Surrounding the outer halls was another garden, this one full of more bare-branched trees and ponds glimmering in the moonlight. Here and there lay patches of raked pebbles. Stupid as that sounds, they were kind of—I don't know. Soothing? Maybe the moonlight was screwing with me, but I liked the pattern the shadows made. It made me think of something I couldn't name, but a thing I wanted all the same. Somehow I knew I'd never get it.

I shook my head. If I didn't watch out, I'd get some philosophy on me. Or worse, some poetry.

A high stone wall surrounded the whole place, two sides facing streets of windowless buildings, the other two against narrow alleys across from the walled backs of row houses. The walls were made for privacy, not security. I could have slipped over the tops with one good jump and pull, but I wouldn't have to. Gates lined every side, each one with a big lock that I could have picked with my little finger. I'd seen something like this before. The brothel's customers bought a key from the owner of the house, the better to slip out from any side. Keep the wife's servants guessing which side to spy on, get home and say you lost track of time talking with an old friend you met on the way home.

If the boss had quizzed me on why I figured the place for a whorehouse—pleasure palace, lord's club, whatever—I had plenty more evidence. A line of one-man carriages drawn by lackeys stood a block away, just close enough to see someone waving from the front gate. Steam rose from a nearby building, and I smelled lye. Someone was working all night to wash the sheets and pillows. If the Pavilion was really a temple, it was dedicated to Calistria, goddess of that little pool of sweat that forms in the hollow of a woman's back.

So really I didn't care if the Minkai were squeamish about it. I know whorehouses, and this was definitely one.

At what I figured for the front entrance, a pair of gate columns supported sculptures of some kind of orchid in a pale green stone. Magical light emanated from deep inside them, revealing flaws of red and black. One look at the fancy lanterns made the boss crane his neck the way he does when he sees something new.

"Those are the most flawless jades I have ever seen," he said. The way his tone changed, I knew he started out talking to himself but then directed the comment to Takeda so as not to seem peculiar.

Takeda nodded but didn't speak. Again, his men looked embarrassed or something. Maybe they were forbidden to visit brothels while on duty. I never knew that to stop a city guard in Egorian, but these samurai guys seemed wound up tighter than Hellknights. I was starting to think I wasn't going to like them too much.

The gate was open. The only guard was a woman who bowed at our approach, once for each of us. She was no beauty, and she was older than me. Even so, she was wrapped up tight in a silk gown whose fabric looked rich enough for a Chelish lady. It even had a neat little bundle tied with a bow in the small of her back, giving her silhouette a nice bump, the kind I'd like to pat as I went past. I figured her for a reserve, making herself useful the best she could until a busy day.

She faltered twice while greeting us. Once when she recognized Takeda, and once when she got a good look at me. I'm real pretty, but you don't have to be from Cheliax to see I got a little Hell in me. I tipped her a wink, but she was already looking at the ground. Polite maybe, or scared. I like to think my raw masculine charm turned her head.

As Arnisant padded in behind me, the greeter put her fingers to her lips to stop a shriek. Her eyes widened, and I gave her the little smile. "It's all right, sweetheart. Arni won't eat you unless I say so."

I didn't figure she could get any whiter with all that powder on, but she proved me wrong. Takeda turned to the boss and bowed.

"The presence of an animal here is unseemly. Perhaps you could—?"

"Of course," said the boss. He gave Arnisant the hand sign to stay. The Ustalavic wolfhound obeyed.

I let the others go through before fishing out a sausage I'd pocketed in Absalom. Ribbons of saliva poured from Arnisant's jaws as I broke the meat in two.

I tossed him half and watched it disappear. The boss ain't the only wizard in the company. "Be a good boy, Arni, and I'll give you the rest when we're done."

Arnisant turned around, keeping his butt planted on the ground as he turned sentinel toward the line of carriage pullers.

The word "rickshaw" came to mind, and I knew it was the spell working its whammy. I was still getting used to the boss casting spells on me, but so far I liked this one. It was a little confusing sometimes, but it beat spending weeks picking up enough words to negotiate more than finding a latrine.

Inside the outer building, an embassy of four women bowed low toward us. They kept their heads down as we walked along a lane lined with bare trees and empty flowerbeds. The earth was dark and moist, but I hadn't seen any snow since we'd arrived. I wondered how far north Minkai lay on the map. I didn't think it would be as southerly as Absalom, where we'd been before the Pathfinder conjuror teleported us across the world. The night air was cool, but it felt more like spring than late winter.

Like the greeter at the gate, the women were gift-wrapped in silk. They wore no jewelry except for the combs and pins that shaped their glossy black hair into shovel blades or knots that would have driven a sailor mad to untie them.

As we drew near, the women raised their heads. Three were young and lovely, with red porcelain smiles. The fourth was older. One look at us, and her perfect smile shattered.

She seemed maybe fifty years old, maybe sixty, depending on how thick she'd laid on the paint. She'd exaggerated a mole on her powder-white cheek with a spot of kohl. She'd also blacked out her teeth, giving her the look of someone who'd been punched in the mouth too often. It exaggerated her grimace and made her look like a banshee about to shrivel us with her wail.

"You!" She sneered at Takeda.

The inspector bowed his head. I'd known the guy for less than two hours, and I didn't know much about Minkai customs. Still, I got the impression he was chagrined, not just being polite. Beside him, Osamu tensed, and Shiro's knuckles whitened as he gripped the scabbard of his katana.

"Official business!" Osamu barked. "Show respect."

Beauty is relative, but Chiyoko's teeth-staining doesn't do her any favors.

Takeda raised his head and looked at his underling. I tried to read his face, but the spell didn't help me understand the emotions there before they settled. I looked to the boss and saw that he too was observing Takeda, even as he pretended to admire the girls behind the angry woman.

"The Flower and Willow Pavilion is the most respected geisha house in all of Oda. Who would send a disgraced petty samurai to disturb our customers?"

Osamu seethed, but Shiro touched his arm before he could speak again. I frowned over the word "geisha," which the spell told me meant something like "courtesan," but not exactly the same. The not-a-whorehouse business was getting confusing. Now even the boss's spell was contradicting what I'd seen with my own eyes.

"Madam Chiyoko, I regret the need to visit at such a busy hour. Urgent duty requires us to speak with Matano Hideo immediately." Takeda's voice was soft, as if he meant to tiptoe past a sleeping tiger.

"Madam," I thought. Unless the spell was getting it wrong, that's what you call the boss of a whorehouse. Either I was the only one who didn't know what was going on here, or else I was the only one who did.

Chiyoko narrowed her eyes as she considered Takeda's words. Instead of answering, she looked over the rest of us. I practiced reading her Minkai face as she considered each of us in turn. She showed obvious contempt and a little fear as her eyes slid past Osamu and Shiro. Whatever her beef, I figured it was with their boss, not the constables.

At the sight of the count, Chiyoko appeared surprised and curious. As she appraised his expensive Chelish clothes, I saw a glitter of greed in her dark eyes. That was something I could read on any face. She was figuring out whether he was a good customer.

Her expression wavered when she turned to me. The black leathers I'd bought in Caliphas were a poor substitute for the red Chelish jacket I'd lost, but they made me look plenty tough. People got out of my way on the streets of Absalom, merchants and guards alike. Chiyoko sniffed and spared less than a second's glance on Kazuko before returning her gaze to Takeda.

"The honorable Matano is not here. You must leave now and take these servants with you."

Osamu bristled, and I understood that Chiyoko was disrespecting everyone except maybe the count. Takeda showed the boss an apologetic smile. The boss nodded back, and some private message passed between them.

I hated that. After working for Count Jeggare for years, I could read the narrowing of one eye or the twitch of his thumb when he wanted to tell me something without anyone else catching on. Some of it was Pathfinder sign code that he'd taught me, but the rest was our private language. Whatever message the count sent to Takeda, it wasn't meant for me. They were communicating noble to noble. Despite a technicality I had to keep secret, that left me out of their fancy club.

Takeda bowed from the neck and said, "Allow me to present the most honorable Count Varian Jeggare of Cheliax, a powerful empire in distant Avistan."

The boss did one of his courtly bows, with extra flourishes to show off his jeweled rings. It was then that I caught on to what he and Takeda were up to. I felt stupid for not realizing it before. It was a good play.

And it worked. Chiyoko smiled at the count, showing off those ghastly black teeth. He didn't even flinch.

"Long have I wished to observe the chanoyu performed by a true geisha of Oda," said the boss.

Through the spell I understood he was talking about some sort of tea service. Running around Oda was thirsty work. I said, "A hot cup sounds good."

Takeda and the boss turned at the same time. Their expressions told me I wasn't invited to their tea party.

"On the other hand, maybe I'll stretch my legs." I saw by the way the boss touched the tip of his third finger to the base of his thumb that I'd guessed right. He wanted me to have a look around, and not just in the garden.

"Remain here," Takeda told his men. He and the boss followed Chiyoko and one of her girls into the outer halls. The other young women remained with Osamu and Shiro, flirting with them as the samurai scowled and blushed by turns. I left them to it.

Away from the entrance path, shadows provided plenty of cover between the building and the outer gate. I strolled toward the outer halls for a closer look. I'd gotten out of sight of the samurai before I realized Kazuko was following me.

"Desna weeps! Don't creep up on me like that, kid."

"I am not a child."

Her defiant tone threw me for a second, but I liked it. She'd never talk to Takeda or the boss that way, just me. I liked that, too. "Sorry, Kazuko."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm just having a look around while the fancy people sip their tea and hold up their pinkies." She blinked at my joke. Even through spells, some things don't translate. "What're you doing standing on my shadow?"

"You must not offend the geisha."

She was trying to keep me out of trouble. "You should be with the constables. You're only tagging along so they can keep you safe until we find the guys who killed your boss."

"I do not feel safe with them."

The little smile snuck out before I could stop it. I caught her meaning: she felt safer with me than with the samurai. "I won't let anything happen to you."

She looked a little reassured. I stepped closer, but she retreated. All right, I thought. I've got patience to spare. She's going to come around.

I went to one of the side doors. The keyhole was as big as the ones we'd seen on the wall. I scanned the edges of the doorframe. Nothing looked fishy, so I raked open the lock. It popped on the first tug.

"You are a burglar!" whispered Kazuko. Her shocked tone contained a hint of admiration.

"Nah," I said. "Not really. Not anymore, anyway."

"Your master knows this?"

"Listen, he's not my master. Got it?"

"He behaves like your master. But you do not behave like a servant."

"That's because I'm not a servant." I'd never liked that word. It wasn't much of an improvement over "slave." "I'm what you might call a freelancer."

"So you would work for others?"

"Well, no. The count has what you call an exclusive with me." I didn't like having to explain our arrangement. "Quiet, you. I'm concentrating."

From within the building I heard the sound of a stringed instrument and a woman's queer song. She wasn't out of tune, exactly. It was as if she were getting them all a little wrong on purpose. Or maybe not wrong, exactly. It was still pretty.

I eased open the door. Inside was a short passage leading to a hall running down the center of the outer building. When I stepped inside, Kazuko whispered, "Your shoes!"

"What?"

Not all geisha are performers.

She demonstrated by removing her wooden clogs as she entered, stepping onto the woven mat in her stocking feet. The Minkai sure are fussy about footprints. Anyway, taking off my boots would make me quieter, so I did the same. I gave her a look that asked, "Satisfied?" She nodded that she was, barely.

Along the main hall stood sliding paper doors through which I saw the silhouettes of men and women sitting on the floor. Through one I saw a woman filling a tiny cup from a flask each time the man beside her drank. From another I saw the singing woman with the shape of a kind of lute on her lap. Her audience was three men who leaned toward her over their little table.

The paper doors weren't locked, but someone had laid a red silk cord over the knobs. It was no impediment hanging loose like that, but you couldn't miss seeing it there. I took that as a Do Not Disturb notice. It reminded me of the hat we'd hang on the doorknob back in my Goatherds days, when four of us shared a flat and somebody had a woman inside.

"Do you see?" whispered Kazuko. "Geisha are not prostitutes. They are performers, highly trained and much admired for their skills in music, poetry, and courtly behavior."

"All right, I got it. You're right and I'm wrong."

She said nothing, so I looked back at her. She stared at me, brows furrowed. I got the idea she was thinking intently, maybe deciding what to make of me. Maybe just judging me.

"Shut up," I said, even though she hadn't spoken.

She followed me to the nearest corner. I peered down the hall. A pair of young beauties knelt beside an open door, bowing to those within. I could barely hear the boss and Takeda talking with Chiyoko inside. They'd keep the madam busy for a while, so I padded back down the other way.

Between the rooms, paper scrolls hung on the walls. Each was a painting, not in the rich oils that decorate Greensteeples and the other noble manors in Egorian, but ink drawings brightened here and there with a few strokes of watercolor. Most showed steep mountains with streams and blossoming trees. A few included traveling figures in wide straw hats, or an old bearded fisherman. One showed a woman ravaged by a devilfish in the surf. I'd seen that image before, one of many exotic paintings in the boss's library.

I raised an eyebrow at that one. Kazuko lifted her chin, but her cool expression cracked. She shrugged, disavowing any personal responsibility for the lewd picture.

More than half the rooms we passed were occupied. Each time the shadows of the men and women inside revealed perfectly innocent behavior. Some of the geisha flirted with their customers, but more often they gossiped about local events, played music, sang songs, or even—I'll be damned—recited poetry. I guess there are guys who pay for that.

Around the far corner I spotted another short passage leading deeper into the compound. I was heading toward it when I saw a shadow against the far wall. I moved back and peeked around the corner as a couple of geisha emerged from the opposite end.

They moved in tiny steps, seeming more to glide than to walk. The way they held themselves erect inside those tight silk clothes made me think moving at all had to be a struggle. These girls had to be strong and graceful, even as they appeared frail and delicate.

They carried ceramic flasks and steaming bamboo baskets on trays. When they reached the halfway point, I considered retreating to the closest exit. Before I had to choose, they knelt before one of the doors, scratched at the frame, and opened up. I watched as they bowed and dimpled, spoke some courtesies I couldn't overhear, and finally placed first their trays and then themselves into the room. Each gesture was a tiny ritual. I began to see they had more in common with priests than with prostitutes.

I turned to Kazuko and whispered, "I get it now. Geisha."

She rewarded me with a firm, affirmative nod. I gave her the little smile, and this time she didn't look away. If we hadn't been on the job, I'd have taken her chin in my fingers and tried my luck.

With the geisha out of the way, I cat-footed it down the hall. Kazuko kept up. I barely heard the whisper of her steps. I liked those little toe-socks. I wanted to pluck them off her feet the way a lady tugs off her white gloves, one finger at a time.

Much as I liked that thought, I put it out of my mind. The boss could talk for hours, but Takeda needed to find Matano Hideo sooner rather than later. If the actor wore one of the tattoos the Kappa gang were looking for, he'd be a lot happier to see us before he saw them.

The passage to the inner courtyard ended in a heavy door, this one with a serious lock. I couldn't see through the keyhole, but I heard laughter and music from the other side. I caught the sound of a woman crying, but I couldn't suss the direction. I listened for a few more seconds but didn't hear it again.

If I'd been alone, I might have slipped back to go over the roof. I didn't want to leave Kazuko, though, so I gave the door the once-over for security and set to work.

The lock was better than the ones outside, but it was nothing compared to the one I'd cracked on Ichisada's tattoo parlor. I had it open in just over a minute. I could have done it faster, but I liked the feeling of Kazuko's breath on my neck as she leaned over to see me work.

I felt new incentive to get this job done and escort the house servant back to her place. Maybe she'd make me some tea.

The path between the inner and outer courts was full of colorful lights from lanterns hanging beside more of those sliding doors. Those on the outer faces of the building were also made of paper, but the heavy stuff had been lacquered against the rain.

Behind us, a key turned in the lock. I slipped into the shadows beneath a tree, pulling Kazuko in after me. For a second I held her close. She tensed, but when she moved away she didn't go far.

A pair of geisha carrying refreshment trays entered, followed by two more who locked the door behind them. One of them frowned as the key stuck for a moment before she could pull it out. I must have left the lock a bit sticky with my hasty work.

As the four geisha passed, it occurred to me that the two who weren't carrying trays were a trifle taller, and one of them was a little horse-faced. They had plenty of grace, but not the kind I'd seen in the other geisha. These girls moved like street toughs. Then I noticed their hairpins were darts, and the folds of their sleeves concealed some knife-shaped weights.

I'd seen something like that in one of my favorite Trick Alley brothels. The working girls there elected a new boss every year, never the same twice in a row, and they hired no men to be their pimps. They took care of trouble themselves. It helped that they usually employed a sorcerer or two, and a couple of tough gals who came up in my neighborhood, scrapping and stealing to get by.

Seeing the muscle here confirmed my guess that, if the geisha were hiding anyone important, I'd find him in the inner court.

Four open passages connected this central path to the inner garden. After the geisha and their guards disappeared into the inner building, I led Kazuko into the center of the Flower and Willow Pavilion.

The place was bigger than I'd estimated. In addition to the seven willow trees, we found two tiny buildings and a small pond with a tiny bridge. The windows of both buildings were dark, but the door to one of them was tied shut with a thick red cord.

The cords on the other doors hadn't been tied, just draped over the knobs. I was getting a hunch.

I listened at the door but heard nothing. The knot in the cord looked elaborate. I tried to memorize its ins and outs so I could put it back the way I'd found it after I had a peek inside.

"Stop!" called a woman's voice. Two geisha hurried toward us, crossing the little bridge in long strides that showed their gowns weren't so tight after all. They weren't the ones I'd spotted earlier, but I knew these were the guards, not the performing geisha.

Dammit, I thought. I dropped my boots, drew the big knife.

One of the geisha guards drew a dart from her hair. It was longer than I'd guessed, and the gleam of moonlight promised a sharp tip. She said, "You have no right to disturb the water-raising ceremony."

I slit the red cord and slid open the door to the little room. "Oops," I said. "I slipped."

I turned, not sure exactly what I expected to see. A man and woman playing patty cakes, maybe. Matano alone, hiding from the assassins or the constables. No such luck.

The little room was barely bigger than the thick mattress on the floor. A stylized white demon mask with a long wig of silk hair hung on the wall beside a colorful robe. Nearby stood low tables holding up candles that looked like they'd been burning only a short time before getting snuffed.

They weren't the only things that had been snuffed.

The naked man—Matano, I figured—was another story. He'd been skinned only to the waist, but he'd been stripped deep. A wide, irregular shape was missing from the skin of his back, the deep borders dark with blood that streamed into pools in the furrows of the mattress.

There was no other entrance to the little house. Three little windows let in the moonlight, but none was much bigger than my open hand. I wanted a better look, but the geisha guards closed in. I turned to face them.

They held up their darts, poised to throw.

I raised my curved Chelish knife and showed them the big smile. If one didn't impress them, I hoped the other would.

Chapter Four: The Raccoon Dog

It don't have to be this way, doll face."

The first geisha threw her darts. I could have sidestepped, but Kazuko stood behind me. If I moved, she'd take the hit.

Instead I leaned back, pushing Kazuko down as I swept the big knife across what I was betting was the dart's path.

Desna smiled. Two darts missed me completely. The third sang off the side of my knife. I felt it hit my jacket, but it caught in the leather without scratching my pretty copper skin.

Kazuko hustled away, not into the love house with its bloody corpse, but toward the pond in the center of the Flower and Willow Pavilion. I couldn't decide whether that was smart or stupid. The house was a dead end, but now she was out in the open.

The second geisha guard drew a dagger from her sleeve and moved toward Kazuko. With my off hand, I flicked a dart at her. It pierced her skirt and pinned it to the ground. That was perfect. It wasn't her blood I wanted. It was her undivided attention.

Her partner tumbled toward me, producing a couple of daggers as she rolled up to strike. I saw it coming and swept her ankles. She went down where I'd meant to put her. I knelt hard on one wrist and grabbed the other to control her blades. A little grinding and she let go.

"Drop it," I told the other geisha. I'd heard her rip free the hem of her gown. Her shadow approached me, but I didn't look up. I leaned close to the one I'd caught, gave her a good look at my teeth. Her sweat mingled with the smell of jasmine, and I thought of a half-dozen other wrestling moves I'd prefer to try out with her.

"Izumi, do as he says."

The second geisha dropped her knives and stepped back. Behind her, Kazuko looked on from the edge of the tiny bridge. Her mouth formed an O of surprise or fear. I hoped I hadn't put her off with the big smile. After all that hard work bringing her around, it would be a shame to waste it.

I got up and offered a hand to the geisha I'd knocked down. "I'm not here to hurt anybody. Call your madame. She's the one who's got some explaining to do."

But Madame Chiyoko didn't need calling. Before the geisha could speak, her boss arrived with mine. Takeda, his samurai, and four more pretty guards came with them.

The geisha accepted my hand. I pulled her up into a brief embrace. I whispered a sweet something to make her blush and watched out of the corner of my eye for Kazuko's reaction. She didn't like it one bit.

I was in.

"How dare you send this foreign devil to break into our private garden?" Madame Chiyoko turned on Takeda, her voice rising like a siren as she built up a good mad. The inspector wasn't looking at her, though. He looked past me at the flayed corpse of Matano Hideo, the actor we'd come to find.

The guy Chiyoko told us wasn't here.

Takeda's face remained calm. As the boss moved into the love house for a look at the body, the inspector stood still. His eyes focused past the crime scene. I'd seen that look a thousand times before, usually on the boss's face. Takeda was looking back at a memory.

Beside him, Chiyoko wailed more abuse until Osamu whirled on her.

"Be silent, you shameful woman!"

His shout made her pause. When she opened her mouth again, he raised his hand to strike her. Before the blow could fall, she dropped to the ground, kowtowing at his feet.

"You must show respect," bellowed Osamu. "You have no right—!"

Shiro moved to one side, catching Osamu's eye. Trembling mad, Osamu glanced at his partner, who shook his head.

Osamu lowered his hand and turned away, still shaking. It had to be more than Chiyoko's lie or her rudeness that made him so angry, but I couldn't figure it without knowing more. And it didn't seem the right time to ask.

I retrieved the dart I'd thrown but kept one eye on the samurai. Kazuko joined me in watching the others.

Takeda conferred with the boss beside Matano's body, while Shiro stepped between Osamu and Chiyoko to question the geisha madame.

No wonder the little guy's so happy.

She confessed that she knew Matano was inside. Tonight was the occasion of something called the water-raising ceremony. In return for his financial sponsorship, the wealthy actor had come to take the virginity of the house's newest geisha.

At that bit of news, I raised an eyebrow at Kazuko. I didn't say "whorehouse," but she read it on my face.

"It is not the same." She jutted her lip in defiance. I wanted to bite it, nice and soft.

"The honorable Matano was dead when the girl arrived," said Chiyoko. She had transformed since Osamu yelled at her. Instead of avarice, fear colored her face. "The reputation of the house was at stake! We dared not call for the constables."

"You planned to cover it up?" said Shiro. The younger constable sounded calm, but his lip twitched. "How?"

Chiyoko pressed her forehead onto the ground at his feet. She whimpered, "Please."

"Tell me," Shiro insisted.

"I dare not."

"Say it!" He scuffed his foot, threatening to kick her head.

Chiyoko whispered, "The Kappas."

Osamu clutched the scabbard of his katana and charged Chiyoko. He might have drawn the blade and beheaded her, but Shiro stepped between them. The anger on his own face told Osamu that he felt the same way, but he wouldn't let the older man kill the witness.

The boss and Takeda finished in the love house. Osamu opened his mouth to report, but Takeda beckoned him to follow as he walked past Chiyoko. I fell in, Kazuko at my side.

As we wound through the inner and outer halls of the Flower and Willow Pavilion, geisha knelt outside the door to every room. They bowed low, turning as we passed. Not at the group of us, I could tell.

They bowed their heads toward Takeda.

Even as we exited onto the street, more geisha emerged to pay their respects. Takeda ignored them, or pretended to. Arnisant joined us at the gate, heeling to me when I gave him the sign. I fed him the rest of the sausage I'd promised. The boss heard the hound's jaws snap closed. He looked back at us—he doesn't like me feeding Arnisant except for training—but Arni and I put on our innocent faces. Arni's is better than mine.

Takeda didn't stop until we reached the line of rickshaws. When he turned, I could see he'd spent some effort composing his face. Whatever the problem with Madame Chiyoko, it bothered him more than he wanted us to know.

"We were too late," said Takeda. "I must inform Lord Koga immediately of my failure."

Osamu said, "Sir, it is not your fault—"

Takeda silenced him with a glance.

"In my absence, you must guide the honorable Count Jeggare to the Seahorse to look for Square-Head. After I report, I shall learn the address of this moneylender. Theirs are the last of the six tattoos the Kappas seek. Shiro, escort the housemaid to her home."

He said a few more things, but they stopped making sense, so I stopped listening.

Instead, I tried to figure out a way to keep Kazuko with us. I didn't like the idea of her being out of sight. Even forgetting my personal angle, these Kappas might want to eliminate her as a witness to the murder of Yamana.

"Listen," I said. "It's probably better to keep Kazuko nearby. Maybe we'll find some clue that relates to whatever she learned working for Yamana, and she can—what?"

Everyone stared at me. I checked to see whether I had something on my nose.

"What?"

"The language spell has expired," said the boss. "None of the others can understand you."

"All right," I said. "Hit me with another one."

He shook his head. "Not yet. I have only one more prepared. It is prudent to wait until you truly need to speak before casting it. Who knows how long this investigation will last?"

"But I want to say goodbye to Kazuko."

"A trifling matter compared with our pursuit of the killer and the recovery of the pearl husk I have been sent to recover," he said. "Besides, past experience suggests you needn't speak the language to communicate with women."

He had a point, but I still didn't like it.

He spoke to the others in Minkaian. I saw from their expressions that he'd explained what happened. They finished their conversation without another look at me. It was as if I had disappeared. I didn't matter anymore.

I sidled up to Kazuko, but Shiro abruptly led her away. She glanced over her shoulder, and I saw the disappointment on her face.

"Me, too, sweetheart." I blew her a kiss. She didn't blush. She didn't look away.

I was going to have to find out where she lived and pay a visit when this was all settled.

Takeda sat in a rickshaw and told the lackey to go, leaving Osamu to lead the boss and me to the Seahorse district.

We hustled down the hills of Oda toward the shore we'd seen earlier. The boss filled me in on the way.

"The man known colloquially as Square-Head is a well-known member of the Snake Gang. He often gambles well into the night at an establishment called the Raccoon Dog. I will renew the translation spell on you just before we enter. You will take the lead."

"Got it." The boss usually sent me into dives alone, but sometimes he came along to observe in disguise. It was best that I did the talking in those cases. Street and dive were not, as the boss might say, foremost in his repertoire. "While we're talking Taldane," I said with a nod at Osamu, "what was all that between Chiyoko and Takeda?"

The boss thought about the question for a moment as we jogged behind the samurai. "It is difficult to explain."

"You're always saying I'm smarter than I look."

"It is not a question of intelligence," he said. "It is a question of rank. There is an implied code of discretion among nobles, even those of different lands."

I gritted my teeth. After our last caper, I didn't think we were going to have to do this again.

"I know nothing concrete," he added in a tone kind of but not really like an apology. "Only conjecture based on my observations filtered through my limited understanding of the native hierarchy. Still, it is not my place to discuss what might be Takeda's secret outside of our... that is, with a member..."

"With a commoner." Weeks ago he'd called me his friend for the first time. I'd wondered how long that'd last. Now I had my answer.

He winced before correcting me, "With anyone outside the samurai caste."

I'm the goddamned Prince of Wolves, I thought. But I could never say it. It was a secret I had to keep. Still, it was a hell of a lot more irritating for these counts and samurai to look down on me when I knew that if things had gone down different back in the bad old days, they'd be bowing to me.

We saved the rest of our breath for the run. The boss was half winded by the time Osamu stopped at the end of a narrow street filled with drunks, rickshaw porters, and beggars. An old man pushing a cook-cart called out in Minkaian. Everyone but the beggars ignored him, and he swatted them away as they reached for bowls, hoping he'd fill them out of charity.

People streamed in and out of several of the buildings. Music and laughter came from one. Shouts and the clatter of dice echoed in another. Osamu pointed at that one.

Beside the entrance stood a statue of a comical animal. It looked like a cross between a dog and a badger, but the stripes painted on its smiling cheeks gave it a raccoon's face. What really made it stand out were a pair of giant testicles hanging between its legs. They were so big the bottoms rested on the ground. Those entering the house paused to rub the critter's balls, revealing bright brass underneath the paint.

Lucky dog. I figured him for one of Desna's and knelt down to give his nuggets a good rub. Curious, Arnisant came over and gave the brass balls a sniff.

"Radovan!" The boss choked. "Some decorum, please."

"Just praying, boss."

He scowled until I stood again. When he turned back to the samurai, I pointed at Arni.

"Stop getting us in trouble."

The wolfhound planted his butt and looked up at me, hoping for a treat. I was out of snacks.

Osamu and the boss wrapped up their conversation. The constable strolled casual-like down the street, pretending to be out on patrol and putting on a brave face when some of the bolder beggars heckled him. They weren't afraid of a lone constable.

"Where's he going?"

"There is an informal agreement between the constabulary and the local gangs. Osamu cannot enter a gambling den without permission from the gang chief."

"I like this town more and more." Zandros the Fair could never get a deal like that from the Hellknights in Egorian. Either the samurai were weaker than I thought, or else the gangs were stronger.

"While I attempt to locate this Square-Head, you blend in and distract any locals who take an interest in us."

"Which one you want? Blend in or distract?"

"Time is of the essence, Radovan. Do as I say."

The hairs on my neck turned to needles.

"Fine."

The boss riffled his scroll at me. My tongue tickled, and I sneezed. He put away the expended scroll and gave Arnisant the signal to stay. I pushed through the door to the gambling den.

Inside the place was thick with smoke. Some of it rolled off braziers hanging from the ceiling. Some crawled up out of long brass pipes a few of the players held close to their mouths. I didn't recognize the sweet smell, but I could tell from the smokers' half-lidded eyes that it was some naughty stuff.

There were no women inside. Most of the men went shirtless or had their sleeves rolled up to show off tattoos. I'd never seen so many before. They weren't just simple snakes and briars around the biceps or some girl's name inside Shelyn's glaive. On all the exposed skin I saw a regular menagerie of fierce animals and magical creatures, along with knives, dice, chains, cards, darts, and all the other tools of the trade.

One thing I saw a lot was snake tattoos. Each of the men handling the dice and tiles had one, as did about half of the gamblers and the thick-necked guys standing by the doors.

Some of the older men stood around a couple of tall square tables with edges a few inches high. There they played some kind of tile game, with each gambler concealing a dozen or so tiles and adding them one at a time to a maze in the middle of the table.

The other tables were low ovals, and the younger players knelt around them. These ones placed bets as a guy in the middle dropped a pair of dice into a bowl and slapped it onto the table's surface before making a dramatic reveal. He shouted, "Odd!"

I had to be missing something, but there weren't any places painted on the table. I watched for another round or two before deciding it was as simple as it looked. The players were betting against each other, hoping to be in the minority who came away with a pittance while the house claimed the rest.

And the house was raking it in.

"You, foreign devil!" cried a man with copper skin even darker than mine. He had no idea how right he was. "Show your money or get the hell out!"

Only then did I realize I didn't have any of the local coins. The ones on the tables were mostly copper and silver, perforated with a square in the center. I made three big gold coins appear between my knuckles.

"Those shiny enough for you?"

The glitter in the eyes of all the men at the table told me they were.

"What about the long-ears in the fancy clothes?"

At my side, I felt the boss move in, ready to say something.

"Never mind my servant. He's mute." I felt the count's eyes boring into my neck, but he deserved it after all that samurai crap. The gamblers stared doubtfully, so I sweetened the lie with shearing gestures at my mouth and crotch. "A mute eunuch. Snip, snip!"

At that they laughed. Between the joke and my gold, we were going to be friends for a few throws. I grinned, looking at the boss to see what he thought of my humor.

Count Varian Jeggare raised his fist to his chin and shot me the tines.

It took all my will to keep a straight face while the gamblers pulled me to the table. I watched as one of them traded my gold for a double-handful of the local silver. I couldn't look back to see what the boss was doing, or else I'd lose control. I'd never even heard him curse properly, much less make the most vulgar gesture known in Egorian.

"What is that sign?" asked the man beside me, trying to imitate the boss. He was a wiry fellow with a couple of missing teeth.

"It's for good luck."

"Like this?" He threw up his first and last fingers on either side of his chin.

"Perfect."

The houseman held up the dice and shouted out some numbers, some kind of countdown.

The player whose turn it was made his bet, a stack of five coins. All others would come after the throw of the dice.

The houseman dropped the dice into the bowl before slapping it down on the table.

The players cocked their heads, trying to hear which way the dice fell. That was impossible, but trying was another way of praying to Lady Luck. I liked that. The old gal had been pretty good to me.

I tilted my head, too, but just for show. I wasn't listening to the dice but watching the houseman's face. His eyes scanned the bets. I laid down five coins of my own before he called time. When everyone took their hands off the table, he uncovered the dice.

"Even!"

I don't mind grifters. But if you're going to try to cheat me, at least do it well.

The gamblers cheered. Those of us who'd bet took in a modest win. That was no surprise on my first bet, me a rich foreign devil and all. I expected I'd win a few more before the dice turned.

A serving boy came around with drinks. I bought one and laid it on the back of my hand, slapping my palm on the table to flip the tiny cup into my mouth, where I caught it in my lips and let the liquor shoot down my gullet. It was a stupid trick, but it broke the ice some more. The locals laughed. Behind me, the boss sighed and kept watch on the door as gamblers trickled in and out. He hadn't spotted our man yet.

By the time my turn came around, my coins had grown into a healthy pile. I felt the mood of the table change. Would the houseman put me out now? Or would he draw me in to see how many more of those gold coins I had?

I bet half my stash. Everyone joined in after the roll, but in modest amounts. They were bracing to see me busted.

The houseman revealed the dice. "Even!"

Clever lads. They were taking the long view.

After a couple more turns, the boss brushed my sleeve. I stretched my arms, turning to scan the room. A block-headed fellow had entered the den. He was built like a shipping crate, barely over five feet tall but with shoulders so wide that he had to turn to slip through the narrow doorway. When he grimaced at the doorman, I saw his teeth all had black gaps between them.

I scratched my neck, the secret sign for "What now?"

The boss scraped one foot across the floor. That meant "Wait and watch."

Knowing he'd keep an eye on Square-Head, I put my eyes back on the game. Before my turn came around, the boss plucked at my sleeve. I glanced back to see Square-Head leaving through a side door. Time to go.

"Thanks for the game, boys." I scooped up my cash.

"Where do you think you're going?" One of the other gamblers rose from his seat.

The houseman said, "You can't leave until you've bet everything you have on the table."

The cheerful atmosphere of the table changed. I'd broken their etiquette. Any other time, I wouldn't have cared. But I was still hoping to wrap this case in time to find Kazuko while the translation spell still worked.

"All right," I said, pushing all my winnings forward. "Make it snappy."

The houseman raised his hand to display the dice. I'd seen his fingers dip below the table an instant earlier, so I knew this was a different pair.

I should have let it go, lost the cash, and pushed away. I could've spared us a lot of grief if I'd done that. I would've done it, if the switch hadn't been so damned obvious.

Should've, would've, could've.

But I was tired of being treated like a jerk. It was bad enough the boss was talking down to me again. I wasn't going to let these mooks rip me and laugh about it.

Nobody supported my bet. They knew better. When the houseman lifted the bowl, his lips formed the word "Odd" before he could even see the dice.

I whipped out the big knife and brought it down like a cleaver on the dice. Chips of bone flew away. The remains of the dice lay on the table, the fat blob of their lead loads exposed for all to see.

"Radovan, don't!" The boss knew it was no use, even as the words came out of his mouth. At the same time, he blew that nice cover I'd given him.

"He's no mute!" shouted the houseman. "You came to cheat us!"

The dog at the door wasn't the only one with brass balls. This guy had some pair to accuse us of cheating with his loaded dice cut open on the table. But there was no point arguing. They showed me their knives. I showed them mine.

The boss drew his sword in one hand, a riffle scroll in the other.

A gambler crept up on my left. I nicked him on the thigh without turning to look at him. That was enough to make him think twice. Two more moved in, but I chased them off with a growl and a couple of feints. Behind me, the boss parted the crowd with a flourish of his blade.

"Rolling out," I warned the boss.

I snaked my arm around his waist and fell backward, pulling him along. The boss folded his long body, rolling with me. I set him back on his feet within a step of the threshold.

Our quick retreat startled the gamblers long enough for us to back out through the door. There the boss thumbed his scroll. Thick white threads shot out from the riffled edge of the paper. They fattened as they flew into the gambling den, filling the place with a gooey network of webbing.

"Nice," I muttered. Until recently, he'd always been an armchair wizard. It was great to see him cast the spells he once only talked about.

The gamblers screamed curses at us, but they hung like trapped flies among their game tables. I shot them the tines.

The boss brushed the dust off his sleeve and scowled at me for the unwelcome hug. He hates close contact, but he couldn't complain. I'd gotten us out.

I spied our guy strolling off the way we'd come, pretending not to notice the commotion as he passed Osamu, who jogged toward us. The boss made a stirring motion with his thumb and pointed at Square-Head.

Osamu glanced back at Square-Head before nodding at the boss. He turned at the nearest street, waited a moment, and began tailing him. The boss nodded at me, and we followed, knowing we could afford to lose Square-Head as long as we caught up with Osamu.

Shouts erupted from a nearby alley. Those who'd escaped the boss's web streamed out of a side entrance. Seconds later, more armed tattooed men burst out of nearby houses. One look at us told them we were the cause of the trouble.

The boss ran and I followed, tensing at the thought of catching a blade in the back. Two axes whirled past us, one sticking into the corner of a house as we turned down the street Osamu had just left. We had to lead the gangsters away from Osamu and Square-Head. That part was easy. The trick was surviving to catch up with them.

All along the street, shutters opened at our approach and slammed shut as the mob followed. We dodged another flurry of thrown weapons. I caught an axe meant for the back of the boss's head. I meant to throw it back as we turned the next corner, but there we saw Takeda.

The rickshaw that had returned him to the Seahorse was already running away, but the samurai strode forward. He frowned at the sound of the mob behind us, but when they came around the corner he didn't even flinch.

"Too many to fight, Inspector," called the boss. "Come with us."

Takeda walked past us, his frown deepening. He drew the wakizashi from his sash, still in its scabbard. He held it above his head like a scepter of office.

The boss slowed, touching the scrolls in his bandolier to choose the right one. He loved the fireball, but he couldn't use that one around these wooden houses. Still, I couldn't think of another spell I'd seen him cast that would save our skins. I prayed to Desna that he had another of those webs.

The mob slowed at the sight of Takeda, those in the back crashing into the ones up front until they too recognized him. I counted maybe thirty men and didn't like our chances.

"Stand aside!" shouted an old gangster. His sagging breasts made the demon tattooed on his chest look drunk or sleepy. "Those foreign devils cheated us."

Takeda stood as still as a statue, his short sword held aloft.

The gangsters shouted threats, their breath white in the chill air. Little by little, their anger gave in to uncertainty. The blades they held above their own heads began to droop.

One young buck got tired of waiting. He pushed to the front and thrust a shiny butterfly knife toward the inspector.

Takeda put his hand on the grip of his wakizashi.

The rest of the mob dissolved like sea foam, leaving the belligerent young man alone. He looked at his fleeing pals. He looked back at Takeda.

The inspector exposed an inch of his blade.

The young gangster tripped over his own feet and fled.

Chapter Five: Crimson Strings

We crouched beside the entrance to a one-story stone building. The boss cupped his hands around his magic ring to illuminate the doorframe. I checked for nasties and gave him the nod to kill the light.

He listened to the conversation inside. Without his pointy ears, all I could make out was the murmur of the men's voices. Now sure it was safe, I pressed my ear to the keyhole.

"...killing everyone with one of his special tattoos. They'll come here soon, Hiroshi."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

At the sound of ripping cloth, I peeked through the keyhole. Neither man was in view, but I saw their shadows against the wall. There was no problem telling which one belonged to Square-Head. The outlines of his hands held open the moneylender's robes at the chest.

"I know an Ichisada when I see one," he growled. "I recognized your dragon at the bath. What an idiot, to show it off in public!"

"Let go of me. I'll call for the watch."

"The Kappa will hear you first."

"The Kappa? Why—?" Hiroshi the moneylender lowered his voice. "I always pay on time!"

"They killed Ichisada, and now they're going after those who bought tattoos from his secret book. It started when the old Kappa died and his children began fighting over leadership of the gang."

"I don't know about these things," said Hiroshi. His shadow slapped hands over its ears. "I don't want to know!"

"Too late. They're coming to flay the tattoos from our skin. We need to leave Oda tonight. Let's take all the money we can carry."

"This is a trick to rob me! You mean to steal my—"

"I mean to save my skin. Yours too, if you have the coin to make it worthwhile."

The boss moved his ear closer to the door, putting his face a few inches from mine. He made the signs for open and quiet.

While I tickled the lock, the boss closed his eyes to concentrate on the conversation. I wondered how different it sounded to him. It wasn't just that his hearing was better. He knew the language, even though he'd never visited Minkai before. If he hadn't cast a whammy on me, I wouldn't understand a word of Tien.

Takeda and his men had already slipped behind the building. They'd agreed to wait until the boss signaled or one of the men inside tried to scarper, so I took my time on the door. The hushed voices of the tattooed men covered the scrape of my picks in the lock, and the boss kept listening while I worked. As he'd taught me long ago, we might learn more that way than by interrogating the men.

We already knew a little. After the stir we'd caused in the Seahorse District, Shiro tailed Square-Head—whose name we now knew was Goro—to a neighborhood of single-story houses and shops. That's where we caught up with him, following the chalk marks he left on the corners of houses each time he'd turned. One look at the place, and Takeda told us it was the shop of the moneylender whose name we'd seen on Ichisada's list of secret tattoos.

Goro had pounded on the shop door. Above him hung a string of wooden coins, the moonlight turning the gold- and copper-painted discs as dark as blood. The gangster cringed each time he struck the door.

Eventually Hiroshi opened the door, letting a sliver of yellow lamplight fall across the gravel street. He craned his neck to look left and right, but Goro pushed him inside and shut the door behind them.

We kept low and ran to the front door, the boss with a hand on his sword to keep it from rattling in the scabbard. The samurai peeled away to cover the back. Arnisant stayed with us, silent and alert. I was starting to think the wolfhound would make a great lookout for a second-story job.

We'd missed whatever the men inside the house said at first, but they were scared even before Goro mentioned the Kappa. I didn't know whether they were cowards or the Kappa were just that scary. We hadn't seen anything but a few footprints from these ninja characters since the first brief attack outside Yamana's house. My shoulder still itched where they'd hit me with one of their throwing stars.

I felt the tumblers snap into place, louder than I'd expected. I winced, thinking the men inside must have heard the click. They hadn't. They'd taken their conversation deeper into the house. I put my ear back to the keyhole, but I couldn't make out their words anymore. The expression on the boss's face suggested he still could.

Beside me, Arnisant growled. I followed his gaze to a tail disappearing around the corner of a house across the street. Oda was lousy with cats. They must grow their vermin smaller here than we do back in Egorian, where the giant rats give as much hell as they get from the mousers.

"Hush, Arni." I put a hand on his back.

I signed a question at the boss. What do you hear?

He shook his head and raised a finger. Wait.

While I did that, I wondered again what it meant that one look at Takeda and his wakizashi had made a whole mob of gangsters retreat. Was the inspector some kind of master swordsman? The way that last kid fell over himself when the samurai drew his short sword just an inch made me think Takeda had some deadly reputation. But that wasn't the only possibility. Maybe the gangsters refused to fight him for some other reason. Maybe they'd bought him off. Or maybe he had something over their boss and owned a piece of the action.

There was no way to tell without knowing more about Takeda. The boss had a theory, but he wasn't sharing it—not that it bothered me. Telling a street-raised hellspawn what was up with the samurai might break the code of silence between blue-bloods, even though the boss had more in common with me than with this inspector from the other side of the world.

All right. It bothered me some. I tried to put it out of my mind.

Arnisant's gaze moved from where the alley cat had disappeared. He lifted his head to stare at the edge of the roof above us. There was no way the cat could have leaped all the way from the other side of the street. All I saw was a wisp of a cloud over the face of the moon. Still, it made me think maybe Goro and Hiroshi had climbed up into the attic for their little chat. Maybe that's where the moneylender kept his emergency stash.

The boss signaled, Go.

I went in, keeping one hand on the door as I pushed it all the way open to make sure no one stood behind it. Beyond the spare front room were two doorways. The one on the left was closed, as were both shuttered windows I could see. Lamplight revealed the shadows of the men through the open doorway on the right. I slid over to look inside.

Goro still had a handful of Hiroshi's robe twisted up in one big mitt. Hiroshi grasped the gambler's wrist in both hands, but his fingers were made for counting coins, not grappling. The moneylender couldn't have weighed much more than my left arm. I could count his ribs even under the bright colors of the image on his chest.

The dragon wasn't the kind you see on shields and banners back home. For one thing, it didn't have wings. For another, its claws were tiny compared to its snaky body. It had long fishy whiskers and a lion's mane. Its scales weren't all one color, either. They were blue and red and yellow and green and black. In one claw it clutched a scroll, in the other a wand.

"—as much money as we can carry and leave the city." Goro emphasized each phrase by thrusting a stiff finger against Hiroshi's skinny chest. He'd backed the moneylender up against a steel vault bolted to the floor.

Already scared, Hiroshi gaped as he looked past the gambler and saw me in the doorway. He cried, "A demon! They sent a demon!"

I get sick of hearing that sort of thing, so I shot him the tines. He whimpered, probably afraid that I'd hexed him.

The boss moved up beside me. I looked over to see that he'd closed the front door and left Arnisant to guard it. "Calm yourself," he told the man. "We are here to help—"

Goro let go of Hiroshi, whose legs collapsed like boiled noodles. The big gambler ran to the back door and threw open the bolt. The moment he opened it, Takeda and Osamu came in, forcing him back to stand beside the kneeling moneylender. Shiro came in behind them, closing and bolting the door.

"I've done nothing!" Hiroshi tried to cover his chest, but Takeda slapped away his hands.

"That tattoo," Takeda said. "You received it from the artist Ichisada?"

Apparently the samurai hadn't heard as much from the back door as we had through the front.

Hiroshi put his palms on the floor and kowtowed. "Yes, sir!"

"Why this particular tattoo? Was it not expensive?"

Square-Head isn't the brightest, but he's certainly got guts.

"Yes. Yes, it was expensive. But the honorable Ichisada said the dragon would lend me great fortune. And it has! He offered me a bargain price, too. It would have cost far more than I could afford, only—" He hesitated.

"Ichisada owed you money?" said Takeda.

Hiroshi pressed his forehead on the floor.

"And you?" He turned toward Goro. The block-headed gangster sneered, making his scarred face that much uglier, which was some trick. He wasn't the kind to talk to constables. I respected that, but it wouldn't make our job any easier.

Osamu shoved his face close to Goro's ugly mug. "Answer the inspector!"

Goro hissed, spraying flecks of spittle into Osamu's face. The samurai backed up, his hand gripping his katana. He unsheathed the weapon a few inches, but there wasn't enough room to draw the long sword all the way.

The sight of naked steel was still enough to make Goro think twice. He didn't completely break, though. His gaze flickered over Takeda. He spat on the floor and muttered, "You've got no right. You're nothing but a pimp."

Everyone froze as Goro said the word. On the floor, Hiroshi tucked his arms and legs close to his body, trying to make himself too small to notice. Osamu and Shiro stepped back to draw their weapons. One look at their stone-cold eyes told me that they were ready to execute the man.

I looked to the boss, but he was watching Takeda. The inspector stood still, his face an emotionless mask. I expected him to order his men to stand down, but he said nothing. He only stared through Goro. I knew that look. What he was looking at wasn't in the room.

He was looking back in time.

Doubt flickered over Goro's face as he realized he'd gone too far. His lips twitched, and his fingers began to shake. All over his face, fear wrestled with pride. Fear got the upper hand, and he opened his mouth to speak.

Whatever he might have said was lost to Hiroshi's scream. The moneylender fell through the floor, sliding down a chute that hadn't been there a moment earlier. On three sides of the rectangle that opened beneath him, someone had sawed through the wood without making a sound. The fourth side bent like a hinge, and I could see a wedge had been cut from below.

Hiroshi's nails scratched the broken edge of the floorboards, and then he was gone.

As my brain sorted through what my eyes saw, the makeshift chute closed again. I heard the clunk of a block shoved under the wood.

Beneath the house, Hiroshi's screams rose high and shrill.

Goro lost the last of his nerve. "The Kappa! The Kappa!"

From the front room came a deep growl. I looked back to see Arnisant staring at the peaked ceiling. There was no attic up there, only exposed beams beneath the roof. Behind the hound, the front door shuddered but didn't open. Shiro shoved the back door with his shoulder, but it didn't budge. He unbolted it and tried again, but whoever was outside had jammed that one, too.

Beside me, the boss fumbled with the pouches on his bandolier and came up with a pair of riffle scrolls.

"They'll kill us all!" screamed Goro.

"Shut up."

He kept screaming. I was about to slug him when a stream of dust rained down on his face. He shook his head, confused.

I grabbed him by the sleeve, but it was too late. His arm shot up. Between his wrist and the ceiling, I saw a glimmer of steel chain.

Before he could scream again, Goro flew up to the ceiling, kicking. One of his feet caught me in the face. The other struck the boss's shoulder, knocking the riffle scroll out of his hand.

Takeda leaped up, the steel of his wakizashi flashing in the lamplight. The blade sparked on metal but didn't sever the chain. By the time the Inspector's feet hit the floor, Goro's left arm had disappeared through a hole in the roof.

Two more hooked chains shot down, and now I could see the tiny holes they came through. One chain caught Takeda's sword, but he twisted the blade free before it could tighten. The second wrapped around Goro's right arm, holding him tight against the canted ceiling.

Shiro and Osamu threw themselves against the back door, but whatever the Kappa had done to block it held up to their full weight and strength.

As the boss came up with his dropped scroll, I ran to the nearest window. It took me a second to throw the bar and open the latch. The moment I touched the windowpane, the whole thing exploded in my face. I whirled away, too late to cover my eyes from the flash. My face burned, and wood splinters stuck deep beneath my skin. I clawed away thick scraps of burning paper.

Takeda shouted a warning to stay away from the windows, which was real helpful. I heard the riffling sound of one of the boss's scrolls and then a whoosh of flame nearby.

"No fire!" called Takeda.

The boss sighed but said, "Yes, yes." I heard him plucking at his pouches as I probed my eyes. There were no splinters in them, but my eyelids were hot and tender. A little fire is all right by me—even a hot poker doesn't do much more than tickle—but this was more than a little fire. Some thick, wet gunk clung to my face, and that's what burned.

Still, I didn't feel the change coming on, that maddening pain that turns me into a full-on fiend when I've been immolated.

I was plenty mad, all right, but I didn't feel half my mind slipping away the way I did when dropped on a bonfire or lit up by one of the boss's fireballs. If the flash at the window had been a little hotter, lasted a little longer, then whoever was outside the house wouldn't have been happy when I came out to play.

I couldn't decide whether I was relieved or disappointed.

"Here," said the boss. He poured cool liquid over my eyes. Blinking, I saw his fretful expression fade as he realized I could see again. He put the potion bottle in my hand and chose another scroll. I drank the syrupy stuff and pulled a few splinters out of my face.

By the time I was back in action, Takeda and Osamu were up onto the furniture and pulling down on Goro's suspended body. The gambler had screamed himself hoarse, and then all at once he screamed louder than ever as a torrent of blood poured down from the hole that captured his left arm.

The chains holding him went slack. Goro's one-armed body fell to the floor, bringing the samurai with him. Takeda leaped back up, catlike, to thrust his sword through the hole in the roof. He didn't seem to hit anything. Osamu slipped in the blood, falling down beside the glistening red chains.

"Radovan!" The boss indicated the window I'd failed to open. His fire spell had burned through the wreckage, leaving a hole that might just be big enough.

I ran two steps and dove through the opening. I hit the ground and rolled up to my feet, throwing myself to the right for good measure. Nothing hit me, but I kept moving toward the rear of the house. There I found a pair of black-garbed men, their faces covered with those same leathery masks we'd seen outside Yamana's house. The ninja crouched over Hiroshi's flayed body. One of them held a roll of the moneylender's skin, blood dripping from either end. Beyond them, another ninja dashed down the street, cradling Goro's severed arm close to his body.

I threw my darts. The ninja holding the bloody scroll of flesh turned his back, catching the darts in his own body rather than let them strike his prize. The other flung a big white stone at me. I swatted it away, but it exploded on my wrist. It wasn't a stone but an eggshell. Instead of a flash, this one burst into a stinging cloud of pepper. I shut my eyes and held my breath, but it was too late. The stuff burned my eyes and got up my nose. It was all I could do to breathe.

Blind again, I ran back around the corner of the house. I took the big knife in hand, put my back against the wall, and listened for a step on the gravel. Considering how quiet these guys had been, I knew I couldn't count on that. Blinking and weeping away the pepper, I lost my patience and stabbed a few times at empty air.

Someone hit the ground beside me, near the open window. "It is I," hissed Shiro. After a moment, he added, "Are you all right?"

"Blind. Two around the corner."

"Wait here."

These guys don't mess around.

The boss came out next. I could almost see his tall figure through my tears, so that was something. He put the last of the potions in my free hand and moved toward the front of the house. A moment later I heard the door opening. The boss commanded Arnisant to fetch. A few moments later, the hound cried out and the boss shouted, "Arnisant, come!"

My sight was coming back, so I saved the potion for later. Goro and Hiroshi were past saving, and there was no catching up to the ninja after they'd hit Arnisant with one of their pepper bombs. The hound whimpered and pawed at his nose while the boss poured water over his big brown eyes and dabbed them with his handkerchief.

Soon we were back where we started, standing beside Hiroshi's corpse while lights went up in all the nearby houses. A night patrol answered the call of Shiro's whistle within a few moments, but they hadn't seen the ninja. The bastards got away with Hiroshi's dragon and Goro's whole arm.

Takeda and the boss examined the bodies while the local constables pored over the house and climbed up to study the roof.

"What a disaster," Shiro muttered. I remembered then that there'd been something I wanted to ask him. Once we got out of this mess, I hoped to pay a visit to Yamana's cute little housekeeper, but I didn't know where she lived.

"At least you got Kazuko back home before things turned ugly." He'd returned pretty quickly from that unwanted errand. "She must have lived pretty close, huh?"

"Not too far."

I didn't like the way he hesitated before answering. "You took her all the way home, didn't you?"

"Well, she said I should get back to help—" began Shiro. Before he could finish, Takeda and the boss came out of the house. I could almost see the steam coming off of the count.

He yanked Ichisada's ledger out of his satchel and flipped through the pages, tearing the corner off a page in his hurry. This was the guy who put on white gloves before touching a new addition to his library.

"How stupid of me," he groaned.

I thought of two or three funny things to say to that. Instead I asked, "What?"

"Did you notice which of Goro's arms the Kappa appropriated?"

Goro had lost his left arm. The fact that the boss asked the question made me look inside the house at the gambler's body. Definitely the left arm.

"Is that not strange?" said the boss. Takeda frowned as if he already knew the answer.

Osamu and Shiro looked as clueless as I felt. Then I realized the obvious.

"They took Yamana's left arm, too."

"Why would they need two left arms?" said Osamu. One of the constables who'd been on the roof approached to show him a strip of cloth.

"They do not," said the boss. His finger traced the names on the secret page in Ichisada's ledger. "In my haste to show the inspector this list so that he might identify Goro and Hiroshi, I neglected to examine it myself. Yamana's name is not among those who received Ichisada's special tattoos."

The inspector was the one who had examined the list back at the tattoo parlor. His expression faltered between surprise and anger.

"The responsibility is mine," he said. "I did not notice. I thought only of the new names."

Shiro and Osamu lowered their heads, sharing their leader's shame.

"You have been working without rest for days," said the boss, throwing him a bone. Takeda wasn't having it.

"The clue is so obvious, there can be no excuse for my failure."

"If that is true, then the failure is equally mine," said the boss. "Had I but spent a few moments longer to examine the page myself, I would have noticed the discrepancy."

"No," said Takeda. "You were right to proceed in haste. Once we knew the names of the surviving recipients of the Ichisada tattoos, it was imperative to act quickly. You have acted correctly."

"By that logic, you too were correct to press on with your investigation despite the fatigue that clouded your perception. If I have acted correctly, then so have you."

Takeda startled, realizing the boss had maneuvered him into excusing his own mistake. He bowed. Beside him, his men did the same, grateful that my boss saved face for their boss.

These pantomimes of mutual admiration were getting old. I looked to Arni for commiseration, but he sat at attention, eyes on the boss.

"All right, now that we're all correct, will somebody tell me why these ninja cut off Yamada's skin? Did he have a tattoo or not?"

"It does not matter," said the boss. "We were meant to think he did, distracting us from the true object of the Kappa gang's theft."

"This pearl the Decemvirate sent you to fetch."

The boss scowled at last word, but he nodded. "The pearl is infused with the residual power of the wish magic it once contained. It can still infuse other items of magic with its energy. It is reasonable to surmise that the Kappa wish to activate the full power of the tattoos they have stolen only after they have gained all six."

"To do what?"

"Ichisada told the moneylender that the dragon tattoo would grant him great fortune, although without a catalyst such as the celestial pearl, no doubt its powers were limited. Each of the designs must have a unique quality. Combined, the complete set could be far more powerful than the sum of its parts. That is why Ichisada spread them among many different subjects: to ensure that no one person held the power of all the tattoos combined."

"This conjecture is sound," said Takeda.

"Inspector." Osamu bowed and offered Takeda a scrap of cloth the other constable had given him. It was twisted tight like a tourniquet, and blood stained the loop where they'd cut off Goro's arm.

The boss arched an eyebrow and raised a hand above the cloth. Takeda nodded his permission, and the boss plucked something out of the fabric. He rolled a tiny object between his fingers and sniffed it before offering it to Arnisant to smell.

"Find," said the boss.

Arnisant put his nose to the ground and snuffled. He searched along the street until he nosed one of the footprints. The boss knelt beside it and reached down to pluck something out of the gravel. I leaned in for a better look as he compared the two objects.

They were tiny fragments of straw, not much bigger than a grain of rice. Their edges were fresh and sharp where they'd been cut. While the boss showed them to me and Takeda, Osamu and Shiro collected more of the stuff as Arnisant sniffed it out from the ninja's footprints.

"The uniformity of these cuts suggests a manufacturing process," said the boss.

"The Tatami House," suggested Takeda. "The blades they use to trim the reeds could leave fragments like these."

"Is this establishment under the control of the Kappa?"

"It lies within their territory."

"Assuming the Kappa have recovered all six tattoos, they can now activate them with the husk."

"They still need one from a right arm," I said. "What's the name on Ichisada's list?"

The boss tucked the ledger back into his satchel. Now that he'd taken a good peek, he didn't need to look at it again. "The sixth name listed is simply Shinju, with no family name."

"Shinju." Shiro glanced at his superior before casting his eyes down. "Is that not the name of the Master Kappa's daughter?"

After a moment's consideration, Takeda nodded once. "It is."

"Oh, hell."

The revelation hit me like a gut punch. I turned it over in my head a few more times before deciding there was no better explanation. She'd been at the scene of the murder, and the Kappa backed off only after they saw her come out of Yamada's house. Then she sent Shiro away rather than pretend to return to a house where she didn't live.

The others looked at me, waiting for the explanation I didn't want to give. I took a deep breath and told them, "Kazuko is Shinju. She's been playing us from the start."

Takeda and Osamu squinted at me. My word wasn't good enough for samurai. But Shiro's face dropped as he also realized how he'd been duped.

"Honorable Count Jeggare," began Takeda. "No member of the Kappa would have remained to be caught at the scene of a murder. Surely your man has misjudged—"

"No," said the boss. "Radovan is correct. Kazuko—or Shinju—has used us for her own ends."

"I do not understand," said Takeda.

"There is no time," said the boss. "Lead us to this Tatami House, and pray we arrive before the Kappa can activate the power of these stolen tattoos."

Chapter Six: Mantle of Stolen Flesh

"I'm going in."

"Wait." The boss put a hand on my arm, pulling me away from the warehouse window.

Takeda made a sound deep in his chest, barely audible over the drumming from inside the building. He didn't like what we saw in there any better than I did. Still, he crouched beside the slit I'd cut through the paper window—someone had boarded the place up, but there'd still been enough space between the planks for my knife to do its work. He glanced back at the lane curving down to the three gray wooden buildings that formed Tatami House. There was still no sign of Shiro, Osamu, or the reinforcements they'd been sent to fetch.

I hoped we could trust the men. If even one of them was a Kappa agent, we were in a deep pile.

We'd ignored the other two buildings when we heard the rhythmic chanting from the one farthest from the street. It was a nice place for a murder, I thought. Or for some infernal ritual, which is what it looked like they were having tonight.

"Look at what they're doing to her," I said. "I was wrong, all right. Kazuko isn't a Kappa."

Beside me, Arnisant shifted but kept quiet. His eyes were locked on the boss, waiting for instructions. He's a better dog than I am.

"You were not wrong," the boss said. "Watch."

I gritted my teeth and peered back inside.

The building was tall but only one floor, with high ceilings. Heavy wooden beams supported a system of rolling chains and pulleys near the rafters. From some of the chains hung stacks of thick reed mats, too heavy to move by hand. When I looked at the mats, the spell that let me understand the local language brought the word "tatami" to my mind. For once during this crazy night, the name of the joint we were visiting wasn't some kind of poem.

Tall stacks of finished mats formed mazes at the far ends of the building. Against the walls stood low tables piled one atop the other, some with thin, half-woven tatami still pinned in place. Crammed between them were bundled reeds, bolts of cords, and toolboxes.

The big frames sat up on their sides at an angle. Dozens of thin wooden legs stuck up from their faces. On one lay the beginnings of an extra-thick mat. Six of these frames stood end-to-end on the far wall. Together, they looked like a giant centipede curling up to die.

In the middle of it all, thirty or forty men knelt and beat hand drums in time to their chanting. From their dark clothes, I knew they were the Kappas, a gang of killers known in these parts as ninja. They surrounded a cleared space lit by red and yellow lanterns hanging from the rafters. Around their waists they wore hooked chains and short swords. On their faces were dark masks. We'd been watching long enough that I recognized the material: stained human flesh.

I didn't like that, and not because I hadn't seen it before.

The cultists had peeled down their robes to the waist, revealing their tattoos. Some were covered everywhere but their hands. Others had only two or three tattoos, but all wore the same figure on the right sleeve: a sort of goblin with a turtle's shell and, atop its skull, a bowl-shaped dent sloshing with water. Kazuko had told me the creature was called a kappa.

In the center of the kneeling men capered a brown skeleton of a man with a strip of dirty cloth slung between his legs. He also wore a mask, only his wasn't dyed black. It was stitched together from the faces of five or six different guys, each with a different color skin. Weedy patches of hair stuck out here and there. I made out a blob of a nose on one cheek, a withered ear on the other. The gaunt man jabbered as he danced around a wicker basket set on a low table. He shook a bloody knife above his head, yawping as he speckled the faces of the nearest Kappas. He turned to the first of his captives and grinned.

Bound by his wrists and ankles to one of the large tatami frames, the naked young man could barely stand up straight. He jutted his chin, but fear gnawed at his eyes. He kept glancing down at a heavy wooden mallet on the floor beside him. Like the kneelers, he had a kappa tattooed on his right sleeve.

On the legs of the next frame hung dripping hunks of human flesh, draped open to show off their tattoos. I recognized the dragon from the chest of Hiroshi the moneylender. Beside it hung the skin of an arm tattooed with an octopus with wicked hooks at the end of its tentacles. Beneath the dragon hung a phoenix tattoo cut from someone's back. Beneath them were two long strips of flesh, one with a yeti, the other a tengu.

They were all but one of the tattoos from Ichisada's secret book. They'd have been beautiful on living skin. But it was what hung from the third rack that turned my guts to ice.

The gaunt man had already done his work on Kazuko. He'd flayed the skin of her torso, legs, and left arm. She should have been dead, but she arched her back and craned her neck. The twine binding her to the tatami frame creaked. The only mercy was that her long black hair covered her features, sparing us the sight of her agonized face.

"We can still save her," I insisted. "Get her to a healer. I've got a healing potion right here."

"It's no use," said the boss. "There are too many Kappas to fight."

"You could drop a great big fireball on them."

"No," hissed Takeda. "You will burn down half the city."

"Understood," said the boss. "Notice the woman's right arm."

I'd seen it. Kazuko had a kappa on her right arm, a fancier version of the monster tattooed on all the ninja and the man bound across from her. I'd seen it before in Ichisada's book. I'd also had a good enough look at the bound man's face to notice the family resemblance. He had to be Kazuko's brother.

"It need not be this way!" he cried. "We can rule the Kappas together."

The gaunt man cackled.

"No, you alone will be Master Kappa," whined the bound man. "I will be your servant. Just let me live!"

The gaunt man covered the man's mouth with his palm and uttered a few words. He removed his hand to reveal a festering wound where the brother's lips had been. His jaws worked, but I could barely hear his muted grunts.

"Monsters," muttered Takeda. "All of them."

"I don't care if Kazuko's one of them," I said. I couldn't look away from her ruined body. "The kid doesn't deserve to die like that."

Takeda looked up the street again, but there was nothing to see. From the look on his face, I wondered whether he was questioning the loyalty or competence of his men. Even if I wasn't wrong about Kazuko, that didn't mean she was the only Kappa who'd fooled us. Takeda returned his gaze to the ritual. "We must wait for reinforcements. The three of us cannot—"

The gaunt man removed the lid of the basket to reveal a pearl the size of his head. It wasn't actually a pearl, I realized, but an eggshell-thin globe of the iridescent colors you see inside an oyster shell. The gaunt man reached for the mallet.

"No," said the boss. "Not the husk!"

He yanked a board away from the window with a squeal of old nails. The sound turned the heads of the Kappas toward us.

Without hesitating, Takeda pulled away another board. I cut away the last of the paper window with three quick strokes of the big knife. Before I could stop him, the boss clambered through.

Takeda bumped into me as we both tried to get through the window at once. I growled him off and shoved my way through.

Who says tattoos are forever?

The Kappas shrugged their arms back into their sleeves and scattered toward the dark corners of the room. A few flung chains toward the rafters and floated up like spiders, snuffing out half the lights as they went.

That was all right by me. The boss had keen eyes on account of having an elf for a father, and I could practically see in the dark thanks to whatever the hell it was my ancestors took to bed. I avoided looking directly at the ninja creeping along the stacks of tatami mats, hoping they'd think I couldn't spot them.

What they didn't know could definitely hurt them.

Two Kappas rolled a couple of eggs across the floor. They wobbled like skittles, only we were the pins.

I pulled the boss out of their path. As the grenades burst against the wall, I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting a blinding flash or pepper. Instead, the eggshells exploded into sickly sweet clouds. I caught a snootful before I could hold my breath. The stuff made me woozy, even after I staggered out of the cloud.

A couple of smart slaps helped shake off the sleep powder. I returned the favor until the boss said, "Enough! We must prevent—"

The sound of the mallet crushing the husk cut him off. The sleep powder cleared, and we saw the gaunt man raise a double handful of iridescent dust from the basket. He held it before Kazuko and blew. The cloud glittered around her, and shining motes clung to her raw flesh. Her shriek pierced my ears like broken glass.

I filled my hands with knives.

The boss drew his sword in one hand, a riffle scroll in the other. He pointed the little sheaf of paper at the gaunt man and thumbed the edge. The face of each page glimmered with a fraction of an arcane rune, and four bolts of energy shot from his hand.

The gaunt man stared down at the oozing wounds on his chest and drew a few symbols of his own in the air.

A ninja rushed the boss. I stepped in to take that dance. The Kappa didn't waver when I threw him the big smile, so I drew one just like it under his chin.

The boss threw another volley of magic at the gaunt man, but the bolts splashed and vanished against an invisible barrier.

"Hit him," said the boss.

I threw the little knife. It struck just as the masked man finished casting another spell. The blade glanced off his body, like the ninja's stars had bounced off the boss. The gaunt man turned away to reach for the stolen tattoos.

Nearby, Takeda moved in. Before he'd gone two steps, a blur shot down from the rafters. He flicked his wrist, barely moving his sword. Throwing stars glanced off his blade and stuck in the wall.

The floor creaked behind me. I whirled to the side. My spur caught a ninja's sleeve and pulled his sword a few inches out of line, sparing me a real bad haircut. I followed with the big knife, cutting deep into his kidney. A warm spray wet my hand as I jerked the blade free. The body sagged to the floor.

The boss parried a slash from a Kappa I'd missed. I moved to help, but one I hadn't spotted swept my legs. I twisted my fall into a roll. The heavy blade of one of those scythe-weapons stabbed the floor where my neck would have been if I were a little slower. In the time it took the Kappa to tug it free, I put the big knife in his neck. My hands were getting slippery.

The boss retreated from three Kappas. The newcomers bound up his blade with their chains while the third raised his sword. I lunged toward him, but there wasn't time. "Boss!"

A dark blur passed over his head, knocking the swordsman to the ground. The man uttered a strangled cry as Arnisant's jaws closed on his throat.

Good boy.

I went for one of the ninja with the chains. They both saw me coming and skipped away like kids at a ribbon dance, their chains winding around the boss.

The boss caught my eye and signaled, Stand clear.

I faded back as he riffled another scroll. He grabbed a chain.

Sparks danced across the metal links. His hair lifted as if he were underwater, and his jaws clenched in an agonized rictus. The Kappas dropped their chains and fell back, bodies jerking in shock. I finished one and moved in to kill the other, but Arni had already taken him out.

Very good boy.

Takeda gutted two of his attackers with a sweep of his blade. When the third raised a grenade to hurl in his face, the inspector cut off his hand before he could release it. The Kappa wailed and clutched his stump.

I stopped worrying about Takeda and stuck close to the boss. He staggered from the shock of his own spell, but kept on his feet as he shrugged off the slack chains. He paused to fetch another scroll.

"Keep moving, boss." I took my own advice and tumbled forward as several throwing stars sank into the floor behind me.

The boss thumbed his riffle scroll. Before he finished, a throwing star caught him in the back. He set his jaw and kept the small sheaf of paper in hand. As the last page snapped free, two more throwing stars hit him. They bounced off his shoulder and neck, repelled by magic.

"You got one of those for me?" I asked.

He grimaced an apology.

We kept moving toward the gaunt man. The Kappas showered us with steel. They leaped from every shadow, but I saw them, Arnisant smelled them, and Takeda had lightning in his veins. Between us, we stopped the ninja from reaching the boss, giving him time to snap off a few more scrolls. I felt the prickly energy of his magic settle into my body, making me stronger, faster. Maybe even prettier, I don't know.

Kazuko screamed louder than ever. The pearl dust sparkled on her exposed muscle. I couldn't help thinking the stuff must have felt like salt on an open wound. The gaunt man tossed a piece of the tattooed skin toward her. It floated through the shimmering cloud to settle on her raw chest, its edges settling neat against the border of skin at her throat. In an instant, the magic of the pearl dust sealed the flesh in place. The dragon I'd seen on Hiroshi now coiled between Kazuko's breasts.

Her cries grew louder, but they weren't screams of agony. She threw back her head in ecstasy.

"More!" she wailed. "Give me the entire mantle!"

The gaunt man raised his arms above his head. The remaining tattoos rose off the tatami rack, floating like jellyfish on the tide. They moved onto Kazuko's body and fixed there, edges sealing with a sucking sound.

Takeda cut his way free and went straight for Kazuko. The gaunt man stepped into his path, raising his hand as if to command the samurai to halt. Whatever magic protected him earlier did nothing against Takeda's wakizashi. Half the man's hand hit the floor moments before his masked head joined it.

Takeda raised his sword to strike Kazuko. She kicked him in the belly, the rope bonds around her ankle snapping like thread. The samurai flew back, crashing against the man bound to the opposite table. The slender legs of the rack impaled Kazuko's brother, but his body spared Takeda the same fate.

Kazuko held up her foot for a second, like an acrobat showing off after a smart move. I saw the yeti tattooed on that leg and figured that one gave her strength. With a shrug, she snapped her remaining bonds. Smiling, she turned toward us.

She brought her foot down, smashing the wooden floor. The force of her step shook the building. I let myself fall and rolled with it, heading for the shadows. I wouldn't be the only one in the darkness, but I was betting I'd be the only one who could see in there.

The boss fenced with another ninja while Arnisant protected his back. Takeda stood, raising his sword once more.

As if they'd been waiting for the dramatic moment, the city constables broke in through the doors and windows. Osamu was one of the first in. He shouted, "In the name of Lord Koga, I order you to surrender!"

Naked but for her stolen tattoos, Kazuko stood without a trace of fear or shame. "No. Throw down your weapons, or suffer the same fate as your commander."

She thrust her left arm toward Takeda. The tentacles of the octopus tattoo shot out of her flesh, swelling to the size of mooring ropes. One encircled the inspector's blade. The others arched around him, their hooked ends tearing through his clothes.

"No!" Shiro screamed as he rushed forward. He hadn't made it halfway across the floor before a pair of Kappas intercepted him. In an instant, Osamu was by his side. Their katanas flashed against the ninja's blades.

Constables rushed in to fight the rest of the Kappas. Now it was the ninja who were outnumbered, but the first wave of police fell back before a flurry of throwing stars and flash grenades. Two or three screamed as hooked chains caught them around the neck and pulled them toward the ceiling.

The boss fumbled with his scrolls again, hesitating before he triggered one. I saw his lips form an apology as a stream of fire roared from the riffling pages toward Kazuko.

"Fire!" yelled the constables. They showed less fear of the ninja than of the flame.

They didn't need to worry. As the ray of flame reached Kazuko's body, the dragon on her chest opened its jaws and sucked down the fire, leaving only a trail of smoke.

"No fire!" cried Takeda. Two of Kazuko's tentacles held him high off the floor. He twisted his wakizashi, slicing through the tentacle that tried to steal his blade. He reversed his grip and threw the blade like a spear. It shot down toward Kazuko's breast, impaling her through the heart.

I felt a pang of regret as I saw his blade emerge from her back. Then the phoenix tattoo glowed like the sun at dawn, dazzling my eyes. I heard another sucking sound. My vision returned just as Kazuko hurled Takeda's sword to the floor. In the waning glow of the phoenix, I saw her flesh heal around the wound.

"I cannot die," she said, bringing Takeda closer. "The same is not true of you."

Five of the tentacles arched up like serpents. Their razor hooks sliced through his skin. At the first cuts, Takeda set his jaw in silence, but as the hooks tore away his flesh, he could not help but scream.

"Of all the samurai in Oda," said Kazuko, "only you are worthy of admiration. You are the sacrifice I must make before assuming the mantle of leadership."

She flayed him before our eyes. A mist of blood obscured his body, but as it cleared I saw that all the skin on his torso was gone. Kazuko cast him away, her tentacles reaching for the nearest constables.

"Inspector!" cried Shiro. He overran his opponent, trampling the ninja even as his foe stabbed him in the thigh. Osamu dispatched Shiro's attacker with a thrust to the heart. As he opened his guard, Osamu's own foe slashed him across the belly. The samurai fell to his knees.

Shiro hesitated, torn between helping his master and his friend. Osamu waved him forward.

"Go," he wheezed.

It didn't matter. Shiro could never have gotten back in time. The ninja raised his blade to decapitate Osamu. Before letting the mortal strike fall, the masked man looked to Kazuko.

Kazuko smiled, pleased that the man awaited her permission before executing an officer of the law. She flung away the constables in her tentacles. Their bodies crashed into the walls and slumped to the floor. As if we'd all received the same unspoken command, everyone stopped fighting and looked at the woman clothed in monsters.

There was no magic in it. I could have moved, but I froze, waiting for the right moment. It would be a simple thing to move forward and put the big knife in her spine. But after seeing the phoenix tattoo save her life from Takeda's mortal blow, I didn't think I could put her down for good.

Not by myself, anyway.

I had an inkling of what might do the trick, but I didn't want to give away my position. When the boss stood up and sheathed his sword, I hoped he was thinking the same thing. He likes to say I'm smarter than I look. The question was whether I was just smart enough that he could guess what I was thinking.

He walked toward Kazuko, Arnisant at his heel. I reckoned he could see me, but he didn't so much as glance in my direction.

"Mistress Kappa," he said. "I see that your clan's symbol lends you great cunning. Rarely have I witnessed such daring manipulation of unwitting allies. And yet you are bold. Not only did you use the inspector for your own ends, but you also dared to put a count of Cheliax to your service."

"You think much of yourself, foreigner," she said. "But it is true, Takeda's investigation foundered after I allowed him to find the bodies of the first few victims. He worked day and night, returning home only to care for his motherless children. In his fatigue, he began to fail me."

"How dare you speak of the inspector!" Shiro shouted as he cradled Takeda's head on his knees. The inspector moaned as his man tried to cover his flayed body with his own outer robe.

Kazuko's tentacles twitched, eager to strike. She eyed Shiro.

"What caused you to act in such haste?" said the boss. He laid a hand on Arnisant's head. "Was it simply the impatience of youth? Did you yearn to take your father's place?"

Kazuko scowled, but she took the bait. "My brother learned of my designs, so I visited Yamana this evening. Like the inspector, he is a man who deserves respect. As I apologized for the need to take his life, he tried to bargain with me. He told me of your reputation as an investigator, and I agreed that your arrival might serve to reinvigorate the search for the other tattoos. Before you appeared, I barely had time to disguise myself as a servant."

"And to instruct your men to flay the skin from Yamana's arm. Yet this petty cruelty puzzles me. If you wished me to find the other tattoos, why attempt to mislead me with a false clue?"

"To inspire you!" she said. "Yamana told me of your vanity. He said you had a weakness for spectacle. Do not deny it. I saw your eyes fill with excitement at the sight of the corpse."

She wasn't wrong, I thought. And she reminded me how happy I'd been to see a pretty girl to comfort at the scene of the crime. She'd played the boss, and she'd played me.

"Is it too much to hope that your respect for the honorable Inspector Takeda is sufficient to allow us to remove him to safety?"

Kazuko laughed. "It is far too much."

"Very well," said the boss. He waved his hand in what you might mistake for a helpless gesture. I read it for the signal that it was: Cut her.

I'm more of a stabbing fellow, ordinarily. But I can cut a straight line.

Or the rough outline of a phoenix.

It took me three strokes. The first made a clean arc over the bird's raised wings. The wound sagged open, making me think that the magic sealing the stolen skin together hadn't yet bound it to the flesh below. Two more strokes joined the ends of the first cut to a point beneath the phoenix's blazing claws.

The tattoo lit up like molten gold, but only for a second. I grabbed it by the edge and tore it away.

The point of the boss's sword emerged from her back. He'd struck so quickly, she hadn't had time to scream.

Above us, the tentacles swelled and rose toward the ceiling before sinking down again. They withered and fell slack as a snake's shed skin.

The rest of Kazuko's tattoos stretched like living things away from her body. The yeti was the first to break free, its straining muscles bursting like inflamed boils. Once ruptured, the stolen flesh collapsed on the floor, flaccid and unmoving.

All around us, the Kappas resumed their attack, but the sight of their defeated leader drained their courage even as it emboldened the samurai. The rest of the fight was noisy, bloody, and already decided.

∗ ∗ ∗

The morning light shone bright on the waves, and I could barely make out the sandbar of the Seahorse from across the bay. At least for a while, the Kappas weren't the most feared gang in Oda. The old rivals went back to war less than an hour after the news of Kazuko's death and that of her brother. From the Seahorse all the way up to the eleventh precinct, the constables would be picking up more bodies this morning. But they'd be doing it without Inspector Takeda.

"So he sold his sword to marry a prostitute."

The boss frowned. And I thought I'd used the polite word. "She was a prostitute only on the night he paid for her water-raising ceremony. Purchasing her contract from the Flower and Willow Pavilion cost far more than a public official could afford. Thus, for love, he sold his family sword. When his wife died bearing their second daughter, he was father by day, mother by night. He could no longer afford all of his servants. His appearance suffered. Soon his peers shunned him."

"But all the girls at the whore—I mean, at the flower place," I said. "They all bowed to him. Even Kazuko said she respected him."

"Where a noble finds disgrace, the common man sees honor." The way he said it, I guessed he was quoting something from a book. Either that or he was getting poetical on me again.

I patted Arnisant on the shoulder. You and me, I thought. We're the common men.

We boarded the ship that would take us to mainland Tian Xia. Somewhere in the middle of it all we'd find a country called Quain. If the boss's information was right, the king there had a line on another one of these magic husks. I'd tried talking him out of it, but it was no use. In his mind, it'd be some kind of disgrace to return without the thing the Decemvirate had sent him to find.

Inspector Second Class Uchida Osamu, newly appointed to lead investigations in the eleventh precinct, had wangled not only our passage but also a pretty good reward for our help in the investigation. His report painted our help in such a good light that the city leaders considered us honored visitors rather than foreign devils, a phrase I heard every time I walked the streets alone. That was good luck for us, since the body count was sure to grow in the weeks ahead. Osamu and Shiro were going to have their hands full as the gang war heated up.

So it was a surprise when I saw both men ride toward the docks. A third man sat between them, a little stiff in the saddle. I thought it was a good thing they hadn't arrived earlier. Horses don't much fancy me, and I'd hate to see them throw the newly anointed Lord Takeda, Chief Inspector of all of Oda.

At first the phoenix tattoo wouldn't stick to him, even after the boss had blown the pearly dust all over Takeda's weeping wounds. But he wouldn't give up. At last Shiro charged over to behead the dying Kazuko, and the magic took on Takeda's ravaged body. One customer at a time, I guessed.

Takeda and his men raised their hands in salute as our ship left dock. The boss returned the gesture with a Chelish flourish I'd seen him use in fancy company.

Arni just sat at attention, but I lifted his paw to help him wave back. The boss shot me a look like I was embarrassing him, but I didn't care. I wasn't making fun of the samurai, even if they were all above me. I was just helping Arnisant tell them how we both felt, common fellows that we were.

It'd been an honor.

About the Author

Dave Gross is the former editor of magazines ranging from Dragon to Star Wars Insider and Amazing Stories. The adventures of Radovan and Count Jeggare feature the novels Prince of Wolves and Master of Devils, as well as many novellas and short stories available at paizo.com. His Forgotten Realms novels include Black Wolf and Lord of Stormweather. Other recent publications include stories in Tales of the Far West and Shotguns v. Cthulhu. You can keep up with Dave's latest shenanigans on Facebook, Twitter (@frabjousdave), and at frabjousdave.blogspot.com.