"Shoot me. Lord Diarmat wasn't pleased with your current a.s.signment."

"No, sir. I have some good news on that front, though."

"Good. Good news is in rare supply at the moment. What is it?"

"The Arkon's convinced that the current a.s.signment is necessary."

"This is obviously a definition of good you didn't learn in the Halls," was the sour reply. "What else are you going to drag away from my department into a realm *outside of my jurisdiction'?"

"We'd like to borrow Red for a few hours tomorrow morning."

His brows rose. His ears stiffened. "Red specializes in things that can't move. In particular, corpses."

"Yes, sir."

"Then I suggest you bring whatever you want him to examine to the Halls."

Kaylin was prepared for this. "We would, but the bodies in question are possibly magical in nature. To a cursory external examination, they look human."

"And the bodies already in the morgue also look human. The bodies that will no doubt pile up the minute he steps out of those doors will undoubtedly look human, as well. Get to the point, Private. While I appreciate a break from the conversation I was having, I have limited time and zero patience."

"We have seven corpses, collected over the course of two days."

"Not my problem."

"They're identical. Not the cause of death-frankly, we can't find one-but the bodies themselves. They are all, as near as we can determine, the same woman."

The Sergeant didn't even blink. "And nothing in your fancy Dragon-run fief is capable of pointing out the reasons that's impossible?"

"No, sir. Without the magic inherent in the Tower, we wouldn't have a morgue capable of stopping the bodies from rotting." Kaylin didn't add that she suspected magic wasn't the only reason they hadn't started to decay; Marcus was in a bad enough mood she was willing to leave that to Red, poor sod. "Tiamaris has no formal missing-persons reports because there's no one to report to, and even if an agency that could take reports existed, no one would talk to them anyway, so there's no fast way of checking the dead against reports.

"On the other hand, if Tiamaris had an Exchequer and he thought the Exchequer was causing him trouble? There wouldn't be a lot of ha.s.sle about due legal process. He'd just eat him."

"If it weren't for the fact that due legal process pays the bills," came the growl of a reply, "I'd consider agitating for the lack, myself." He exhaled, ran his hands over his eyes, and said, "How serious is this?" in an entirely different tone of voice.

"My guess?"

Marcus nodded.

"It's serious. It's not possible that the same woman could have died-without cause-seven times that we know of, so there's got to be magic involved. What we don't-or won't-know is how extensive that magic is."

"What do you think?"

"I think you can't make bodies out of nothing. It's not an illusion; magical scans would detect that instantly, and Tiamaris is more than capable of that level of magic. The change-and I'm a.s.suming that some bodies somewhere were magically altered-is physical, real, and finished."

"You think these bodies started out looking entirely different?"

"I can't think of any other explanation. Tiamaris can't, either..." She hesitated again.

"Spit it out," the Sergeant growled.

"The Arkon was very upset. I've never seen him so-"

"Unhappy?"

"Enraged. I think he melted some of the floor-the stone floor."

The Sergeant whistled.

"It's possible that there is some underlying explanation for the seven identical bodies that we're not privy to at the moment."

"Unlikely."

"That's what we think. So we're looking for missing people of approximately the same gender, shape, and age in a fief that has no method of making those disappearances easily accessible. Best case, we find a mage who's transforming other people. Worst case, they're not actually corpses at all, but something different."

"So far, there's no reason the corpses can't come here."

"Since we have no idea how they died or how they were created, for want of a better word, we've got no guarantees that we don't cart the corpses out of the fief and have them come to life on Red's slab. If they do, they're not likely to be our friends."

Marcus nodded then. "You've got him. Tell him when and where you want him to be-I'll raise him on mirror and give him some warning. But, Private?" he added as she and Severn turned to head toward the morgue. "Lose him, and you'll be paying for the rest of your short career."

"Yes, sir."

Red was working in the morgue. Kaylin, at an early age, had been both fascinated and horrified by vivisection, and Red-like many of the Hawks-had been patient enough to tolerate her presence at his elbow. How, she didn't know. Red's job had never, as far as Kaylin knew, involved patrolling the streets of any part of the City, although she thought he'd be good at it; he was patient with idiots.

He was untying the ap.r.o.n he wore, and glancing balefully at the mirror that adorned the full length of the wall opposite the door, when they entered.

"Ironjaw said you had an on-site a.s.signment for me," he said as he sponged his hands clean.

Kaylin nodded.

"How much metal am I going to need?"

"All of it."

"What kind of records access will I have?"

"Portable."

Red grimaced. "Where?"

"That's the trickier part. It's in the fiefs."

"The fiefs. Now I've seen everything." He shook his head. "How old is the body?"

"Bodies. Two or three days, on the surface of things."

"Preserved?"

"More or less. Tiamaris has done some time with the Hawks, and he's the one running the morgue. He doesn't have a staff of consulting mages, though."

"That's probably an advantage," was the curt reply. Red began to pack his things, and Kaylin obligingly carried the bag into which he was dropping them. "I won't have much time," he said as he slid scalpels of varying widths into their leather cases.

"You're expecting a corpse here?"

"If they can find him, yes. Some people are holding out hope that if we do, he won't be a corpse."

"Who?"

"I don't know his name," was the serious and quiet reply. "But he is-or was-a key witness in the Exchequer investigation."

"Any reason you're betting on a corpse?"

"Yeah. What was left of his home wasn't pretty. It was magically demolished, but the trace was contaminated."

"How?"

"He was a mage, of sorts. Most of the strong signatures are his."

"He didn't destroy his own home."

"He could have. Doesn't seem sane or likely. But, well. Mage."

"And if I ask how a mage was involved in the investigation as a witness-"

"Don't. Let's just say he was a junior Arcanist and leave it at that. You can bother Ironjaw if you're feeling suicidal, but it's not going to get you any answers. Until he calls you in-and I think we could have used you for the on-site investigation of the wreckage-it's locked down." He finished his cursory inspection of his traveling gear, and nodded. "You'll be here in the morning?"

"On time, even. Promise."

"Good. I'd bet on it, but at the moment, the office betting pools are being neglected. Anything else?"

"No."

"Yes," Severn said. "Not a corpse."

"Good. A little variety never hurt anyone. What is it?"

Reaching into his pouch, Severn pulled out the swatches of cloth he'd cut from six of the dresses; the seventh piece was in the Imperial Library under the Arkon's ferocious glare. Red frowned and held out a hand. "These are from what?"

"Dresses. Seven identical dresses, or as near to identical as they could be, given external factors."

"This is silk," Red said. "But the color-"

Severn nodded as Red fished out a jeweler's gla.s.s. He barked a single word and the lights in the room brightened. "You want me to figure out how it's dyed?"

"Yes. That might tell us where it was dyed; I don't think the color is all that common."

"I'll see what I can do-I'm not sure I'll have what you need for tomorrow; it depends on what happens for the rest of the day. Or night."

"Night?" Kaylin's voice rose slightly.

"I'm on call."

"Since when?"

Red looked down at her. "Since the investigation into the Exchequer was blown by your theoretical fraud on Elani. It's gotten uglier by the minute, and I'm not sure the Halls are going to drag themselves out of this mess smelling like roses. But at the moment, I'm free. You want to watch?"

Kaylin did. But she also wanted to sleep. "I did say I would get here first thing in the morning, and on time."

He chuckled. It was a weary chuckle but it would do.

Severn volunteered to walk Kaylin home. In and of itself, that wasn't unusual. She expected him to bring up Nightshade, but he was kind. He didn't. He didn't speak much at all, but it wasn't a cold or hostile silence. When they reached her room, she crawled under the bed and retrieved the egg crate.

He watched, leaning against the wall nearest the door, a comfortable shadow in the moonlight.

"Can you check my mirror?"

"It's gray."

"Good." She was busy unwinding the sc.r.a.ps of fabric that she hoped kept the egg warm in her absence. Having done that, she carefully pulled the egg out of its temporary home. "Do you-do you want to stay?"

"I don't think there's enough room in the bed for you, me, and a fragile egg," he replied. He was smiling; she could hear it in the words, even if she couldn't see it. "How is the egg?"

"It's-I think it's harder. Or rougher. I'm not sure."

"You should take it to Evanton."

"In my copious free time, I'll be sure to do that." She began to peel off clothing; the night was cool. Tonight, because Severn was standing there, she actually folded it as neatly as she could in the dark and left it in a small standing pile near the foot of the bed. Then she curled up on her side around the egg, wrapping her arms across it just before she pulled the blankets up beneath her chin.

"I'll come by in the morning," he said. "With food."

"Bracer?"

"If it's come home by now, I'll leave it. I'm tired of water stains on my furniture."

"I promise I'll stop throwing the d.a.m.n thing into the Ablayne."

"Don't make promises you can't keep. I'll see you in the morning."

She drifted off even before she heard the click of the door's lock.

CHAPTER 11.