* * *
   «More company,» Yasmin called, as a dozen new wights clattered up a spiral staircase from the next floor down.
   «Pike this nonsense,» Miriam growled.
   She bent and picked up Chi's firewand, something I'd dropped in the course of my gymnastics on the wheelbarrow. Before I could guess what she was up to, she shouted «In nomine Vulpes!»
   The wand loosed a crackling fireball straight into the wight's faces.
   «What the sod are you doing?» I cried. To be sure, the wights had abruptly ceased to be a threat – in fact, with all the chemicals used to resurrect them, their bodies burned as if they had been doused with Phlegistol. One fell off the ramp and into a fish-tank two storeys below, releasing a gush of steam as thick as a pea-soup fog. The rest simply blazed down to ash in seconds, oil-soaked torches burning in the night… and all around them, the Vertical Sea burned too, a framework of age-old wood.
   «Honored Miriam,» Wheezle said, «while you should be congratulated for guessing the firewand's invocation —»
   «No trick there,» Miriam interrupted. «The Fox used the same phrase for every wand he made – the old sod had a real bee for mass production.»
   «Still,» Wheezle continued, «one cannot help noticing that your fire has cut off our route to the ground.»
   «It's cut off the wights too,» Miriam answered. «We won't have to worry about those berks anymore. If you're worried about getting away, November can fly some of us out, and the Kid can teleport the rest to safety. What's the problem?»
   «In polite company,» I told her, «we don't use city monuments for kindling. On the other hand, we can discuss that after Hezekiah… Hezekiah?»
   The boy had slumped to his knees and was pressing his hands against his head. «Rivi's trying to blank me again,» he wailed.

* * *
   «I'll kill that slag!» Miriam roared, flourishing the firewand with homicidal intent. But the nasty wee albino was nowhere in sight… not that we had much of a view of our surroundings. With so many ramps, tanks, and support beams in the way, we had no clear line of sight to any of the other levels in the tower; and to make matters worse, smoke from the burning stairway had drifted in around us, stinging our eyes and reducing visibility to only a few paces.
   «November!» I shouted, «start flying people out of here. Take Irene first…»
   «Who's Irene?» the alu asked.
   «I am Irene,» the old orc answered serenely, «betrothed bride to these three noble princes.»
   «Do tell,» Yasmin said. «You've been a busy boy, Britlin.»
   «Can we start the evacuation?» I snapped. «The Sea's on fire, Hezekiah's in trouble, and…»
   The boy howled with fury and pounded his hands against his temples. «I am not… in… trouble!»
   He threw his head back and screamed, the kind of scream used by martial artists the instant they drive their fist through a brick wall. A moment later, the cry was echoed from somewhere overhead: a woman's shriek, poisoned with outrage.
   «I beat her!» Hezekiah crowed. He threw his head back to stick out his tongue in the direction of the woman's cry. «Three's the charm, Rivi!» he called. «You may think you're tough, but I've been incinerated by a goddess. You'd better not mess with Hezekiah Virtue or I'll… uh-oh.»
   Hurtling down through the smoke came Kiripao, brandishing Unveiler and coated from head to toe in brown dust. «Peel it!» he screamed. «Peel away the shell!»

* * *
   The elf monk struck Hezekiah feet first in the chest. It was a glancing blow, but still enough to knock the boy backward. Hezekiah wheezed, trying to force his lungs to draw breath, then toppled off the ramp into the tank.
   Miriam shouted a curse and raised the firewand toward Kiripao. She might have blasted him then and there, catching all of us in the radius of the fireball; but the monk sprang forward the moment he struck the ramp, and bolted straight at Miriam before she could speak the invocation. He swung Unveiler at Miriam's head, a whipcrack strike that would have crushed her skull if she hadn't thrown up her arm to block. Bones cracked as the scepter smashed her forearm; and she shied back a step, trying to bring the firewand to bear on her screaming opponent.
   Kiripao didn't give her time – he had been fast before, but the umbral insanity had keyed him to a fever pitch, removing every inhibition and giving him a lust to inflict pain. He followed up the scepter smash with a snap kick that caught Miriam flush on the floating ribs. Breath whoofed out of her and she flew backward off the ramp, moving so fast I feared she might be knocked clear of the squid-tank and fall nine storeys to the ground; but Miriam was a tough old basher, one who could take a few hits without letting it rattle her. Somehow she managed to snag her foot on the rim of the tank as she hurtled by, then gave herself a backward thrust. Instead of going over the side, she splashed into the water, sending dozens of squid into panic. The tank began to fill with their ink, an opaque blackness that hid both Miriam and Hezekiah sinking beneath the waves.
   «Kiripao, you fool!» Rivi shouted from the level above us. I could see her garishly painted face peering over a catwalk – the catwalk leading to the Plane of Dust portal. She and Kiripao must have come from the Glass Spider, possibly to meet with Chi; and when the fighting started, the ever-impulsive elf had decided to break a few heads himself. «Kiripao!» Rivi continued, «I command you to get back up here.»
   Easy for her to say… but our side had recovered from the confusion of Kiripao's sneak attack. Now Yasmin and I stood shoulder to shoulder, our swords ready for blood. Smoke roiled around us. In the tank below, water thrashed and churned, a sound I hoped meant Miriam was swimming to help Hezekiah. Even if the noise was actually my friends being dragged under by squid, I knew what my first duty was. This fiasco had to end now.
   «Kiripao,» Yasmin said in a cold voice, «you have one chance: put down Unveiler and surrender. I consider you diseased, not evil… but I would not hesitate to kill a rabid dog. The choice is yours.»
   The monk's eyes glittered, reflecting the fire that crackled behind our backs. I could not read the expression on his face – did he even understand what Yasmin had said?
   «Get up here!» Rivi snarled.
   «You saw what she did to Petrov,» Yasmin told the elf. «You know she'd do the same to you, just for amusement. Put down the scepter.»
   Kiripao's gaze dropped and he looked at Unveiler with surprise… as if he hadn't realized he was carrying anything more than a convenient weapon for clubbing people. He held it up, like a curious object he'd just found lying at his feet; firelight glinted off its surface, throwing beads of ruby illumination across his face.
   «Peel,» he whispered. «Peel it! PEEL IT ALL AWAY!»
   I tensed, waiting for him to charge… but Kiripao's brain brimmed with the pus of umbral thoughts, and forthright attack was not the umbral way. He feinted toward us, then spun off in the opposite direction, up the ramp. Perhaps he was responding to Rivi's summons after all; perhaps he was simply looking for a shadowy spot to lie in ambush. Either way, he never made it – two steps before he reached the stairs to the next level, he ran smack into something invisible.
   Yasmin and I had raced after our quarry as soon as he ran. We had no hope of catching him – the monk moved as fast as a ferret – but we were close enough to see what happened next. Kiripao swung Unveiler at whatever he had bumped into; and two gnarled little hands flickered into visibility as they deflected the strike.
   «Honored Madman,» said the owner of those hands, «this scepter is an abomination. It must return to the keeping of my faction.»
   With a strength I had never suspected, Wheezle yanked down Unveiler, pulling Kiripao's whole upper body with it. The monk's mouth flopped open in surprise; and while Kiripao was gaping, Wheezle jerked the scepter up again, driving it into the underside of Kiripao's jaw. Teeth clacked together hard, and Kiripao's tongue must have got in the way – the monk spat blood, splattering Wheezle's face and dribbling more down his own chin.
   «Peel it,» he gurgled, the pronunciation fuzzed by his wounded tongue. «Peel it hard!»
   Wheezle struggled to twist Unveiler out of Kiripao's hands, but the monk simply smiled – a smile with blood-smeared teeth. He lifted the scepter, with Wheezle clinging fiercely to it, and swung it at high speed over the edge of the ramp. His intention was obviously to play crack-the-whip: spin Wheezle out, then give Unveiler a vicious snap that would send the gnome flying free. Wheezle would fly a long way; they had moved far enough up the ramp that the squid tank was no longer beneath them.
   The drop was now a full nine storeys down to the cobblestone street.
   Wheezle's feet lifted off the ramp as Kiripao swung the scepter. His body swept out to the horizontal, but he maintained his grip, hands clenched on the artifact he called an abomination – to a Dustman, death was far less terrible than what Unveiler could do to an undead soul. Kiripao gave the scepter a snapping jerk to throw Wheezle free… but the little Dustman found some well of strength as deep as death itself and clung on despite the jolt to his wrists.
   Kiripao had never imagined the gnome would keep hold. Brother Monk had thrown everything he had into the snap; now he was off-balance, Wheezle's weight dragging him forward to the edge of the ramp. For a split-second, Kiripao fought to keep his feet… then both he and Wheezle were plunging away from the tower, hurtling toward the ground.
   «November!» I shouted. But the alu had already taken to her wings, swooping after the two with every scrap of speed she possessed. Time blossomed the way it sometimes does when you can only watch the inevitable. November sped like a sling bullet through the smoke, through the darkness; and I could see she would make it, she was right on target. Her arms reached forward, one aiming for Wheezle, one for Kiripao…
   …and Kiripao lashed out a fist as hard as iron, hooking around November's head and smashing into her closest wing.
   The wing bones didn't just break, they shattered… as if they had always been as flimsy as twigs and someone had finally called their bluff. The other wing, still intact, spread wide as November reflexively tried to use it as a brake; but its effect was minimal, providing no more than a meagre ability to steer. All three, gnome, elf, and alu plummeted downward.
   Just before impact, Kiripao threw out his arms and gave a single flap, as if he had an umbral's wings to pull out of the dive. He didn't; and with a last sweep of her good wing, November twisted the falling group so that Kiripao took the brunt of the crash.
   The crunch was loud enough to hear nine storeys above.
   Thanks to her last second maneuver, November came out on top of the heap. After a few moments, she rolled off the other two and onto the cobblestones, clutching her belly as if she'd ruptured something. Her good wing jerked back into place across her shoulders; her bad wing trailed out across the pavement like some limp cloth streamer barely attached to her body. She made a weak gesture in our direction, but at that distance, I couldn't understand what she meant.
   Wheezle stirred. His fall had been broken by Kiripao beneath him, but he'd still had November squash down on his body from above. As the gnome pulled himself off the motionless monk, I saw that his legs were dragging uselessly behind.
   «Oh Wheezle,» Yasmin whispered. «Your spine again?»
   There was no way to tell how badly he was injured. But the little gnome still held Unveiler, even as he crawled to the street curb and propped himself up so he could face the Vertical Sea.
   I looked down at the lower levels of the tower. Every wight had stopped in its tracks… waiting, watching Wheezle.
   The gnome raised the scepter. «Hoksha ptock!» he shrieked, his voice so piercing it echoed over and over again from the surrounding tenements.
   Unveiler erupted with sickly green radiance, blindingly bright against the darkness of the street. The faces nearby were lit as clearly as day, November grimacing, Wheezle stone-faced with determination… and Kiripao, blood trickling darkly from his nose. The extra illumination made it easy to see the unnatural angle between Kiripao's head and body. I had seen such an angle once before: at a public hanging.
   «Hoksha ptock!» Wheezle shrieked again.
   From every level of the Vertical Sea came the sound of wights hissing. «Sssss… sssss.» They had started rocking, wavering in unison as the glow of Unveiler intensified. «Sssss… sssss.» A hundred wights swayed together on the burning tower; I could feel shivers through my feet as the tower itself vibrated in synchrony. Wights above, wights below. «Sssss… sssss.»
   The living thugs, down on the lowest levels, had begun to flee for the street. Given the fire and the behavior of the wights, they must have decided their jobs with Rivi were terminated. Those who reached the pavement first didn't spare a second glance at Wheezle or the others; they simply ran, disappearing into the impenetrable warrens of the Hive.
   "Sssss… sssss.
   Sssss… sssss."
   Wheezle held Unveiler over his head, the scepter's metal blazing like a small green sun. My mind went back to Petrov, holding the same scepter and consumed with anti-magic fire; for the first time, I wondered if Unveiler might be burning hot in the little gnome's hands. He showed no sign of pain – nothing but an iron-clad resolve to finish what he had started.
   «Hoksha ptock!» Wheezle said. This time he didn't shout; but his words carried just the same, resounding the full twenty storeys of the tower.
   Every wight turned to ectoplasm in the blink of an eye.
   Floods of ectoplasm spilled down the ramps, down the stairs, splashing into the fish-tanks to form gooey slicks on the water, slopping in cascades down to the pavement, plopping in huge drops on our heads, our shoulders. Runnels of it poured into the fire; and like fuel oil, the fluid ignited into a blue-hot blaze, the flames racing up the ectoplasmic streams faster than the liquid could fall. In seconds, the fire had spread to a dozen other levels of the tower, spewing greasy smoke as it fed on the wights' last remains.
   Wheezle slumped back limply against the curb. Unveiler slid from his strengthless hand.

* * *
   «Wheezle!» Yasmin cried.
   Her voice choked off as a sudden gust of smoke billowed up from the floor beneath us. Not only did the smoke make it impossible to see the ground, it brought home the precariousness of our own situation.
   «We have to get out of here!» I shouted, as flames roared from below.
   «Say, there's an idea!» Yasmin replied. «Why didn't I think of it?»
   We turned back to our companions. Only Irene was still standing on the ramp, and she had calmly lowered the train of her bridal gown into the tank to let Miriam climb out. Miriam fought to extricate herself and Hezekiah from a weight of squid now attached to both their bodies; but Yasmin and I rushed forward to help, jabbing our swords carefully to persuade tentacles to let go. In seconds, Miriam had wrenched herself all the way out, and together we hauled Hezekiah onto the ramp with us.
   «He's out cold,» Miriam muttered, giving the boy a few sharp whaps on the face. «Still breathing though.»
   «Kiripao hit him pretty hard,» I replied. «Harder than the kid could take, anyway. I'll carry him.»
   «No,» Miriam said, «I will.»
   I didn't fight her for the honor – a sopping wet Clueless was not something I really wanted to throw over my shoulder. Miriam, however, was already soaked to the skin, so carrying the kid wouldn't drench her further.
   «You grab the boy,» Yasmin nodded to Miriam, «and then let's peel it. Britlin, show Irene the way to the portal.»
   «The portal?» I shuddered.
   «It's the only way out,» she said. «Hezekiah can't teleport. November can't fly up to us with that broken wing. There are a dozen fires between us and the ground, not to mention the entire tower's going to fall any second. Up to the portal before it all tumbles down!»

* * *
   The first tank fell as Irene and I were coming to the top of the stairs. It came from a few levels below us, down where the fire had been burning the longest; a huge vat of water and fish breaking through its weakened supports and crashing down onto the next level. The whole tower quaked with the force of the impact – I couldn't see the extent of the damage, but I could hear the cracking of timbers, and feel the sudden bend as the tower pitched out of balance. Only quick reflexes allowed me to grab the stair railing with one hand and Irene with the other.
   «Your majesty is most eager,» Irene smiled.
   «Sure am,» I muttered under my breath. «This is exactly how I pictured a honeymoon would be.»
   As we stepped onto the next catwalk, however, I sighed with relief. I had half-expected to see Rivi waiting for us, brandishing yet another of the Fox's firewands; but the nasty wee albino was nowhere in sight. No doubt she had retreated through the portal as soon as the fire hit the fan.
   This level of the tower had less smoke than the one below, but our visibility was still obscured – wisps of steam rose off the tank of dogfish below us, as the fires beneath heated the water. A tank that size would take ages to come to a boil, but already the little sharks were darting about in agitation, thunking desperately against the tank walls. Their fear churned the surface, splashing hot water across the boards of the cat-walk.
   «Don't worry,» I assured Irene, «we're almost safe. Just ahead there's a portal that will take us out of here.»
   I didn't mention that a homicidal psionicist could be lurking on the other side, waiting to trample our brains. Nor did I mention that Rivi might have more wights with her, or thugs, or a firewand, or other lethal tricks we hadn't seen yet. I thought those were our only concerns… until Irene brought up an issue that had completely slipped my mind.
   «And what,» she asked, «is the key to this portal?»
   «Key,» I said. «Key. Yes. We need a key.»
   The key to this portal was, of course, a picture of oneself. I didn't have such a thing. I doubted my companions would either – they all wore naga-spun clothing, so I had to assume that all their possessions had burned when they entered the Arching Flame. Yasmin's sword must have had enough magic to survive, just as mine did; but everything else was gone, cinders, smoke.
   «Sod it all!» I muttered. No paper, nothing to draw with… oh yes, in time the tower would be a plentiful source of charcoal, but by then we'd be charcoal too. Could I use the tip of my rapier to scratch out on image on a chunk of wood? Maybe, if I had a useful chunk of wood; but the Vertical Sea was built of stout beams and planks, and nothing close to hand was thin enough to chop or pry loose.
   Think, Britlin, think. How do you make a picture when you can't make a picture?
   «Okay,» I told myself. «Other artists do this all the time. Nothing to it.» Turning to Irene, I bowed deeply. «Your pardon, good lady, but I require a swatch of your gown.»
   «Ahh,» she said, a gleam in her eye. «You are so bold.» She didn't flinch as I lifted my rapier and sliced out a section of cloth the size of my hand, taken from the bottom front of the dress.
   White satin of the finest silk, smeared with unidentifiable smudges of brown and green. Lovely.
   «Now, milady, a lock of your hair.»
   She lifted an eyebrow, but there was a smile on her face.

* * *
   By the time the others arrived – Miriam cradling Hezekiah's unconscious body, while Yasmin kept her steady whenever the tower shuddered – I had assembled a somber montage on the catwalk in front of me.
   A scrap of stained silk, frayed on the edges.
   A few weedy strands of gray hair.
   A shred of Irene's veil, covering the hair.
   Four thin splinters of wood shaved off the catwalk, lined up side by side on the white cloth; one of the splinters was partly broken halfway down, canted off at an angle.
   «Britlin,» Yasmin scowled, «what do you think you're doing?»
   «I'm making a portrait of Irene. It's an abstract.»
   «Oh.» Yasmin leaned over my shoulder. «It needs a teardrop.»
   «I know it needs a teardrop!» I snapped. «Any fool can see it needs a teardrop.» Pause. «Where does it need a teardrop?»
   «On the veil,» Yasmin and Miriam said in unison.
   «Okay.» I bent over the catwalk and reached down toward the fish-tank.
   «What are you doing now?» Yasmin asked.
   «I'm going to dip my finger in the vat. Get some water, get a teardrop.»
   «That just gives you a water drop, Britlin.» Yasmin sighed. «You're making art – you want to ruin it?»
   «Men!» Miriam muttered under her breath.
   «Fine!» I said. «Irene, can you produce a teardrop?»
   «A sad tear or a happy one?»
   I turned to other two women. «Your opinion, ladies?»
   Before they could answer, another vat of fish fell off the tower. This one started three stories above us: smashing down to the next lower level, then angling off a slanted beam that tipped the tank sideways and deflected it to the rear of the structure. Several tons of water and confused lobsters streamed past us in a thunderous cataract, followed by the heavy vat itself.
   «No point getting picky about the type of tear,» Yasmin said quickly.
   «Yeah,» Miriam nodded. «The leatherheaded portal can't tell the difference.»

* * *
   Like many a bride, Irene had a ready source of tears; happy or sad, I couldn't say. She took almost no time to deposit a lady-like dewdrop on the veil of my collage… and speed was good, considering the ominous creaks now wracking every inch of the tower. The Vertical Sea's lifetime could be measured in minutes, if not seconds, and we fervently hoped to relocate before it collapsed.
   I spared a last glance at our comrades down below on the street, and was relieved to see November dragging Wheezle into a nearby alley. She could barely stand, her body doubled over with the pain of her own injuries; yet the look of determination on her face showed she would get the gnome to safety before the tower came crashing down. They were still in serious danger – in the Hive at night, with a price on their heads – but they would not die in an avalanche of lumber and boiled prawn.
   Now to make sure we didn't die either. «Irene,» I said, putting the collage carefully into the orc-woman's hands, «you're going to lead us through the portal now. You're holding the key.»
   I hoped I was telling her the truth. Yasmin and Miriam might believe a few scraps could substitute as a portrait, but I was far from convinced. Yes, the assemblage suggested a deluded bride – dirty silk, a broken splinter, an ambiguous tear – but was it enough? Would the portal accept a depiction that was at most vaguely evocative? Or did its magic require a clean representation of face, flesh, and bone?
   A beam overhead gave a loud crack as flames licked around its girth. «Go ahead, Irene,» I said, swallowing hard. «I'm sure this will work.»
   «Of course, your majesty,» she answered with a small curtsy. Showing no doubt at all, she walked toward the dim outline of the portal, the rest of us following behind…
   …and the portal opened.
   Dust skirled around us, buffeting our cheeks. The wind had to come from the Glass Spider itself – air leaking out, or perhaps deliberately sprayed to keep dust from accumulating around the entrance. Putting my arm around Irene to keep her on her feet, I pushed forward against the gale, unable to see if the door in front of us was open. It was; and as soon as we had fought our way inside, it slid shut with a hiss, closing off the rasping rush of the duststorm.
   «How about that!» I said to the others. «The sodding collage actually worked. The portal thought it was a picture of Irene!»
   «This is a picture of me?» she asked, looking down dubiously at the scrap of cloth, the hair, the wood splinters.
   «Absolutely,» I told her, laughing with relief. «We got approval straight from the portal's mouth.»
   «Then,» she said graciously, «I must add this to my hope chest… to complement my other portrait.» She reached into her bodice and withdrew a cheap tin locket. «See this?» She opened the locket to show me a tiny watercolor of herself, perhaps thirty years younger. «Rather a good likeness, don't you think?»
   I looked at the watercolor, then at the collage, then at the watercolor again. Don't ask me which was the better portrait – ask the sodding portal.

22. THREE TIMES THE BANG FOR THE BERK

   Miriam laid Hezekiah on the floor of the entrance area… not far from the smear of blood where we'd found the dead hobgoblin the first time we came to the Glass Spider. «How is he?» Yasmin asked.
   «Still breathing,» Miriam replied, trying to sound unconcerned. «He'll come around when he's ready.»
   «And what do we do in the meantime?»
   «The last time we were here,» I said, «you talked about a portal to Mount Celestia.»
   «Yeah,» Miriam nodded. «The place is supposed to be boring as a beadle, but at least no one will slip a dagger into your kidneys.»
   «And Mount Celestia has gates to Sigil?» Yasmin asked.
   «Every plane has gates to Sigil,» I said. «We'll find something.» I glanced back at Miriam. «Have you ever visited Mount Celestia?»
   She shook her head without meeting my gaze. «Didn't think I'd be welcome. They, uhhh… the Mount Celestials have a reputation for hunting down evil.»
   «You are not evil,» Irene said without hesitation, «you are simply gruff. It is unfair to judge people as wicked, just because… they are gruff.»
   I got the feeling our orc friend was speaking of someone other than Miriam; but she suddenly shifted her bridal veil and lowered it over her face, turning away as she did. Whatever submerged pain had bubbled to the surface, she didn't want to share it.
   There was a brief but awkward silence. Finally, Yasmin said, «Whatever any of us might have been, we aren't evil now. There's only one true evil in the Glass Spider, and that's Rivi.»
   «She's probably not in the Spider any more,» Miriam muttered. «Odds are she's done a flit out one of the other portals… and not to Mount Celestia.»
   «Do you really think she'd run?» I asked. «I doubt she's desperate enough yet to abandon a posh base like the Glass Spider. Who could she possibly believe would track her here? No one but us – we were the only people close enough to get through the portal before the Vertical Sea collapsed. Do you think Rivi's afraid of us?»
   «She should be,» Yasmin replied, drawing her sword.

* * *
   It only took another minute to formulate a plan. Miriam would carry Hezekiah to the Mount Celestia portal, and wait for us there with Irene. Yasmin and I would scour the rest of the building for Rivi; we would take appropriate action if we found her. Neither of us expected the job to be that simple, but we knew we had to try: Yasmin in the cause of Rightful Entropy, me on behalf of Wheezle, November, and Oonah DeVail.
   Time to get on with it.
   Yasmin and I started with a circuit of the Spider's upper floor – rooms full of the wights' chemical smell, but empty of opposition. Puzzling; but then, in the past few days, we had whittled down the numbers of Rivi's bashers, both the living and the undead. The personnel needed to work the Vertical Sea must have exhausted the rest of her crew. To all appearances, there was no one left in the whole of the Glass Spider… either that, or they were all waiting in ambush on the lower floor.
   Outside the windows of the Spider, the infinite Plane of Dust lay quiet and gray. Patient. Ashes to ashes…
   When we had assured ourselves the top floor was clean, we headed for the stairs to the basement. There was only one staircase to the bottom level, a perfect spot to set a trap; and considering how the Fox mass-produced firewands, Rivi must surely have kept one for herself. Even so, we descended the steps without incident, down to the spartan utility corridors that echoed with the throb of machinery.
   «Maybe Rivi doesn't know we're coming for her,» Yasmin murmured.
   «Or maybe she died laughing at the thought,» I replied.
   «If we find her dead, we'll muss up her corpse and say we killed her,» Yasmin smiled – a beautiful, pure smile, as if for this one second in all eternity, we were together. I don't know if we were together as lovers, as brother and sister, as comrades-in-arms… and for that one second in all eternity, it didn't matter.
   One second in all eternity: most people don't even have that.
   She smiled again… and I opened my mouth to say something, I don't know what, I'll never know what, when she turned away from me and put out a hand to steady herself against the corridor wall. The gesture didn't seem out of place – I thought she just wanted to stop me from speaking, to let the moment last a little longer without being spoiled by words. That's why I held back, giving her time with her thoughts.
   Perhaps thirty seconds passed, and still she stood there, head slightly lowered, hand against the wall… until finally, a needle of fear worked under my skin and I stepped around to look her in the eye. «Are you all right?»
   She didn't answer right away, but finally she lifted her head, eyelids flickering. «I'm fine, darling,» she answered. «Quite, quite well. In fact, I'd be completely on top of the world if you'd kiss me.»
   Another wide smile swept across her face as she stepped toward me and draped an arm over my shoulder. She leaned forward with her lips slightly parted, but I held up a hand to stop her. «Before you kiss a Sensate,» I said, «you have to remember that our perceptions are… heightened through intensive training. We have a better sense of smell…» I touched her nose lightly with my forefinger. «A better sense of hearing.» I brushed her earlobe. «Extremely keen vision… not just for seeing, but for observing. For staring at a beautiful woman, and taking in every nuance.»
   «Do you see any nuances that… interest you?» Her voice was throaty.
   «Definitely. A minute ago, your smile started in your eyes and bloomed through your whole face. Now, it's only your mouth that's smiling. Your eyes are as cold as the ninth level of Hell.»
   She swung her sword, but I had my own blade ready, easily parrying the attack. Skittering back a few steps, she graced me with a glittering leer. «What a clever boy! Who would have guessed your wee male brain wouldn't be completely blinded by animal lust? Once I've made this tiefling slag my own, I must have you on my side too.»
   The voice came from Yasmin's lips… but of course, it wasn't Yasmin speaking.

* * *
   The woman in front of me held her sword with Yasmin's strength, but none of Yasmin's skill. I couldn't tell if she was even making an effort to guard herself; certainly, it would have been laughably easy to knock the blade aside and run her through. Just one small problem…
   «Yes,» Rivi laughed with Yasmin's mouth, «you must be torn, poor man. On one hand, I'm sure you could kill this lovely body without a speck of trouble. On the other, I've detected a wee fondness, shall we say, between you and this woman. Can you really kill her to get me? Especially when you have no idea whether killing her will hurt me at all.»
   «If you've switched bodies with Yasmin —»
   «But that's the question, isn't it?» Rivi interrupted. «Is Yasmin's wee soul safe and sound in my own body… a simple swap? Or is Yasmin still inside this body, but dominated by my vastly superior willpower?»
   «In a contest of willpower between you and Yasmin,» I said, «I'd put my gold on Yasmin any day.»
   «Loyalty!» she chuckled, clapping her hands with delight. «How quaint. And perhaps, darling, the contest between me and Yasmin might have been a wee bit fiercer another time, another place. However, for one enchanted second, your dear-heart completely let down her guard – no doubt staring into your strong manly eyes. She opened herself so wide… well, I just couldn't resist slithering in. And now that I'm inside, only another psionic could possibly throw me out again.»
   She simpered, as if she expected praise for being so clever. I marveled at just how repugnant I could find the face that I loved; at how the same flesh and bone could be so transformed by the spirit within. Then again, a painter's eye is keenly attuned to such subtleties – a tiny stroke of the brush can change a portrait's features from stern composure to pompous buffoonery. I'd played such tricks many times on canvas; I just never expected to see the effect in real life.
   «All right,» I said, «have fun in Yasmin's body. I'm going to find your real carcass.» Stepping around her, I strode off down the corridor, heading for the room where Wheezle and I had found Rivi's belongings on our first visit to the Spider. Perhaps Rivi's body wouldn't be there, but it was the natural place to start looking.
   Rivi/Yasmin loosed an indignant squeal and scurried to follow on my heels. «You can't just ignore me!» she cried. «I'm in your lover's body!»
   «So?»
   «So you should… you should…» Her voice trailed off.
   «I should moan and groan that Yasmin's possessed? Beg you to let her go? Pike that, Rivi,» I laughed, «the best way to handle brats is to ignore them.»
   And I ran down the hall, leaving Rivi to fume.

* * *
   Let me say for the record that I was not so blas as I wanted Rivi to believe – seeing the nasty wee albino inside Yasmin's body gave me cold chills. If Rivi wanted, she could use Yasmin's own sword to start carving up her body, flesh wounds just to horrify me or a good slash to the throat to end it all. One reason I ran was to get away before such ideas occurred to Rivi's foul mind; she wouldn't hurt Yasmin unless I was there to watch. Besides, Rivi might not be able to damage Yasmin without dislodging herself: the pain of injury might break Rivi's concentration, sending her back to her own body. I didn't know if psionics truly worked like that, but I prayed to The Lady it was so.
   In less than a minute, I had reached the machine room where Wheezle and I found the clay tablets. Unlike the room where we'd fought the Fox, this place still had its engines intact: pistons clanging, steam hissing, belts slapping through pulleys and gears. In the corner of the main room, the walls of the control bunker had turned transparent… a disconcerting effect, even if I'd seen it before. Rivi's body lay comfortably on a cot inside the room, her eyes closed, her hands folded, her chest rising and falling with tranquil breaths. The grinders, white and brown, stood atop large glass jars beside the cot; dust trickled out of each grinder like sand through an hourglass, so that the jars were now half full.
   This looks easy, I thought to myself: just walk in, put my rapier to Rivi's throat, and threaten to carve her like mutton unless she lets go of Yasmin's mind. But why waste breath on threats? Why not try a gash or two, non-lethal cuts to see if the pain made it impossible for Rivi to keep Yasmin under control? I strode toward the door, ready to wreak violence on the albino body…
   …and the sodding door was locked.
   The body on the cot stirred, opened her eyes, and smirked as she sat up. «Troubles, darling?»
   «Just a minor setback,» I replied. «If I can't get in, you can't get out. How long does it take to die of thirst, Rivi?»
   «More time than you've got, Britlin dear. I've given back Yasmin her precious wee mind… with one tiny alteration.»
   I shuddered. «What did you do?»
   «A simple illusion – when she sees you, she'll think she's looking at me.»
   Behind my back, Yasmin roared, «Rivi, prepare to die!»

* * *
   Yasmin had a longsword, I had a rapier. Her weapon gave her the edge in strength, mine the edge in speed. In terms of skill, I thought we might be evenly matched, but in terms of motivation… she burned with a killer's fury, while I was sick at heart.
   Her first charge was pure rage, no feints, no tricks, no strategy – just a lightning lunge that would have gutted me if I hadn't knocked it aside and backed off fast. I would have gone for Rivi the same way: swift and lethal, trying to put her down before she could use her mental witchery. Yasmin followed up with more brute strength, slashes, thrusts, hammering at my guard, urgently pressing to end this quickly. I parried, dodged, blocked, and sideslipped, until I finally saw a momentary opening and drove a kick into her stomach. She staggered back a foot, then retreated further to a point where she could study me warily.
   «You're better than I expected,» she said. «Maybe because you're using Britlin's sword. What did you do to him?»
   «I am Britlin,» I replied. «Can't you tell?»
   «Sorry, darling,» called Rivi, lounging on her cot, «she won't understand a word you're saying. All she hears is gibberish.»
   I cursed and pointed toward the control room. If Yasmin couldn't understand what I said, at least she could follow my finger. «Look!» I told her, «there's the real Rivi!»
   «Sorry again,» Rivi laughed, «but her wee brain can only see one of me. I'm afraid that one is you.»
   «If you've hurt Britlin,» Yasmin stared venomously at me, «I'll run you through —»
   She stabbed forward in the middle of her sentence: an old trick, aimed at skewering your opponent while he's waiting for you to finish the phrase. I parried, ducked under a moving machine-belt, and blocked another thrust mere inches from my groin.
   The next two minutes were hell: Yasmin attacked me with everything she'd got, and I could only defend. Such a fight goes against all a swordsman's training – you always follow blocks with attacks, because more than half of defense is your opponent's fear of offense. If Yasmin ever realized I wouldn't strike back, she could take enormous advantage of the situation… throw caution to the winds, commit to extravagant all-or-nothing thrusts, leave herself wide open as she tried to take me down. I'm sure she considered such tactics after our first few exchanges, for she must have noticed I was reining myself in. Still, she may have thought my lack of aggression was a trick on Rivi's part, some ruse to lull her into a mistake; and to be honest, I couldn't completely restrict myself to defensive maneuvers. Sometimes, when I saw an opening, when her blade moved an instant too slowly or she had to duck a rocker arm that clicked past her head, my fencing reflexes took over and I attacked in spite of myself. Thank The Lady, I always stopped short of a death thrust… although most of the time, it was Yasmin who stopped the blow, not I.
   Don't get the idea that we dueled for so long without landing any touches. Yasmin caught me a dozen times, and despite my intentions, I pinked her back just as often. Our salvation was the uncanny white cloth the nagas had produced for us: Yasmin's outfit shaped like her original dragonskin sheath, covering her body from toe to throat; and my outfit tailored into normal jacket, shirt and pants, but still protecting everything but my hands and head. The cloth had an uncanny ability to turn straight thrusts into glancing blows, to resist slashes and soften the force of even the most vicious chops. True, the clothes were not totally impervious to steel (as I found when Yasmin's blade tore a gash in my left forearm), but they saved me on several occasions when skill and guile could not.
   And so we fought amidst the machines, clambering over cogs, scalded by spurts of steam, playing cat-and-mouse around the slamming pistons. Rivi sat in her control room, mocking and jeering in the hope of goading me to a moment's inattention. I ignored her taunts and spoke only to Yasmin: «It's me, it's Britlin, can't you tell?» She couldn't be fooled forever, could she? Rivi's illusion would have to falter eventually; or Yasmin might figure it out on her own. Yasmin knew well enough that Rivi could play tricks on her mind, and if she thought everything through – how reluctantly I was fighting, how my clothes had the same unnatural protective quality as hers, how my words turned into babble as they came from my mouth…
   Yes, in the long run, Yasmin would figure it out. The only question was whether she'd kill me first.
   A furious gout of steam sprayed from a release-cock off to my right, blasting a mist of condensation over a large pressure dial on the side of a boiler. The dial's face was glass, and almost three feet in diameter – made big, I suppose, so even a short-sighted operator could see if the gauge hit the red. The fogged-over glass gave me an idea… an idea that almost killed me, as Yasmin took advantage of my momentary distraction to make a vicious hack at my throat. I dodged back by the narrowest of margins, so close her blade trimmed my beard; then I spurred myself into a flurry of offense, driving her back almost ten yards until I forced her to duck behind a camshaft for protection.
   She braced herself, expected me to press the attack. I didn't; now that she was safely out of the way, I ran back to the steamed-up dial and wrote with my finger, I'M BRITLIN.
   The letters were abysmally blurred, partly because I was writing as fast as a panicked rabbit, partly because condensation is not well-suited for calligraphy; but I squinched out my message in dripping script, then stood back, waiting for Yasmin to look at it. She came forward cautiously, fearful of tricks… and even after she'd read the words, I could see she was far from convinced: this was just the sort of deception Rivi might use to hoodwink a gullible enemy. Yasmin didn't lower her sword, and the look in her eye said she might start the fight again any second. For the moment, however, she wasn't trying to put me in the dead-book. That was all I could hope for.
   The real Rivi, still on her cot at the rear of the control room, couldn't quite see the fogged-over dial from where she was sitting. Now she stood up and came forward to the spot where the controller would normally sit, a place with a clear line of sight to the gauge. Her jaw dropped, her eyes widened, and she split the air with a screech of rage, so intense I swear I could feel it as tangible heat scorching the air. Yasmin gave a start, then turned her eyes in the direction of the scream. Her grip tightened on the butt of her sword, and she took a single step toward the control room.
   «My, my,» I said to Yasmin, «looks like Rivi just fumbled her hold on you.»
   «Hush,» Yasmin growled. «I'm fantasizing how lovely it will look to see fresh red blood on that scrawny white skin. A nice gingham effect.»
   «Unfortunately, the control room door is locked.»
   «I'll chew it open.»
   «Don't – I like your smile.» Patting her on the shoulder, I whispered, «We have a way past locked doors as soon as he wakes up.»
   «And what will Rivi do to us in the meantime?» Yasmin demanded. «Make us kill each other? Make us into her slaves? We can't afford to wait for Hezekiah…» She stopped for a second, then continued. «…to come and save us from this mind-raping slag who just gloats inside that unbreachable control room…»
   Yasmin's voice grew louder with every word, but I wasn't listening to what she was saying, anymore than she was listening herself. She was simply talking, ranting to hold Rivi's attention; because in the moment that Yasmin had fallen silent, Hezekiah, Irene, and Miriam had materialized inside the control room, appearing silently behind Rivi's back. Yasmin had recovered her surprise quickly enough to continue her tirade… and in mere seconds, I expected big-knuckled Miriam to punch Rivi's face through a control panel.
   I should have known better.
   Miriam stepped forward stealthily, fists coming up to the ready; but Hezekiah, Clueless boy, had somehow talked Miriam into giving him the firewand she'd acquired at the Vertical Sea. He aimed it at Rivi now, and shouted, «Surrender or I'll shoot!»
   Despite the rumble of machinery all around us, I could distinctly hear the sound of everyone cringing.

* * *
   Miriam leapt forward anyway, hoping to scrag Rivi before the nasty wee albino had a chance to react. Unfortunately, Rivi's tantrum had run its course, and she was ready to cause more trouble. Before Miriam could land the first punch, Rivi lashed out a blast of psychic force so powerful it rippled the air. The bolt struck Miriam square in the face, so hard it knocked her to knees… but she got up again after a long count of three, moving as stiffly as something undead.
   I didn't like the blank expression she wore.
   «Surrender!» Hezekiah cried again. «I really mean it.»
   Rivi laughed at him. «You're going to shoot me with a fireball, are you? In this tiny wee room? Do you know the damage fireballs make in such a confined space? You'd be fried to a crisp yourself.»
   «Maybe I wouldn't mind frying to a crisp if I took you with me.» Keeping the wand trained on Rivi, the boy crouched beside the cot and tucked the grinders into his pockets. «Maybe I should just grab you and teleport you out where there's no air.»
   «What a brave wee you!» Rivi jeered. «And in time, you might actually find the courage to do it. Pity you won't have the chance.»
   She snapped her fingers and Miriam surged forward. Hezekiah could only stare in horror as the woman of his affections knocked the firewand out of his hand and threw him back against the wall. A moment later, she had pinioned his arms at the wrists, holding him as solid as granite despite his struggles to break free.
   «You're such a trusting wee soul,» Rivi told the boy. «Miriam worked for me, you knew that. Do you think I'd put her on the payroll without a handle on her? Oh yes, her mind is almost entirely her own – it's a bore to make someone your abject slave, and it's tiring work too – but I left a wee seed of submission in the deepest cranny of her brain, just in case I needed it. Which means I win again.»
   «No.»
   The word came from Irene. She had picked up the firewand. She aimed it at Rivi.
   «And who's this new addition to your merry band?» Rivi asked. «An wee orc maiden… how charming. Orc maiden, do you realize that I can crawl inside your mind and twist it around my finger?»
   «You can't.» Irene took a step forward.
   «You think I can't control two people at once?» Rivi said. «You're quite… quite…»
   Irene took another step forward.
   «Stop!» Rivi shouted.
   Hezekiah, still held tightly by Miriam, let loose a nasty chuckle. «You're in trouble, Rivi. Uncle Toby says it's next to impossible to control people who are insa – …whose minds work in unusual ways. Their delus – …I mean, their special thoughts are like impenetrable labyrinths between you and their real selves.»
   «Your Uncle Toby's a berk,» Rivi snapped. «Just because this old slag is barmy doesn't mean I can't…»
   Irene took another step toward the albino. «My prince wants you to surrender. Surrender!»
   «You can't fire that wand,» Rivi snarled. «You don't know the invocation.»
   «I heard Miriam say the words,» Irene replied. «Back at the Vertical Sea. Surrender to my prince!»
   «Never!»
   I would have sworn Rivi couldn't conceal so much as a toothpick inside that sheer black gown of hers; but she crossed her arms so that each hand could reach into the opposite sleeve, and a second later, out popped two more firewands – twins to the one Irene held.
   «How many of those sodding things did the Fox make?» Yasmin groaned; but Rivi was already fixing Irene with a look of sneering superiority.
   «See these?» Rivi gloated. «See what I've got, you addle-coved wee barmy? I've got you outnumbered, that's what I've got. Outflanked and out-firepowered, follow me, darling? Even your pathetic excuse for a brain should see you're beaten.»
   «You will not surrender?» Irene said quietly.
   «Why should I?» Rivi asked. «You're a loser, just like the rest of your pathetic wee band. You surrender to me!»
   The wand in Irene's hand aimed straight at Rivi's heart. The old orc opened her mouth. «In nomine —»
   «Uh-oh,» said Hezekiah.
   «Irene, don't!» said I.
   «Down!» said Yasmin… but I was already throwing myself onto the floor.
   «– Vulpes,» Irene finished.
   Not just one fireball. Three of them. From three firewands. Irene's and Rivi's, all triggered by the same invocation. All going off simultaneously in a single small room.
   A moment before, the control room walls had been as transparent as glass. Now with a triple flash of fire, the interior was splash-blasted black: as black as a coat of paint, except that this blackness came from the incinerated remains of everything inside. All the people, all the control panels, even the air itself had been baked in an instant, vaporized to opaque black char.
   Then came the sound of the explosion: an almost delicate CRUMP, as if the inferno was so sure of itself it didn't need to make noise. The walls of the room gave a tiny shiver, but that was all – whatever the room was made of, it was strong enough to stand a volcano.
   Slowly, Yasmin and I stood up. The blackened hulk of the control room gave off heat like a cast-iron stove; touch a paper to it, and the page would burst into flames. No mere human could approach those sizzling walls without roasting his skin.
   «Hezekiah!» I called. «You teleported away in time, didn't you? Hezekiah?»
   No answer.
   Yasmin turned a slow circle, eyes scanning the machine room around us. I did the same – no sign of the boy.
   «Maybe he teleported to another part of the Spider,» Yasmin said in a low voice.
   «I hope so,» I replied. «If he panicked and ended up out in the dust, he's dead. Hezekiah?»
   My only answer was a sharp hiss of steam: a protracted hiss that sent a cloud of vapor roiling into the air.
   «I just had a nasty thought,» Yasmin murmured. «All these machines must be controlled from inside that room, right?»
   «Right.»
   «And I'll bet there's not much left of the control panels in there.»
   I stared at the charred walls, still radiating a blistering temperature. «No argument,» I told her. «We'd better get out of here.»
   «What about the others?»
   «Hezekiah was touching Miriam. If he managed to get away, he took her with him. They'll know enough to head for the gate to Mount Celestia. As for Irene and Rivi… they're gone.»
   «Are you sure?» Yasmin asked.
   I lifted my hand to feel the heat from the control room walls. «No chance of going inside to check for bodies. You won't find bodies anyway – just albino cinders.» In the rear of the room, a cog suddenly gave a loud clank, followed by a hideous grinding sound. «Come on,» I said, holding out my hand. «We have to go.»

* * *
   By the time we reached the upper floor, it was obvious the Spider was sinking into the dust again – not a precipitous dive like the last time, but a slow swiveling descent like a screw twisting into a board. Some of the legs were walking; some of the legs had stopped. And so the Spider rotated gradually downward into the infinite sea of Dust.
   «It's beautiful, isn't it?» Yasmin said, staring out the window at the endless gray expanse.
   «It's stark,» I replied. «I suppose to a Handmaid of Entropy, that's the same thing as beautiful.»
   «Sometimes,» she nodded.
   In silence, I contemplated her face. In silence, she contemplated the ultimate desert. I thought of how fondly she'd talked about the Plane of Dust back in Carceri; so it didn't come as a surprise when she murmured, «I'm not going with you to Mount Celestia.»
   «You're staying here?»
   «For a while,» she nodded. «When I look out and see all that peace…» She tilted her head toward the dust. «I need this, Britlin. Just for a time. It's not your fault, but I need to let things sink in… see what I can put behind me.»
   «Are you sure you can survive out there?»
   «I have the spells I need,» she answered. «Besides, this plane is my spiritual home. It will sustain me.» She pressed one palm to the glass, then slowly let it slide downward. «Somewhere out there,» she said, «the Doomguard have a stronghold: the Citadel Alluvius. It's very quiet, very peaceful. I healed there once before.»
   «There's no real proof you're my sister,» I told her.
   She smiled and turned my way. «Trying to kick me out of the family?»
   I shook my head.
   Laying a cool hand on my cheek, she leaned in very close and whispered, «If you come across proof, one way or the other, come find me.»
   «Find you here?»
   «Or someplace else. It's really quite a small multiverse.»
   She let her hand linger on my face a moment longer, then turned away. With one last look out the window, Yasmin smiled and began walking down the nearest arm of the Spider. When I moved to follow her, she gestured for me to stop. «I have to go alone, Britlin. I can survive out there, but you can't.»
   «You think you can walk where you're going? This plane is infinite – the Citadel could be millions of miles away.»
   «This plane is the chalice of my soul,» she said. «When my soul has walked for long enough, the Citadel will come into sight.»
   «And if I walk long enough, will you come into sight again?»
   She made no answer.
   I stayed by the window. In time, I saw her white-clad figure slip into view, walking lightly on the dust. She left no footprints.
   Slowly, the Spider continued to rotate, notching its way ever downward. Yasmin disappeared from sight; and when the Spider had come around once more to the same angle, my sister was gone.

* * *
   «What'cha looking at?» said a nasal voice behind my shoulder.
   I let my head thump forward against the window pane. It felt so good, I banged it again. «Hezekiah,» I grimaced, «I'm coming to believe that nothing in the multiverse can kill you.»
   «Shows how Clueless you are,» the boy said. «Uncle Toby will slice me for sure if he hears I have a price on my head. How long have I been away from home? Two weeks?»
   I turned to face him. Miriam was there too, her arm clasped tightly around his waist. Both of them wore grins that managed to be smug and sheepish at the same time. «What have you two been up to?» I asked.
   «Nothing,» Hezekiah answered defensively. «I teleported away from Rivi in the nick of time, and a second later, Miriam's mind snapped back to normal. She was grateful to be free.»
   «Grateful,» I repeated.
   «Can't a woman be grateful?» Miriam demanded.
   «You might have told us you were all right.»
   «There was no hurry,» Hezekiah replied. «Rivi was totally incinerated, right? You two were outside the room, so you were okay. And Miriam was grateful.»
   «Yes, I believe we've established Miriam's state of mind,» I muttered. «Do you still have the grinders?»
   «Nah, I teleported them outside. High time they got lost in the dust again, right?»
   «Best place for them,» I nodded.
   «That's what I said,» Miriam put in. «Sod the piking grinders.»
   «Anyway,» Hezekiah went on, «I was glad to get rid of the grinders but I was feeling pretty lowdown about Irene – and Oonah and Wheezle and everyone else – and Miriam said, Kid, you could use some cheering up…»
   The boy continued to babble all the way to Mount Celestia.

   THE END