I turned an ankle, not badly, when I landed on the cobblestones of Macunado Street in front of my old house. It was still my place, I just didn't live there anymore and had not been around to visit for a while.

The place had gotten a face-lift: paint and some tuck-pointing. The cracked window pane on the second floor had been replaced. There were new curtains up there. And there were planters on the front stoop with unstolen flowers in them.

The siege of law and order had become quite epic.

I stood there considering, wrestling a dread that when I went inside I would be entering a foreign country. I climbed the steps. I didn't feel the Dead Man.

I dug in my pocket for a key I wasn't carrying, then knocked my personal "I'm not here at knifepoint" knock. I waited. I examined the brickwork to the right of the door frame. The hole into the voids inside the wall had been sealed with mortar and a chip of brick. Which explained why, on a fine, warm day, I didn't have pixies swarming around me.

I'd have to get the story there. Melondie Kadare and her mob had been handy friends, if a little rowdy and unpredictable.

The door opened. The lady of the house stepped aside so I could enter.

Pular Singe had matured. She had put on a few pounds and was both better and more carefully dressed. I had nothing ready to say. "How's business?"

"There has been a slowdown. That is Director Relway's fault. But we get by. Dean is making fresh tea. Come into the office."