"In Grandecitta."

"That's right. We come. The dead, they stay. Maybe not always, though. We read about Silk here, there's a book."

I nodded.

"We think probably he's dead. Then bang!" He cracked his whip over the horses' backs. "This Silk, he's in some town way down south. Mountain town they call Gaon. He's hiring men to fight for him. Troopers. So there's nobody for Duko Rigoglio."

Inclito laughed again, this time softly. "I tell my family, I say, Silk's here, he's come to help us. I don't know how he knows about us, Incanto."

"I doubt that he does."

"You're hurt. Not your eye, newer, under your clothes. Maybe a dog bite, huh?"

I told him it was not.

"Could be a needier."

I shook my head.

"Or a slug, maybe." When I said nothing, Inclito added, "You're a lucky man. Man that's hit by a slug, usually he dies. Silk's like you. That's what his book says. He's not a trooper, but he fights too. He's got a needier, sometimes. Or with his stick." He tapped mine with the shaft of his whip.

"I'm not Silk, whatever you may think. I don't want to lie to you."

"I don't make you, Incanto. You're my brother, but we don't fight." He launched into an account of his military career, which had been extensive.

When we had driven half a league or more, he said, "I want your advice here, Incanto. Your help. Maybe you don't know why I do that."

"I could offer several guesses."

"You don't have to. I'll tell you. I give everybody in Blanko advice. How to train. How to fight. We have the meetings, I told you. It's called the Corpo, when we all come together. They want to know. I reach into my head and I tell them." He gestured, pretending to pull something from his ear. "Now I got no more. It's empty up there. So I ask you."