"We're going to look at a tomb," Tom-Tom said.

"Huh?" I am none too bright some mornings.

"We're going to the Necropolitan Hill to eyeball that forvalaka tomb,"

"Now wait a minute... ."

"Chicken? I always thought you were, Croaker."

"What're you talking about?"

"Don't worry. You'll have three top wizards along, with nothing to do but babysit your ass. One-Eye would go too, but the Captain wants him to hang around."

"Why is what I want to know."

"To find out if vampires are real. They could be a put-up from yon spook ship."

"Neat trick. Maybe we should have thought of it." The forvalaka threat had done what no force of arms could: stilled the riots.

Tom-Tom nodded. He dragged fingers across the little drum that gave him his name. I filed the thought. He's worse than his brother when it comes to admitting shortcomings.

The city was as still as an old battlefield. Like a battlefield, it was filled with stench, flies, scavengers, and the dead. The only sound was the tread of our boots and, once, the mournful cry of a sad dog standing sentinel over its fallen master. "The price of order," I muttered, I tried to run the dog off. It wouldn't budge.

"The cost of chaos," Tom-Tom countered. Thump on his drum. "Not quite the same thing, Croaker."

The Necropolitan Hill is taller than the heighth on which the Bastion stands. From the Upper Enclosure, where the mausoleums of the wealthy stand, I could see the northern ship.

"Just lying out there waiting," Tom-Tom said. "Like the Syndic said."

"Why don't they just move in? Who could stop them?" Tom-Tom shrugged. Nobody else offered an opinion. We reached the storied tomb. It looked the part it played in rumor and legend. It was very, very old, definitely lightning-blasted, and scarred with tool marks. One thick oak door had burst asunder. Toothpicks and fragments lay scattered for a dozen yards around.