“Alex isn’t spooky,” Roland said. “He’s the most normal person here.”

“Don’t give me that,” Jerith replied. “I saw him this afternoon. When he was singing... it was like he was some kind of wraith. That’s exactly the word, a wraith.”

“You’re confusing Alex with the Singer,” Roland answered calmly. “Alex is a regular guy; the Singer is something else.” He busied himself with dabbing at a clot of mud that clung to the snarl of wires he was cleaning, then added, “The Singer is spooky as hell.”

Jerith stared at Roland for a long moment. “Are you talking split personality?”

“I asked a psych-tech about that once,” Roland answered. “She laughed at me. Everyone knows split personalities only exist in low-budget grislies. These days, potential splits are detected in childhood and sewn right back up. Oh yes, that perky little psych-tech had herself a real giggle over my naпvetй.”

“Sorry,” Jerith said. From the tone in his voice, I guessed that our resident archaeologist had also been laughed at by women sometime in the past.

“I went to school with Alex,” Roland said, making a show of attention to his work. “Good guy. Everybody’s friend. Not too bright... not very bright at all...” Roland slapped his brush roughly at the dirt. “But he was everybody’s friend. Women loved him.” He looked up at me accusingly. “What do you think of Alex, Lyra? Not the Singer, but Alex. Kind of cute, kind of helpless, right? Sweet lovable guy?”

“I like Alex,” I replied, trying not to sound defensive. “What’s wrong with that?”

Both men looked at me silently. Neither one came close to Alex’s easy charm. Roland, overweight, his hair thinning though he was only twenty-five, and his lips too red and blubbery. Jerith, with his droopy face and weak chin unsuccessfully hidden by a patchy blond beard, uncombed and scraggly... no doubt he’d known people like Alex too, and...