“Don’t be angry. His heart is in the right place.”

“His heart may be. But he does this stuff at my expense.”

“You can afford it.”

“I could if I didn’t waste wages on a do-nothing housekeeper.”

“Do not yell at him.”

That would take half the fun out of having Dean around. “I won’t yell. I’ll just get him a pail of water. Or maybe a gunnysack with a brick in it.”

“You are awful.” Then she observed, “You have a lot to do if you are going to be ready for the birthday party.”

True. Besides the business of getting cleaned up and dressed up, I needed to visit Harvester Temisk.

“I just had a great idea. I can take those baby cats along tonight and give them away as party favors.”

“You are so bad. Go see them before you decide their fates.”

“Cute don’t work on me.”

“Unless it comes in girl form.”

“You got me there.”

“Come see the kittens. Before Dean finds a better place to hide them.” She rose, collected her empty bowl and my tray. We were getting domestic.

“How do you hide a bucket of kittens? They’d be everywhere.”

“These are well-behaved kittens.”

That sounded like an oxymoron. “I’ll just look in on the old bone bag, then be right with you.”

4

One weak candle burned in the Dead Man’s room. As always. It’s not there to provide illumination. It gives off smoke that most bugs find repugnant.

Old Bones has been dead a long time. But his species, the Loghyr, get in no hurry to leave their flesh. When they’re awake they do a fair job of discouraging vermin. But my partner has a tendency toward sloth, as well as championship procrastination. He’s getting raggedy.

The candles work pretty good on people, too. They don’t smell much sweeter than the northernmost extremity of a southbound polecat.