The Gypsy

THIRTEEN
What the Badger Said to the Raven,and the Owl Said to the Coachman

How can you have lived this long

And not give in to rage?

Don't you understand that

We've both outlived our age?

There is no final curtain;

This is not a stage.

Can you read what's written

On this blackened page?

"BLACKENED PAGE"

The Gypsy smelled herb tea and wondered ironically if "huh" could be some sort of magic word, because the old woman said it every time she turned a card over. She had shuffled and dealt them herself, ignoring him after he'd cut them as commanded, and then she'd laid them out on a bright red silk, patterned with designs that stirred up hints of old memories-old memories that wanted to drag him away, only now he wouldn't let them. An old woman had died to give him a chance to complete his task-not to allow him to ruminate on his past.

She quickly finished laying the cards out, her hands steady, the cards placed deliberately in a pattern the Gypsy almost recognized. Then she studied them fora long time, occasionally glancing up into the Gypsy's face as if to confirm or deny what the cards told her.

Eventually she gave a "hum mph," and made a move as if to gather the deck up.

"Wait," he said.

She paused. "Yes, well?"

"Aren't you going to tell me what they mean?"

"Why? Would you believe them?"

"How did you know I was coming?"

She nodded slowly, then pulled one from beneath a small stack. It showed a man holding a globe in one hand and a staff in the other. "The Hermit," she said."Reversed. That's you, it seems, though I wouldn't have thought it."

"Why not?"

She ignored the question. "The key is The Emperor reversed, which I knew to begin with, and the Ace of Swords crosses it. The-"

"What does it mean?" he asked, becoming annoyed.

"Mean? The Ace of Swords? Look at it."

He shrugged and did so. A single sword pointing to the sky, a halo of leaves around it, and he suddenly thought of the knife that pressed against his hip. But it certainly couldn't be anything so simple.Hsimple. Hehis mouth to ask again, but she said, "It's the Tower that motivates you, that drives you, although whether you work to build it or tear it down I couldn't say. But I expect you work to destroy it, for the Wheel of Fortune reversed is what has brought you to this point."

The Gypsy felt his impatience growing. "And what is this point, then, old woman?"

She held up the next card, showing an old king standing on disks with stars, holding another star,while yet another rested on his crown. "This point is gathering power, little bird. Building forces, calling up an army. Or maybe it's getting others to do your work for you. Like me, little bird, and I don't like it,though there's nothing I can do about it now."

She said, "The ten of Pentacles tells me you may get what you think you want. But whether this next card refers to you or to all of those who try to help you, I couldn't guess." He looked at the next card,in which a man lay face down with ten swords sticking out of his back, and looked away again.

"Yes," she said, her words like whips. "That's the game you're playing, that's what you're courting,uttering in and out, cooing in everyone's ear. Think about it, since you've asked."

She sighed. "Yet, we have this for the environment, and it is hope, if nothing else." A beautiful woman drank from a cup, her eyes fixed on it as if in contemplation. "And your desire is Temperance,which gives me hope as well; it is more than I'd have thought of you.

"And you may wish for the nine of Cups, yet have the five of Cups to regret. The outcome. Hmmph.PeHmmph.Perhaps;ll escape."

She stopped, waiting.

The Gypsy stared at her. At last he said, "If any of this has any meaning, old woman, tell me now. I am older than you, and far more weary. I am living too many riddles to take any pleasure in hearing yet more from your lips. I don't know why I've been put on this path, but it isn't to serve your whims."

She stared back at him from behind eyes like velvet curtains, then she looked away and nodded. "Very well," she said. "Perhaps it will hinder more than help, but you have the right to know the little I can tell you.

"The Hermit reversed is someone on a path, seeking. He's looking for something. Does that make sense?"

"If I want it to," said the Gypsy.

"Yes," agreed Madam Moria. "Exactly. The Queen of Swords reversed is, huh, have you noticed that all of the women in this reading are reversed? You are either dealing with evil women, little Dove, or you have some attitudes-"

"Tell me about the Queen of Swords, old woman."

She glared at him for a moment, then said, "She is intelligent. She is perceptive. She is cruel. She reasons well. Her influence is all around you. Does that sound familiar? Have you a guess who it could be?"

"Save your irony, old woman. This card?"

"Yes. The Tower. The flash of truth or inspiratinspiration.Theall you've believed."

"It looks worse than that."

"It will feel worse than that when it happens."

"And the card with the wheel?"

"The Wheel of Fortune reversed is just past. You have been unable to effect the course of events, and you've been forced to wait. This is the passing."

"And this card, that you said meant the gathering of forces?"

"Call it the pivot point. How you will affect the events, obviously. Through the actions of others.Dothers.Doesartle you?"

"Go on."

"Temperance. You wish to bring the parts together that have been sundered. But this, too, I think you know already. The outcome, though, is split. You have two choices. One is pestilence, disease, the ten of Swords. The other are these three cards, the nine of Cups for wishes coming true, the five of Cups for sorrow, the Sun for escape and protection."

"So perhaps I will die, or perhaps I will escape, but I can't win?"

"So I read it. You may read it better if you can."

"The cards you use, they seem to be of many different styles."

"I use the cards that please me, some from one deck, some from others."

"Yes, I believe this."

Her eyes flashed. "It is not for you to judge me."

He laughed suddenly. "If I don't, young woman,who will?"

She frowned. "Young woman?"

"Older perhaps than the woman who was killed trying to help me, but younger than my brothers and I."

"You are more than you seem. I think…" Her voice trailed off and she frowned again.

"What do you think, young woman?"

Her lips twitched. "I think you are as much a fool as the Coachman, who sees the route, but not the ending. You push us all along a path that-"

He stood up, suddenly lost in a torment of fear,hope, and anger. "Coachman? What do you know of a Coachman?"

"I know he is a drunken fool," she snapped. "I sent him away so we could have some priv-"

"You sent him away?" cried the Gypsy.

For the first time, she seemed uncertain. "He had played his part in-"

"The Queen of Swords reasons well, you say, but what if her facts are wrong? What then for her powers? What damage will she do? Perhaps you are the Queen of Swords reversed, woman, and your arrogance will destroy us all."

"Perhaps the painful revelation is yours, and it is to happen now."

"I never wanted to be part-"

"Be still. Which of us did want to be part of it? You dare to accuse me of using people? Is your wit so keen that you can outguess Luci Herself? Is your Sight so great that you can see into Her heart? Are your hands so skilled that you can untangle every thread She weaves? Is your power so great that you can send Her away? What have you done, woman?"

She stared at him, puzzled and frightened. "Who are you?" she asked in a whisper.

"I? I am Csucskari the Gypsy. I am a T altos. I am the one who has sworn an oath against the Fair Lady and all Her works. I am the only hope we have against Her, poor though it be. You are an arrogant fool, old woman. You see the bottom of the stream so clearly,you forget there is water above it, and you'd let us drown in your pride, then curse us for being unable to breathe. Well, if you have such keen sight, use it now, while there may yet be time. Where is the Coachman?"

"I don't know," she whispered after a moment."My sister would know."

"Then ask her. Now."

She looked up at him, then looked away. She seemed to shrink into herself, then she sighed and stared down, absently, into her teacup. She stirred the leaves with one bony finger., and after a time she spoke.

Well, I left there running like a thousand

Devils were on my trail

Woah. lannan sidhe let me be.

"LANNAN SIDHE"

Ed reached for the remote control, turned the TV down three clicks before answering the phone.

"Ed?" demanded a voice before he could even say hello.

He sat up on the couch, trying to place the voice."Yes," he said guardedly.

"It's me. Tiffany Marie," she went on, and when he didn't answer right away, she added, "Say you don't know me, and I'll drag a nail down the side of that Caddy the next time I see it parked in our loading zone."

"Tiffany Marie, no one could ever forget you, or that red hair. I'm just wondering why you're calling me."

"Look, Ed, this is important. Man, I think I knowhow important better than anyone else," she added,almost to herself, "I can't get Stepovich, his phone just rings, and maybe it wouldn't be a good idea to get him anyway. And Randy… Durand doesn't answer either, so I figured I'd better call you. It's about Mike's kid."

"What?" Ed was already sticking his feet back into his shoes. All the skin on his scalp was tingling, ancient hackles standing up as his cop sense sent alarms screaming.

"His girl, whatshername, Laurie? You know her?"

"I stood godfather to her," Ed answered grimly,but Tiffany Marie was still talking.

"She's in here. At least, I'm pretty sure it's her, I only met her those two times. Anyway, she's painted up like a whore, and she's with this older guy, this gypsy-looking guy, and he's like, all over her. Christ,Ed, she can't be more than fourteen, and this guy is really moving on her, and she's acting like, well, she's not exactly pushing him away. And the guy isn't some street kid, I mean, he's a corner musician or something. Hell, he's not only too old for her, he's too old for me. Look, Ed, I don't think she's made any really big mistakes yet, and maybe if someone like you gets down here-dammit, now there's a fight.Gofight.Gottah;"

"I'm coming," said Ed and hung up the phone as he reached for his jacket. Shit. Someone was putting little Laurie out on the streets? Where the hell was Mike, what was he thinking of to let his little girl run loose at this hour of the night? He picked up his Caddy keys off the coffee table, thought briefly of calling Jenny. Decided against it. She'd just get shrill and jump into the middle of it and make it messy. Well,it wasn't going to be messy. Good thing Tiffany Marie had called him. He'd make it fast and quiet.

He stopped by the door, then turned and went back to his bedroom. In a bottom drawer was a gift box with a sap-glove in it. It had been a long-ago gag from Stepovich after Ed had done a lot of pussyfooting in an interrogation one night. "Next time, try this," the note had said.

He slipped on the black leather. It fit. "Good thing she called me," he said again to himself. "I won't kill him, like Mike would. And I won't arrest him and make a lot of paperwork and noise about it, either.Jeither.Just the little girl, convince the guy to stay clear of her, and get her home." He flexed his hand inside the weighted glove. Sometimes it was easier not being a cop anymore.

He caught up his keys and went out the door,whistling "I'm Called Little Buttercup." The sky above him was grey, like dark smoke.

Ain't got time to listen,

Ain't got eyes to see.

Woah, lannan sidhe let me be.

"LANNAM SIDHE"

Three rounds of beer had come and gone. By now,he should be feeling them, should be numbed a little,should be able to let his shoulders slump against the chair back. Instead, Stepovich felt as if he were being drawn tighter and tighter, wound up like some little mechanical toy. His jaws were clenched, as if he feared too much truth would jump out of him if he relaxed. And Durand would never be able to handle the whole truth. Durand might talk wild and woolly,but when it came down to cases, he was absolutely by the book. Letter of the law. Stepovich cleared his throat, felt Durand's eyes jump back to him.

"Okay." His voice came out rusty, and he cleared his throat again. "I did some really stupid stuff. But I'm not dirty, Durand, and I didn't do anything really wrong. I mean, not wrong like morally wrong. Maybe wrong, like in ignoring standard procedure, but not wrong like ethics. You know what I mean?"

Durand nodded slowly. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I'm just not sure if I agree with it. Maybe you didn't do anything dirty, but you broke a hell of a lot of rules. And if you hadn't, your ass wouldn't be in a crack right now. And neither would mine. But I'm willing to help you out, as long as it doesn't mean breaking any more rules. You got to understand, Ste-uh-Mike, that I'm just starting out. Something like this could screw my career permanently. See, I'm not really as stupid as you think I am."

Stepovich was forced to nod, feeling both relieved that Durand could understand what he meant, and ashamed that he had always assumed his partner was too dumb to talk to.

"So. Where does all this leave us?" Durand demanded after a few moments had passed. The bag of ice was a plastic puddle in the middle of the table. He still fingered his jaw from time to time, but the worst of the swelling had gone down.

"Well," Stepovich gathered his thoughts. "It doesn't leave us with a lot. No hard information, anyway. Just feelings, and maybe s, and stuff that doesn't quite add up. Here's how it looks to me. We've got a guy killed in the liquor store and the old gypsy woman dead in the hotel. You think it's the same guy, both times, you think it's that gypsy we picked up-"

"Actually, the liquor store witness-" Durand began, but Stepovich held up a hand.

"Just let me finish. Because he matched the clerk's description, and because he had a knife that might have been like the one used on the old woman."

"And he matched the description the hotel clerk gave to homicide when they asked who the room was rented to," Durand interjected, but Stepovich chose to ignore him and plow stubbornly on.

"Now I'm with you on thinking the same guy did both of them. Damned if I can really say why, it's just a feeling and it's got nothing to do with the description from the liquor store matching the description from the hotel clerk."

"If you'd listen," Durand began, but Stepovich slapped the table.

"Damnit, let me finish. Hear me out. I don't think it's our gypsy. Think about this. One killed with a gun, one killed with a knife. That's weird. Because killers choose a weapon and stick to it, because it's the weapon that makes them feel the best, most powerful, most in control. Now I know the Gypsy didn't have his knife when the old woman was killed. But it was done with a knife very similar to his, and maybe in his room. Why? Frame-up? It's not a hell of a lotto go on, Durand. I admit that. The only thread I can see hanging loose is our gypsy. Only I got no idea of how to find him."

"You done?" Durand demanded impatiently.

"Yeah. I guess." Stepovich waited for Durand to blast his fragile theories to pieces.

"Good. Because here's one more thing that doesn't fit. The witness from the liquor store has changed his story. Now he says the killer wasn't a gypsy at all,but some skinny pale dude. No one wants to believe him, so the warrant is still out for the Gypsy. They all figured someone got to the witness and made him change his story-"

"Or," Stepovich interjected, "he was lying before,for whatever reason, and now he's telling the truth.Datruth.Damnto talk to that gypsy. He's the key."

"That's why Ed turned you on to Madam Moria,because he thought she might have a line on other gypsies in town?"

"Yeah." Stepovich took a sip of beer. Half of it went down before he choked. He coughed, couldn't form the question, but Durand answered it anyway.Sanyway. Somethingously like a blush rose on his face.

"So," Stepovich asked heavily. "How long you and Ed been getting together and comparing notes?"

Durand spoke like the words were being dragged out.

"It's not like that, Stepovich. What's between me and Ed goes way back; it's not just this gypsy thing.Sething. See my Dad's friend, a long time ago. Went through the academy together, I guess, then kind of lost touch. Or didn't get along. Ed's a lot like you,sort of free and easy with procedure, and my dad wasn't like that. Anyway. I'd forgotten all about him,but my mother hadn't. Mom called him when I got out of the academy, before I was even officially hired,and begged him to use his pull to get me partnered with somebody decent. Somebody he thought I'd be safe with. I guess he chose you." Then, as the anger washed over Stepovich's face, Durand added, "Look,I didn't know about it until after it happened. Pissed me off, that she thought I couldn't make it on my own. It isn't the kind of thing my dad would have liked either. My dad wasn't the kind of cop who took favors, or did them. I could have done okay on my own. I thought you knew about it and that was why you were so shitty to me, you thought you were babysitting or something."

"This is the first I ever heard about it," Stepovich began.

"I know," Durand cut in ruefully. "A couple days ago, Ed called me up, asked how we were getting on,and I lit into him. And he said you didn't know a damn thing about it, that he figured I'd have to earn your respect on my own. So then I felt like a real jerk for all the times I'd tried to show you I was so tough and so smart I didn't need your help."

"Makes two of us," Stepovich muttered.

"So," Durand said at last. "You get anything from Madam Moria?"

Stepovich swirled the last of his beer in his glass,then drank it down. Abruptly, he held his mug up and waved it, hoping the waitress would notice they needed refills. He took a deep breath, looked up and met his partner's eyes. "You ready to hear some really weird shit?" he asked him.

And at the end will be the place

Whence the owl has flown,

And I'll dance for you the Gypsy Dance

That you have never known.

"GYPSY DANCE"

The fight didn't have a beginning as far as Daniel was concerned. The first he knew of it, he was on his hands and knees, trying to get up, feeling bits of glass embedded in the back of his head, and knowing that a pointed-toed boot was coming, but also knowing how to avoid it. His Lore lei shrieked, and the red-haired waitress rushed in their direction with an upraised tray, and all he could think, stupidly, was that most dogs will run if you shout at them, but some will slink back later to bite you from behind. Daniel should never have walked away from him; he should have crammed his money down his throat and made him choke on it.

The boot was coming, and as he rolled onto his side and grabbed it, throwing the man off balance, his Lore lei came up out of the booth like a wildcat,throwing salt, pepper, sugar, and herself at his attacker. One of the man's wildly flailing arms caught her across the face, and sent her sprawling against another table. The redheaded waitress smacked the man once across the ear with the tray, driving him to his knees, and then dove after Lore lei, screaming,"Laurie! Stay clear of this, you'll only get hurt!"

The sight of her thrown against the tables brought Daniel staggering to his feet. His knife came into his hand and he opened it slowly, savoring the ratcheting sound and the widening of the other man's eyes. The vermin was clutching a chair, and as Daniel came toward him, he lifted it, not as a weapon but as a shield.

"You wanted to know what she'd cost?" Daniel asked him softly, in a language he hadn't spoken in years."She would cost both your life and mine, and still I wouldn't let you touch her."

The man glanced about wildly but there were few other customers at this hour of the night, and all of them were hastily retreating out the door. The waitress had gripped Lore lei by the wrist and hair, and was forcibly holding her back. Daniel saw in his attacker's eyes that he had never expected it to go this way, that he had thought he would surprise them and take the girl quickly. He was regretting his impulse, but now it was too late. And Daniel saw, too,that the man knew nothing of this kind of fight, and that made him smile.

He came forward smoothly, knife low, the even balance never leaving his body from step to step. When the man threw the chair at him, he sidestepped it as lightly as a cat. "Hey, man, I'm unarmed! I don't got a knife or nothing!" the man protested as Daniel and his knife came closer, and it made Daniel's smile wider to hear this man beg him to follow rules of honor. Even as he lowered his knife, he knew what would come next.

He was ready when the man leaped. Suddenly Daniel wasn't where the man thought he would be,but the knife's pommel found him as he passed,sending him crashing into yet another table. And Daniel followed, his fingers closing like talons on the man's throat. The man's fists were hammering at Daniel's body, but there was desperation rather than strength behind them. If that was the best he could do, Daniel could stand it for the short time it would take him to choke the man unconscious. The man's blows lost strength rapidly, and Daniel knew he was winning when his enemy's breath began to rattle and he reached up to claw hopelessly at Daniel's closing hand. With his other hand, Daniel closed his knife and slipped it into his back pocket.

"Enough. Break it up!"

The man's tongue was starting to breach his lips.Hislips. Hisre very wide, and a blood vessel had broken in one.

"I said, break it up!"

Daniel didn't realize the voice had spoken to him until he was literally lifted off his feet by the back of his jacket. There were other voices, the waitress exclaiming, "Thank God! What took you so long?" And Lore lei crying out, "Ed, if you hurt him, I'll never forgive you and I'll tell my dad."

"Let go of him, dammit!" the voice roared right in his ear, and Daniel did. He watched in a sort of wonder as the man slumped to the floor. For several long moments, the unconscious man didn't move, and then he made a wheezing noise, and then another.

Daniel felt some of the tension go out of the fist gripping him, and he turned in the grasp.

Cop. He didn't need the uniform or the badge to know it. It was all in the stance and the eyes and the calm way he told Daniel, "You're coming with me."He turned and spoke more loudly to the waitress."Cancel the ambulance. Tiffany. The one on the floor looks like he'll be able to walk in a while. And I'd just as soon not make a big fuss out of this, know what I mean?" The cop nudged the downed man with his foot. "You want I should put this one outside?"

The redhead shook her head slowly. "Nah. Leave him on the floor, Ed. When he recovers, he can get out on his own. If he's got any complaints, I don't know about them. I was in back, filling ketchup dispensers all the time."

A very slight smile cracked the big man's face. "I thought you might a been. But you sure you want it that way? He might have a mind to be mean when he catches his breath."

Tiffany shook her head and wrinkled her nose in disgust. "S'okay, Ed. I think all his mean just ran down his leg. I don't think he'll give me any trouble."

Lore lei, who had stood quietly, suddenly twisted free of Tiffany's grip. "Let go of him," she said, taking Daniel's arm.

"He's going with me. And you're going home."The big man's voice brooked no argument.

Daniel shook his head, but didn't know what to say. Lore lei drew herself up straight. "You can't do that! He's hurt. And besides you gotta have, uh,probable cause. You can't say disturbing the peace,because he was defending me. That other guy was trying to buy me!" The sudden outrage in her voice was genuine.

"Oh, golly-gee! I wonder whatever made him think you were for sale." The heavy sarcasm in Ed's voice reddened Lore lei's cheeks and shame lowered her eyes. "Look at you," he went on. "Dressed like a street slut and talking like a jailhouse lawyer. Oh,your Daddy's gonna be real proud of his little girl."

Lore lei looked up, but the sudden flash of anger in her eyes threatened to drown in brimming tears. But Daniel jerked, stung. "You will not talk to her like that," he said. He could hear the concern that underlay the policeman's words, but he could not bear to see Lore lei so downcast. "You do not understand what has gone on this night."

The policeman smiled, all teeth. "You will not talk to me like that, gypsy. You and me, we're gonna take a ride and go talk to the little girl's daddy. You wanta explain what went on tonight, you can talk to him.But him.Butyou, I don't think he's gonna be real reasonable about it. So you might want to think about anything else you could tell him that would make him happy. Like maybe anything you know about a dead woman named Cynthia Kacmardk. Or one of your old gypsy buddies who's got some real interesting scars."

There was no mistaking the pattern the man traced on his face. It had to be Csucskari he referred to. Daniel simultaneously felt excitement and a heaviness inside him, as if his soul had turned to lead. His heart bid him follow Lore lei, but duty had ruled him too long. He had to go with this man, endure his questioning, no matter how he might be treated. A clever man could learn much from questions; it could not leave him farther from the Dove. He turned to Lore lei.

"It's all right," he told her. "I have to go with him.And him.Andt go home, where you will be safe. But it will be all right. You'll see."

The man on the floor suddenly got up and made a shambling rush for the door. No one moved to stop him, nor even commented on his passage. The waitress calmly crossed the room and started to right the chairs and tables.

"But you're hurt!" Lore lei objected hopelessly The tears spilled now, tracking lines in the smeared makeup."Your head's bleeding! And it's all my fault. If I hadn't-"

"He'll be okay. I'll take care of him," the big man said gruffly before Daniel could. "Look, Laurie. Tiffany's going to call you a cab, and you're going to go straight home. You came a gnat's ass away from big trouble tonight. If I didn't think this creep had kept you from really getting into it, I'd bust his head right here. So you just get yourself home and safe, and stay out of trouble. Okay?"

"Oh, sure," cried Lore lei angrily. She rubbed her face, completing the ruin of her painted eyes. "Little Laurie should go home and be a good little girl. I know what will happen. I'll never see him again!"The last was a wail that cut Daniel's soul.

"You will," Daniel promised, ignoring the policeman's dark glance. "I'll have to find you to get my fiddle back, won't I?" And he nodded to where the case was still propped in the booth they had shared.

Lore lei's face lifted a little. "You promise?"

"Little sparrow, I'd sooner part with a hand than my fiddle. For one without the other is no use at all.Iall.Icome for my fiddle." And for you, his eyes added,and he saw her hear the voice of his heart. She crossed the room and taking up the case, held it as lovingly as if it were his child.

"Get moving," the cop told him gruffly and started him on his way with a push. Daniel didn't resist. This one couldn't know it, but he was taking him closer to the Dove and the task that must be finished. And when it was finished, he would trust his fiddle to call him back.

"Ed?" It was the waitress, following them to the door. She was speaking softly. "You don't mind, I'm not going to call that cab right away. There's a few things I'd like to tell that little girl, before she goes any further. Sort of a payback to Mike, you know what I mean?"

"I don't know anybody else who could tell her better, Tiffany Marie. I'm going to take this fellow to Mike now, and I'll let him know. Hey, you need some money for the cab?"

"No. You just worry about what you've got to handle. But, uh, Ed, for what it's worth, it's true. That guy had his eyes on Laurie. That gypsy hadn't a stood up to him, he'd a taken her. For what it's worth."

"Okay. I'll make sure Mike knows it. See ya, kid."The cop pushed the door open with one black-gloved hand, and pushed Daniel before him with the other.Thother.Thereig car at the curb, grey in the street lights. "Get into it," the old policeman told him."You've heard of protective custody? Well, I'm going to put you in protective handcuffs." When Daniel didn't speak, but merely got into the car, the other grunted. "Don't touch nothing, and for Christ's sake,don't bleed on the upholstery."

Leaping in the darkness,

laughing in the wind;

Look down, look down,

look down, look down,

See the stars again.

"STARS OVERHEAD"

Durand slowly lifted his eyes to meet Stepovich's."You ever do drugs?" he asked curiously.

"No, god dammit! That's not what this was about!"Stepovich's voice rose enough to turn heads at the next table.

Durand lifted his hands. "Hey, it was a joke. Guess it wasn't funny. Look, you'd been hit in the head.Thahead. That."

"I hadn't been hit in the head when she was talking to me at her apartment."

"Yeah. Well, maybe that was just weird gypsy shit,you know? Mystical stuff, give the gull a good show,and all that."

"Maybe," Stepovich agreed grudgingly.

"Yeah. So, maybe what we oughta do is go back to Madam Moria's place. If she's there, we talk, only this time we've got a little more leverage, because we're there legitimately." Durand stressed the last word ponderously. "We'd be looking into what went on this afternoon."

"Makes sense," Stepovich said slowly. "But you can think what you like. I still think there's something to what I saw this afternoon. And to what she told me that night."

Durand shrugged. "Suit yourself. Can't hurt to keep it in mind."

"You know," said Stepovich, "there was a woman,a psychic, who got called in by Ashtabula County a few times for tough cases. County hired her to look at the scene of the crime and describe what had happened, and on a few missing persons cases."

Durand looked skeptical. "Yeah? What came of it?"

"Not a fucking thing," said Stepovich.

Durand laughed. "One for you," he said, and drained his beer.

Stepovich had just finished his and set the mug down when he saw Ed loom up behind Durand. It gave him a perverse pleasure to watch Durand jump when Ed laid a big hand on his shoulder.

Ed leaned over the table, spoke to them both. "Got something for you. Outside. In my car."

Neither one asked what it was. Ed's face was enough. They rose silently, Stepovich leaving money on the table. "The car's in back," Ed told them. "I didn't want to leave him out here under the lights. I had to cuff him. Hurry up. He looks like the type who'd do some damage left alone." Their breath made plumes in the air.

But the gypsy was sitting quietly in the front seat,ignoring the handcuffs looped through the steering wheel. Even in the dim alley light, Stepovich could see he'd been roughed up. What was Ed mixed up in now? He grabbed him by the elbow, stepped him away from the car. "He's not the right one, Ed."

"Yes, he is." Ed glanced over to where Durand was peering curiously in at the gypsy. The gypsy was staring straight ahead, ignoring them all. Light winked briefly on the key he tossed to Durand. "Un cuff him from the wheel and stick him in the backseat. But keep his hands cuffed behind him, okay?"

Durand just looked at him, eyes wide. Ed sighed."Look, Randy, just do it, okay? I'll explain later. You won't get in trouble, I promise." As Durand moved grudgingly to obey, Ed turned back to Stepovich."Uh, Mike. There's something I got to tell you. I'm a little afraid that you're going to overreact. So, before I start, the first thing I want you to know is that Laurie isn't hurt, and she's probably on her way home by now."

"What?" Stepovich's guts squeezed tight and cold,"What?"

"Tiffany called me down to the diner. Said there was a guy in there with Laurie, and Laurie was all tarted up. So I went down there, right away and-"

"You didn't call me?"

"There wasn't time. Anyway. When I got there,there was a fight in progress. Some guy, um, wanted Laurie, and the guy in the car there, the gypsy, he was beating the shit out of him. Woulda killed him,probably, if I hadn't broke it up."

The gypsy moved docilely from front seat to back.Durback.Durandand on the gypsy's head to push it down as he entered the car. He winced and hissed in pain. But he went in willingly enough. Durand slid in after him, pushing him into the corner.

"Where's the other guy?" Stepovich felt murder building, his face reddening, the muscles in his arms and chest swelling.

"He ran for it. I'm not as young as I used to be,Mike."

"Bullshit!" Stepovich exploded.

"True." Ed's voice went harder. "I let him go. I didn't think he deserved to die for hitting on a girl dressed like a whore, even if the girl was only fifteen.fifteen.NowI'm telling you true. Laurie was dressed to trick. And from what Tiffany told me, she was with the gypsy there when the other guy made her an offer. But!" Ed gripped Mike's arm hard, forced him to meet his eyes. "But the gypsy wasn't selling her, he beat the other guy to a pulp for even asking, and he even mouthed off to me when I bawled Laurie out for acting like a chip pie. Listen, dammit! He's not a pimp,and I don't think he's a trick. He's some kind of street musician, and for what it's worth," Ed tightened his grip as Mike tried to shake him off a second time, "he protected her. And I don't think they did anythinganything.Hecked me up when I told her to go home.So,home.So you talk to him, think where Laurie would be right now if he hadn't been around."

Both men stood silently. Stepovich could feel Ed's eyes on him as he, himself, stared at the gypsy. The gypsy stared back as if he knew every word passing between them.

"You okay?" Ed asked.

"Yeah," Stepovich said tightly. "Un cuff him. I just want to talk to him."

"You can talk to him with the cuffs on. At my place.Heplace. He in the back of the head with something. I figure we'll take him there, let him clean up a little,and talk to him. Where it's quiet and private."

"Un cuff him. I want to talk to him first. Right here."

"I don't think so," Ed said slowly. "I think we'll leave him cuffed and go to my place."

"Ed."

"You're not the type to hit a man when he's cuffed.Acuffed.And I'm not protecting just him, I'm protecting you.Two you.Tworom brutality charges and from beating insensible someone who might be able to tell you something about this other gypsy thing."

Stepovich strangled for a moment, cop warring with father. He reached inside himself for coldness, got a tentative grip on it. "Okay." He could wait. He'd hear it all first. And when he'd heard it all, then…He felt Ed's eyes on his face, forced the muscles to relax, his eyes to empty. "Okay. Your place. Let's go."

There's no whiskey in the jar

I'm so dry I need a drink

I need a place to lay my head down

I need to find some time to think.

"HIDE MY TRACK"

The horses were resting, now, content. Memories of them came back to him from a place he didn't know:Setal, who wouldn't stop moving, even in her stall; Sztrajktoro, who everyone else thought was bad-tempered, but who was only frightened; Madar, who was never really stubborn, just always had her own ideas of what she wanted to do: Nagyful, who listened so intently when he spoke. And the rest, down through the ages.

Now they were resting, as was he. The only thing left was a nagging feeling of something left undone,but it was too late now. The coach had stopped at last, and he must climb down, though he had no passenger for whom to hold the door. He regretted very little, he decided. The brandy, there at the end, had been a mistake, but he had hurt so much. Too late now, though. A feeling like a blanket was creeping over him; he felt warm, comfortable, as if the pain was over and wouldn't be back. He could rest now,and that was what he wanted. He was drifting, ready to sleep, except that he couldn't, because, off in the distance, someone was making a noise. It wasn't loud, but it was there, and it wouldn't stop. He had not been aware of it at first, but it was growing more annoying by the instant.

He was suddenly puzzled. He was dead, wasn't he? Why should there be a racket? Odd. What was it?A thump and a click-a-click, and a thump and slap.Likslap. Likebourines the gypsies had played.

As this thought formed, he heard it louder, more insistent, more annoying. Damn those gypsies anyway. Ever since he'd met them they'd been nothing but trouble, and now they wouldn't even let him die.He tdie.Heo yell for it to stop, but his mouth didn't work. The noise stopped, however, and he saw a familiar face floating before him.

Can't you leave me in peace? he cried, or tried to.

Leave you in peace? Of course not. The other laughed.laughed.Which he? The Owl, yes of course. I am hardly going to leave you in peace, you have to drive us home when we're done.

But I can't. They've killed me.

Oh, yes, I know. And they've wrapped me in a cocoon of darkness, which I cannot leave. I cannot use my body,and yours is damaged, but I can still hear the songs of the ritmus ordog, can I not?

I see the horses, he admitted.

Well, there you are. Time to be up and about. I have something for my brother now, and I'll get it to him if he can find me before I die of the cold. I have a scarf the color of fire and smoke, but it may not be enough.

But what can I do?

The one who knows is dead; bring my brothers to the one who acts.

It was all so damned confusing. He wished he had a drink. No, on the other hand, it was probably best that he didn't. All right. Where are you, then?

Why, I have no idea, said the Owl. Tell them to listen for the tambourine.

Very well. But what about me?

Live.

The damned gypsy seemed to be laughing now.The now.Then wondered why. Then, suddenly, he hurt too much to wonder about anything. The face vanished in a haze of bright lights and pain.

For as long I remember

I've hated those red lights

And hotel rooms with plaster walls

And loud and lonely nights.

"RED LIGHTS AND NEON"

Csucskari the Gypsy hung back and let Madam Moria go up to see what the flashing lights meant. There were two police cars and an ambulance in the alley,and he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.stomach. When Madam Moria returned after an interminable five minutes, the look on her lined face matched this feeling.

"Well?"

"He was in an accident. He is alive, and they are bringing him to a hospital. I don't know-"

She was interrupted by a siren. The ambulance turned around in the alley and sped away, Csucskari watched as it went by, spitting gravel, leaving a ringing in his ears. The ringing faded very slowly. Very slowly. He fancied he could hear, behind it, the ring of the zils of a tambourine. He listened, and it was still there. He looked at Madam Moria, and saw from the look on her face that she heard it, too. He started to speak but she held a hand up and motioned him to follow. He did so, the tap-tapping of her canes blending with the rhythm still faintly thrumming in his ears.

That old river keeps on rolling

And Old Hannah won't go down.

I can't give back what I ain't taken.

I won't give up if I ain't found.

"HIDE MY TRACK"

Timothy stared into his bathroom mirror, willing Her to him. He thought of how beautiful She had been the first time he saw Her, tried to focus his mind on how Her eyes had warmed him. He tried to see Her in the mirror, but the glass stayed cold, hard to his fingers when he pressed his hand flat against it. All it showed him was on his own face, pale, his hair disheveled. Timmy hated the way he looked, so mussed and sickly. "Poor little Timmy," his mom would have said, and put him to bed and brought him a dish of warm milk spooned over soda crackerscrackers. Sheave scolded him, sadly, for getting into such a fight, and then she'd have called the police and complained about those neighborhood hooligans intimidating her son. But then his dad would have come home, and told him to get his ass out of bed and stop being such a sissy, why the hell don't you ever stand up for yourself, you little pussy.

He slapped the mirror, flat-handed, and the force of the slap rattled the medicine cabinet and started the cut on his stomach trickling blood again. He snatched a handful of Kleenex and dabbed up the trickle before it could make another mess. He shook the last six Band-aids from the box and applied them in a row over the slash, gritting his teeth and whimpering softly.

He moved slowly as he walked back to his dresser.dresser.Hearound the room. In spite of everything that had happened to him, and in spite of all the human filth around him, his room was clean. The old brown carpet was bare in places, and unraveling everywhere, but it was clean. The windows were clean,the white curtains were clean, his dresser was not only clean, but the top was clear, because everything was in its place. When you let things pile up and get messy, then you get dirty, and then you're just an animal, and he was far from being an animal. He was more than a man, so he had the cleanest room anyone could have.

He made it to the dresser and opened the second drawer, the tee shirt drawer, and looked through the carefully folded stack to find an older one. He almost wished he had one of those colored ones, black or dark blue, that wouldn't show the blood stains so much. But no, nothing looked as clean and nice as afresh white tee shirt. He tried to put one on, but couldn't lift his arms.

He buttoned on a blue cotton-polyester shirt, and then almost cried at how much it hurt to tuck it in evenly. He went back to the mirror then, to stare, to comb his hair, to stare again, calling to Her as She had taught him. She didn't answer.

He had to show Her. He went to the dresser,moved the careful stack of tee shirts again, and took out the gun, feeling the weight in his hand. He'd have to show Her, just like he'd showed his dad and mom.He tmom.He once of the look on his dad's face when Timothy had said, "I'll show you who's a pussy,"and pulled the trigger. But then he remembered his mom, and how she'd turned on him, how she'd screamed and run to the telephone, and started saying, "Hello, police, hello, police," and kept right on screaming it, even after he'd shot her twice. She'd turned her back on him. Just like the Lady.

No. No, She wouldn't, he'd show Her, he'd takeout the old lady, and then he'd go after the Gypsy man, and She'd see. She'd be so proud. She wouldn't tease him and call him Little Timmy, She'd put Her long slender hands against his face and call him Her big, strong man, yes, and She'd kiss him with those full red lips, kiss the knife marks on his stomach,too…

He stood still for a moment, thinking about that,letting it stir him, and then took his jacket from its hook in the closet. The gun felt nice in the pocket, he could hold it as he walked, pass people on the street,knowing that, if he wanted to, he could do for them but good. He shut off the lights and locked his door carefully and then walked slowly down the hallway,gun in his hidden hand as smooth and cold as mirror glass.

Watch the storm clouds,

they're telling me to run

I hear the wind say to hide;

A thousand accusations

of all the things I've done,

Are after me demanding I be tried.

"LANNAM SIDHE"

He pried his eyelids open a crack. White. White sheets,white walls, white noise, all overlaid with soft shadows.shadows. Evenht that came in the small window of the door was a friendless white. And the smell. As if all the smells in the world had been killed, and their remains scrubbed up with alcohol and bleach. A fine place to die. Then they could scrub him up with alcohol and bleach. And the damn gypsies could walk home.

The Coachman let his eyes fall shut. He could feel the bandage tight around his stomach, was aware of every stitch in his thigh. No. He wasn't going to die. Dying would have been too easy; nothing had been that easy since he'd found the gypsies in the first place. Or they'd found him. Which was it? It hardly mattered. And now the Owl's words came back to him. Tekata, tekata, tekata, like a fine matched team trotting, like his own heart beating. He pulled his eyes open again. Whatever they'd given him for pain dragged at him, promising the warmth and softness of sleep. But the insistent rhythm of a tambourine pulled against it, sat him up in his bed.

The rest of the world was quiet. Someone had forgotten a television set in the comer, and its screen showed nothing as it whispered white. Its bluish light lit men sleeping or pain-drugged to stillness, shone on a few flat empty beds. The Coachman shivered as he pushed the thin blankets aside and swung his legs stiffly over the edge of the bed. The cold floor bit his bare feet. Would his clothes be in that drawer?

They weren't, and he remembered then, how they had cut them off him, the bright scissors s nicking along and against his flesh. He longed to crawl back into bed,but he forced himself to step softly down the ward until he came to a sleeping man about his height and build.Nobuild. No ask, he excused himself, for it wouldn't belong before men in ties with clipboards came, to question him, over and over and over. So far he had told no one anything, not even a name. He had pretended to be too drunk, too dazed, too much in shock to talk. Very little of it had been pretense. But morning would come soon,and with it questions he had no time to answer.

The checked flannel shirt was missing two buttons,and the jeans were too big in the waist, but they would do. He found his pocket knife, calk, hoof pick, and some change in his nightstand drawer. His boots were beneath it. The laborious task of stooping down to get them and the agony of actually pulling them on unmanned him fora time. He sat on the edge of that flat white bed, trying to breathe the pain away in deep slow breaths. He wiped the sweat from his face with the corner of the sheet. He wasn't going to get very far under his own power. The few dollars he had would buy him a short cab ride.Wheride.Where? his cheap room, where Daniel, perhaps,was still waiting? That might be best. Then Daniel could find Raymond. He briefly considered going back to Madam Moria's. But the thought that she might once more shut the door in his face decided him.

Getting out of the hospital was easier than he had expected. Even walking crabbed over, with one hand pressed against the bandages under his shirt, he drew little attention. The three nurses he saw were all tired and harassed. He got past them by asking for himself and being told that visiting hours were over, whereupon he sighed and went back out; none of them noticed that he'd come from the wrong direction. The area around the admissions desk looked like a bus station. A man held a bloody cloth to the side of his head while his woman chattered earnestly at the admissions nurse in a language the Coachman didn't recognize. A heavy woman sat rocking a screaming baby while three small children clustered around her. Two teenage boys sat next to a girl who stared straight ahead, eyes all pupils. The Coachman threaded his way out into the dark and cold.

The air on his face helped him push aside the confusion the pain medication made, but the chill tightened his skin. He was aware of the too-large jeans rasping against the bandage on his thigh with every step he took. The hospital was on a hill, and the surrounding neighborhood was dark. He walked two painful blocks past the hospital's park-like "quiet" zone before he felt the telltale warmth begin on his stomach. He walked another two blocks, counting each painful step, before he came to the bus-stop. It boasted a roofed enclosure, a single yellow bulb of light encased in a heavy metal cage, and a pay telephone with no handset. The Coachman sat down heavily on the cold concrete bench. The next bus, he promised himself and Raymond, no matter where it was going. He'd get on the next bus, into light and warmth, and get off when he was in some section of town that was still awake. He pressed his fist gently against his stomach wound and tried not to cough.

A drop, a rise. a jump, a spin;

Let the music lead you.

Keep the sunlight at your back;

There's someone there who needs you.

"GYPSY DANCE"

"I think there's a piece of glass in here… What the hell did he hit you with, anyway?"

The gypsy who called himself Daniel didn't answer. Stepovich glanced back into Ed's kitchen,thinking that the scene looked like something from a bad movie. Daniel sat in one of Ed's straight-backed kitchen chairs, his hands still cuffed behind him. His dark head drooped exhaustedly forward on his chest.Blchest.Blood down the back of his neck and stained his green shirt. Anyone who walked in here, Stepovich thought, would think we were torturing him. But Ed's big hands handled the tweezers as if he were tying fishing flies. Durand's face showed only a mild queasiness as he held the flashlight. Twice now, Durand had raised questions about the legality of what they were doing, in frantic whispers that Daniel wasn't supposed to hear. Twice Ed had growled and shut him up.

"Dammit, kid, get a haircut," Ed muttered, and Durand tried to grin appreciatively.

The gypsy said nothing.

"For Christ's sake, uncuff him, Ed. I promise I won't touch him."

"He's been telling you the truth." Ed said it matter-of-factly, his big blunt fingers sorting through the gypsy's hair.

"1 just don't…" For an instant, all the dizzying shock of the gypsy's tale hit him again. Laurie in that sleazy bar, a place he wouldn't even go himself. Laurie tarted up like a whore. Stepovich gripped his coffee mug with both hands, raised it, forced himself to drink from it. None of that was the gypsy's fault. But when he talked about Laurie, the way he called her Lore lei, and the quiet warmth he put into her name made Stepovich want to punch his lights out. Damnit,she couldn't be that old yet. Couldn't be. And even if she was, the gypsy wasn't what Stepovich had planned for his daughter. Some high school jock with a letterman's jacket and a beat-up old car, or some nerdy boy with thick glasses and penny loafers, even some punk with an earring and half his head shaved-those were the boys Laurie should be looking at, flirting with in the hallways at school. Not some sorrow-eyed street fiddler who knew the world from the seamy side out.

But he was the one. She'd chosen Daniel to confide in, Daniel to shelter behind when she got in over her head. She'd trusted him. And he'd been worthy of her trust. Ironically, that was what he couldn't forgive. That Daniel had been there for her, as Stepovich hadn't. Damn. Ed was watching him. Stepovich looked aside, forced the jealousy from his face. "1mean it, Ed. I'm cool. Uncuff him."

Ed glanced over at him, and gave Durand a barely perceptible nod. Durand set down the flashlight and fished the key out of his pocket.

"Gonna unlock you, kid. But I'm warning you, you make any kinda funny move, you got all three of us on top of you. Understand?" Durand was going to have to work on his style. Then again, maybe if Durand had felt better about what he was doing tonight,he'd have put more conviction into his words.

"I understand," Daniel answered in the same clear but exhausted voice he had used to answer all their questions. Or almost answer, Stepovich thought to himself as he watched the cuffs come off. Daniel maintained the same posture, only pulling his hands forward into his lap and gently massaging his wrists. No complaints. No threats of police brutality charges,no demands to know on what grounds he was being held. None of it added, not the way he had shrugged off Ed's offer of a trip to the emergency room, nor the way he had constantly asked them to clarify their questions. Hell, Daniel had asked more questions than he'd answered. He and Ed had had a fine time,questioning each other, dodging and weaving like boxers in a ring. Did Daniel know the scarred Gypsy?Well, he wasn't sure. What kind of scars were on his face? Oh? And was he a sickly old man? No? In good health, then? The gypsy he was with, did he have a tambourine? Oh, he was alone then? And on and on.

Stepovich wasn't sure Ed had had the best of it. And none of it added up. Anybody could look at him and see he was related to the scarred Gypsy. It was in the cheekbones and the eyes, in the hooked nose and narrow chin. He had to know something about the man, but whatever it was, he was hiding it behind shrugs and blank stares, and "I don't understand"s. But he wasn't hostile, he wasn't defiant. He was waiting for something, content to remain in their hands to see what happened next.

What happened next that Ed said, "Got it!" and flicked a chunk of glass the size of a nickel onto the kitchen table. In the next instant he was pressing a dish towel to the back of the gypsy's head, staunching the flow of blood, so red against the black curling hair. "Oh," Durand breathed, and Stepovich understood. The sight of it dizzied Stepovich for an instant,as the sight and smell of blood did sometimes, and he found himself grinning hard to hold off the weakness.

"Boy's got enough hair," Ed muttered, and Stepovich registered that Ed had already classified him as"the kid" and "boy." Meaning that Ed had already made his personal judgment that Daniel was okay.Otherwise he'd have been "the punk" and "dick head."

"Hard to see through all this hair." Ed carefully lifted the towel away from the staunched cut as Durand craned his neck to look at it."Black as a raven's wing," Stepovich said softly.Daniel's head came up slowly, as if someone were pulling it on a string. The eyes he turned on Stepovich were bird-bright and sharp, then suddenly cloaked.

Flashes: An escape from pursuit, a dream of burnt stew, an impossible coach ride, the suspect from a fifty-year-old crime come to life, an old woman dead in a hotel room, a knife that couldn't have killed.

Stepovich fixed his eyes on Daniel and cleared his throat. "Someone told me," he said, his voice still coming out hoarse, "that if I were wise, I'd let a Raven sit on my shoulder and hunt with me," Was there a flicker in those dark eyes, still fixed on his face? "And an Owl keep watch in the night for me.And a Dove tell me secrets."

Durand turned incredulous eyes to Ed. But Ed had on his "wait and see" look. After a moment, Durand gave a slow nod of agreement.

Daniel closed his eyes for a moment. He straightened slowly in the chair. Like a burden had been lifted? No. More like he had just resettled a heavy pack on his shoulders. His eyes were tired and old,but the spark of hope that kindled in them was a new,young thing. "The first thing we hunt for," he said into the unnatural silence, "is the Coachman."