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'There's still us,' said Fitz.

She blinked and turned. He was in the bookstore doorway, hands in pockets, his mind obviously not focused at all on her and Rust.

'We can call on Swan,' he said. 'I mean, you can. And you keep her talking while I sneak in and look around.'

'Oh, jolly good,' she said. 'Really sound thinking. And what if you open a cupboard door and there's homicidal, bonkers, powerful-magician Acree with a knife?'

'Mm,' said Fitz thoughtfully. 'Just have to depend on my winning personality, I suppose.'

She snorted. 'You'd be better off carrying a water pistol.'

'All right,' he said, 'it's not the best plan. But we have to do something.'

'We'll both talk to her,' she said firmly, pushing Rust to the back of her mind. 'Sound her out. Decide where to go from there.'

'Fine.' He hooked his arm in hers and grinned. He did sense there was something wrong, she realised, and smiled back gratefully. He gave her a gentle tug. 'Come on. We're off to see the wizard.'

Morgan Thales's legs hurt. He'd thought that as the years passed he would become used to the pain, but in fact he was less and less able to bear it. Or perhaps it had gotten worse. The continuing degeneration of the body. He shuddered with disgust.

He was sitting in a small back room that he used as an office. His large old-fashioned wooden desk, all drawers and cubbyholes, filled half the space.

The rest was stacked neatly with meticulously organised file boxes, and his correspondence was placed on the desk in tidy, discrete piles. A little window gave on to the side courtyard. This didn't admit much light, but at least he could open it and listen to the fountain.

He was writing a letter by hand, in ink, on the cream-coloured museum stationery. He supposed he ought to get a computer. In the long run, it would make things easier. But he didn't like the idea. He was already dependent on lights and air conditioning and refrigeration that could be knocked out of service by one of the frequent thunderstorms. And he understood that when that happened to a computer you lost all your records. Horrible.

Besides, he would have to bring a person in to put all the files on the disk or wherever you put them, and that meant having someone around for hours and days, and that wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all.

What was that?

Thales turned skittishly to reach for his crutches. Then he stopped, listening. Good Lord, someone was in the courtyard! 'Go away!' he called, grabbing the phone. 'I'm calling the police!'

'It's me,' said a voice from below the window.

'Who is?'

'Teddy Acree.'

'I don't know you.'

'I'm a sculptor. I -'

'I know who you are. But I don't know you. Why are you here? Go away.'

'No, I -'

'Go away!'

'I need help!'

'I'm dialling 911!' Thales started pressing the buttons. A crash came from the next room. His head jerked up. The fool had broken in! Then Teddy was in the room, snatching the phone.

'You don't understand, I need -'

He looked straight at Thales for the first time, and screamed.

Thales yelled too, brandishing a crutch. This was really too much! The boy was insane! But before he could hit him, Teddy collapsed on to the floor, pulling himself into a tight ball.

He was trembling. Thales slowly lowered the crutch. Teddy mumbled something.

'What?'

'You're one, too!'

'One what?'

'A monster. Everyone's a monster!'

Thales bit his lip. 'We can't all be monsters Teddy,' he said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. 'Are you sure you aren't Could you possibly have '

I'm not on drugs!' said Teddy muffledly.

'Oh Well Good.'

'I don't need drugs.'

"That's good, too,' said Thales, wondering how to get the phone back.

Teddy appeared to be lying on it. 'But of course you know someone might have given you drugs. In your, erm, coffee or -'

'I don't drink coffee!'

'- or whatever you drink. As a prank. Or in an innocent attempt to help you,