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mouth, thereupon tightening the cord above his upper lip and below his jutting introciptor.
    Unlike Crutchsump’s unassuming caul, Rheaume’s head-covering was made of luxurious fabric and tatted out with sewn-on trinkets and charms. Although the overall effect of ostentation was admittedly lessened by grease and sauce and condiment splotches, stains that also afflicted his lilac pantaloons and darker purple blouson.
    Spotting Crutchsump, Rheaume licked his fingers clean, readjusted his caul, and hoisted his bulk with no small effort out of his seat.
    “Ah, Crutchsump, at last! I began to think that my best freelance scavenger had given up the trade!”
    “Not at all. In fact, I’ve got the first shifflet bones I estimate you’ve seen all season.”
    Rheaume rubbed his hands together gleefully. “If so, a bonus! Pharmacists across the city are clamoring for them!”
    Powdered shifflet bones were reputed to cure many ailments, including dropsy and bale-flux.
    Crutchsump upended her sack into the large dented pan of the biggest scale. Already picked clean of tissue by marine organisms, the shifflet bones gleamed white as the eyes of ghosts.
    Rheaume discerned the bas-relief numbers on the scale’s dial, did a mental calculation, and then moved to a lockbox. He opened the small vault and began to count out scintillas.
    “Eighty, ninety, one hundred! Plus, that bonus. Ten more!”
    Always deferential in her business dealings, Crutchsump never contested amounts. Until today.
    “Could you possibly add five to your already generous bonus, Rheaume?”
    Taken aback by this unusual self-aggrandizement, Rheaume grew flustered and irate. “Why, I never—That is, I suppose—Oh, here, just have it!”
    Crutchsump caught the additional five-scintilla piece that was tossed to her. Like all the coins circulating in Sidetrack City, the unit bore no design, and was distinguished from its kin solely by color and shape and size.
    Turning to leave, Crutchsump was halted by a question from Rheaume: “May I inquire as to what prompted this sudden avarice?”
    “I’ve got two mouths to feed now,” answered Crutchsump.
    This reply floored Rheaume even more visibly, and Crutchsump left him shaking his head in wonderment. She was rather pleased with the effect.
    The food market was lively, even at this early hour. The impoverished district of Telerpeton hardly attracted the most luxurious foodstuffs or highest-class vendors, but all the wares on display were nonetheless fresh and wholesome and nutritious, albeit the plainest varieties. The close-packed stalls and unrolled rush-mats and tiered baskets held a wide selection, all of which made Crutchsump’s own empty stomach renew its gurgles.
    She spent some time selecting a good mix of foodstuffs, items she seldom indulged in for her own enjoyment: lake leeks, star bread, a clutch of faufaws, some roasted medallions of clandestini. She added in some vials of livewater, the amber and teal decoctions. Then, anxious that the monster might awaken in her absence, she hurried to the adjacent district where the dry goods merchants congregated. Here she bargained for a simple taupe caul and dhoti. She also picked up a different kind of livewater, this decoction not intended for ingestion, but rather for ablutions.
    Burdened with her purchases in a sling, Crutchsump hastened home.
    She arrived to find the scene in her small apartment unchanged, save for brighter daylight. The monster still snored athwart her pallet, Pirkle adjacent.
    The wurzel came fully alert when his mistress approached. Elevating himself, Pirkle stretched his many limbs one at a time—a long satisfying process—then shambled outside to relieve himself of aromatic waste lozenges and to seek scraps.
    Crutchsump kneeled beside the monster and unwrapped the chance-found fabric from its head, without disturbing its sleep. The sight of its scarified face again, totally lacking an introciptor, caused her to quail, but only with