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argue with the man who just poured you a snifter of brandy older than all your grandparents. “She’s a good kid,” I said. “I’m letting her stay on for one case. Then we’ll see.”
    “Bring her around,” said Evis. “She’s got to be better to look at than you.”
    I nodded. “When we get back,” I said. “We’re heading out of town tomorrow on a case. Probably be in Wardmoor for a few days.”
    Evis frowned. “That’s almost Troll country,” he said. “Past the old walls, isn’t it?”
    I nodded and sipped. “House is called Werewilk, place is called the Banshee’s Walk. Ever heard of it?”
    Evis frowned. “Crazy artist lady, is that her?” he said. “Offed her fiancé a few years back?”
    I sat up straight. “I heard there was an accident. Something about a horse.”
    “Word was she put a bur under his saddle,” said Evis. Then he shrugged. “But who knows. It was just gossip. Rich man falls off a bucking horse. Woman doesn’t attend the funeral. Tongues wag.”
    “How rich was he?”
    “He was the eldest son of Horave Elt. Heir to the Elt foundry empire.” Evis raised his cigar. “He can afford more of these than I can.”
    I whistled. “Did father Elt take it hard?”
    Evis shrugged. “You’d have to ask him that, Markhat. That’s all I know.”
    I sighed, turned my attention back to my cigar and Evis’s brandy.
    “That’s some strange country, Markhat,” noted Evis, after a while. “Lots of stories about Wardmoor.”
    “Every house is haunted, every shaded lane infested with ghouls,” I agreed. “But don’t worry, I’ll sleep with the sheets pulled up way over my head.”
    Evis chuckled. “Just a lot nonsense, those stories. People probably say the same about the Heights.”
    I shrugged. People actually said a lot worse, and Evis knew it, but it wasn’t worth pointing out.
    “Still, that reminds me, Markhat. There’s something I’ve been meaning to give you, ever since you made the acquaintance of Encorla Hisvin. I’ll be back in a moment, help yourself to another glass.”
    Evis rose and padded silently out of the room. I poured, sniffed and drank, alone in a dim chamber deep in a house full of vampires and oddly and completely at ease.
    I heard a door click, and Evis was back, a narrow wooden case in his hands.
    “Mind you don’t wave this around at the Watch,” he said, handing me the case. “It’s not legal, in the strictest sense, unless you’re a city employee.”
    The catch wasn’t locked, so I opened it.
    Inside was a sword. A shortsword, about the length of my forearm, with a double-edged silver blade that gleamed with the promise of ready mayhem and a dark wood grip already stained here and there with something that was not applesauce.
    “It’s ensorcelled,” said Evis. “Blows struck against reanimated corpses will be particularly efficacious.”
    I took it gently from the case. The edges glowed a faint ghostly silver in the candlelight.
    Just perfect when dealing with someone named the Corpsemaster, I thought. I wondered briefly if it was also intended for use against the halfdead.
    “The spellwork will also be potent against halfdead,” said Evis, very quietly. “It’s the same one we use on our crossbow bolts. Though of course I hope you will use it carefully in that instance.”
    I put the sword back in its velvet-lined case and closed it firmly shut.
    “I’m always careful with big butter knives,” I said. “And thanks.”
    Evis sat. “Don’t thank me,” he replied, grinning. “I have no idea where you got that, never seen it before, anyway I prefer a crossbow myself.” He produced a deck of cards from somewhere in his desk, shuffled them with an expert’s ease and let his dirty white eyes meet mine.
    “Surely you have time for a few hands,” he said. “Luck might be with you, tonight.”
    I laughed. “Luck lost my address years ago.” I am a lousy card player, and Evis knows it, which is why we never play for real