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scratching your behind, though I recommend you eat first.”
    Now that the boy was secured, Chevie wedged the door open with a chair so she could keep an eye on the pod room, just in case something else decided to come through.
    Riley jerked his chain a few times to test its strength and Chevie grinned.
    “Everybody does that, but let me tell you, those cuffs have a tensile strength of over three hundred and fifty pounds, so you are wasting your time.” Chevie shook her head. “There’s a lot of time wasting going on around here today; you have no idea.”
    Riley suddenly felt like crying, and almost as suddenly felt ashamed of himself. Crying would not get him away from Garrick; backbone was the order of the day.
    “Miss, you need to let me loose before he gets here.”
    Chevie pulled up a steel chair, spun it on one leg, and sat, leaning her elbows on the back.
    “Oh, yeah. He. Death, right? He is Death, and Death is coming. The bogeyman.”
    “No, no bogeyman. Garrick is flesh right enough. He done for old yellow-blood, and he’ll be doing for us soon if we don’t get a little wind under our sails and leave this place, wherever it is.”
    Chevie almost pitied this filthy urchin until she remembered the first time she’d laid eyes on him. “Tell you what, kid. Why don’t we forget this Death character for a minute and focus on why you killed the old man?”
    Riley shook his head. “Not me, miss. I never did. It was Garrick.”
    Chevie was pretty good at reading people, and this kid’s face was wide, with heavy brows, a pointed chin, and a mop of hair that could be any color underneath the dirt. His eyes were a startling blue, at least the left one was; the right eye seemed to be mostly enlarged pupil. In short, an innocent kid’s face, not a murderer’s face. Unless he was a psychopath.
    “Oh, yes. Garrick. Mr. Death. Or perhaps Mr. Nobody.”
    “You’re mocking me, miss. You think I’m a liar.”
    Chevie scowled. “Stop with the miss stuff, kid. You’re making me feel like a grandmother. Call me Agent Savano. Don’t go thinking we’re friends, now; I’m just being civil, and I don’t want to judge you until all the facts are in. And, to answer your geographical query, we are in London, England.”
    The boy was obviously disturbed by this news. “London, you say? Is it true? But then he is already here. There is no time, Agent Sa-van-o. We must get away from here. Can you summon the orange magic?”
    Orange magic. Agent Orange, thought Chevie, hearing the penny drop at last. Now I get it.
    “Listen, kid. If this Garrick person does exist, and he is stuck on the other end of the orange magic , there is no way in heaven he’s going to show up here. Understand?”
    The boy’s odd eyes grew no less wide or wild. “No way in heaven, but perhaps a way in hell.”
    Chevie snorted. “You Victorians are pretty melodramatic, aren’t you? What’s your name, kid? I can’t go on calling you kid all day.”
    “I am called Riley,” said the boy.
    “Something Riley? Or Riley Something?”
    Riley shrugged. “I don’t know this, Agent Savano. Garrick never knew either. One name was all that was needed. The note left with me simply read, ‘This is Riley, a waif in need. Look after him.’ I was on the point of being boiled up by cannibals when he found me. Killed the bunch of them, he did, made the last one chew on a hunk of his own leg as a lesson.”
    “I am totally not liking this Death, magician, one-name calling, alleged time-traveler killer.”
    Riley sighed. This lady was not giving Garrick his due, but how could she? Garrick was a unique creature, and his wrath could not be appreciated without being seen or experienced. Riley would have to grind a plan from his own brain, and perhaps distract his captor for a moment to buy time to think. Riley raised himself a little and nodded at a tattoo on Agent Savano’s bicep.
    “What is this arrowhead marking, Agent? Are you a sailor?”
    Chevie tapped