She frowned. “No. Nothing older than a bunker down south.”

“How much of that did you sample?”

She winced; at my tone, I suppose; so I added in the same one, bright and pointy, “Not that I object. I just don’t want to bore you with things you already know.”

I must have reached the limits of her apologetic mood, because she said, “If you bore me, you’ll know. I’m going to get off the floor and sit in this chair. Unless you plan to shoot me if I do.”

And that, I swear, was the first time I remembered the rifle abandoned on the desk. In her hands it had been a malevolent, ticking presence. Out of them, it was a paperweight. Something had happened in the room, something I couldn’t fathom, that had made it unlikely that any of the three of us would shoot the others.

She settled into the slingshot chair like an old woman, and the leather creaked. “What happened to Mick, by the way?”

Had that last been too casual? Was she worried? If so, what about? “He’s gone to get supplies to restore your depleted self.”

Frances looked up at that. “Has he?” she said mildly. “If he has a yen to play Saint Theresa, he can lavish his talents on a more appreciative audience.”

“Since you’ve proven you can take care of yourself.”

“Given the state you were in when I made your acquaintance,” Frances said, “you should talk.”

I shrugged. “I couldn’t help it. Your pal Mick left me lying in the sun.”

“And you warped. I understand. Tell me about Louisiana.”

“It’s very wet.”

“No, I mean waking up in Louisiana.” I stood up again. I was beginning to feel spring-loaded. I stalked to the sink, put my mug in it, and turned around. “Why in hell do you want to know?”

“Maybe I’ll be able to figure out who you are.”

“I know who I am.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Really.”

“All right. I don’t, particularly. But are you surprised that I’d rather be the palace eunuch than one of the great boogeymen of our age?”

“If we were only boogeymen,” she said, echoing my earlier words, “no one would care.” In the way she spoke, I heard again what she’d said to Dusty: Probably. I have a damnably long memory. Indeed. Nobody should have one that long.

“Have you ever done anything that Mick hasn’t?” I asked.

“Did he say that?”

“More or less.”

She laughed a little. Then she said, “He was mistaken.” She raised her eyes to mine. “But don’t tell him. He’ll find out eventually.”

“Are you going to kill him?”

“The future is a land unmapped, from which no expedition has returned. I don’t think so. He had nothing to do with the Bang. Strange as it seems, he is, as these things go, a passable human being.”

“Are you going to kill me?” In spite of my conviction, it seemed reasonable to ask.