Finch knelt beside the man’s body. Pushed aside the matted hair on the man’s head to get a good grip on the stalk. Held the bulb in his hand. Sticky, porous, rubbery. Gently twisted it off the stalk. A pock sound as he detached it. He put the bulb in his pocket. Pulled the stalk out at the root. Left behind a round indentation about a half inch deep. Blood began to fill the small wound.

That’ll leave a scar.

Let loose a yip of nervous laughter. Shut it down.

But the Partial still noticed it. “I knew you didn’t want to eat their memories.”

Finch ignored the Partial. Repeated the process for the gray cap. No blood, no pock sound.

“You might be the first person to ever eat a gray cap’s memory bulb. Aren’t you the lucky one.”

Finch rose to face the Partial. “Pathetic idea of security, by the way. One Partial. First thing any intruder will want to do is shoot out or cut out your eye. Followed by cutting off your head to make absolutely sure.” Said each word slowly. Savored each.

The Partial wasn’t smiling now. The eye twitched. He advanced on Finch until he stood inches away. Finch looked into that ruin of a face and tried not to turn away in disgust.

“Finch. Finchy. Whoever you are. You’re not as smart as you think. I’m not the only one here. We’ve got this whole building staked out. If anyone comes here, we’ll see them. The spores will see them.”

Bellum omnium contra omnes. “Never lost” in a dead man’s hand.

“Who would come here? And why?”

“Followers of the Blue.” The Partial seemed on the verge of saying more. Caught himself.

But Finch had heard enough. A grin broke across his face. Didn’t turn back soon enough. He gave the Partial a last poisonous stare.

“What? Nothing more to say?” the Partial called after him as he headed down the stairs. “I’m disappointed, Finchy … Someday, though, Finchy, someday…”

Out onto the street, amid the black leaves. The rotten fruit. A memory bulb in each pocket. Looking now for the signature of the rebels in every figure that he passed.

Followers of the Blue … The Lady in Blue.

A thousand tales told about her by now. Told by old men to young men. Told by mothers to sons and daughters. Most are about her voice. No one agrees on where the Lady in Blue came from, but everyone agrees that during the worst of the War of the Houses her voice was heard coming from courtyards, buildings, even underground. Or seemed to. Some thought she was an opera singer transformed by grief over a slain lover. That she was in some way the voice of the city, coming up from the earth. Believed this even though it could not be true. None of it could be true.