“You can join your gun,” Stark said, “or you can shut up about it. I’m not here to talk to you about guns.” The stained teeth made Stark resemble one of the shambly dogs latching on to its prey in the painting behind him. But the way he stared at Finch wasn’t doglike. It reminded him of the older men in the Hoegbotton Irregulars. They too had looked crazy. Like a black flame burned within them.

“Taking my weapon might lead to strong actions by my superiors.” Hated Stark for forcing him to use the gray caps as a shield.

Bosun dropped a carving of a cat onto the desk, stepped back. It looked like Feral to Finch. Made him obscurely worried again. Behind him, the sounds of knife on wood again.

Ignoring Bosun, Stark said, “We all know what superiors you mean, Finch. You mean those fey, gray-hatted, walking talking shit-stalks. But the fact is I don’t care. I haven’t cared since I came here, and I will continue not to care until I leave. With as much of Ambergris smoldering behind me as I can manage. So here’s a question for you: Why do you work for them? I mean, really? Why? Besides fear, of course. Besides a leaky roof over your head and a plate of mashed-up mushrooms on your kitchen table. Do you like working for them?”

Finch had never answered that question. Asked: “Why did you leave Ethan Bliss alive?”

Stark nodded in appreciation. “My question is better than yours, but, still—good for you, changing the subject. I took out his team because I don’t like surprises, and Bliss seems full of them. Why’d I leave him alive? Well, maybe I thought Bliss made enticing bait. Maybe I wanted to see who would come creeping around if I left him alive … and here you are.”

The smile was a little too painted on, the comment too blunt.

“What did Bliss promise you? And where can I find him?”

Stark sighed. “You’re not getting it, Finch. Bliss reminds me of a toy I once had. A mechanical toy. By the time I got it, who could tell what the hell it was or what it was supposed to do. Its uniform or fur or whatever it had wasn’t there anymore. It had no eyes, just eyeholes. Mostly it mumbled and marched in place when you wound it up. Who knows what Bliss started out as. I doubt he even remembers. So, where is he? It doesn’t matter to me. And if you take my advice you won’t let it matter to you, either.”

Sudden anger burned in Finch’s chest, kindling for pride. “I’m not here to ask your advice.”