Down by the tents, Tina was darning Pig's tiger-patterned socks, and Whisper, Rose, and Cardiff were in a game of Dead Man's Poker. Red stayed in her tent.

The fire burned cheerily. Plenty of fallen branches to make it go, and no police to kick it out.

Above, the house loomed in the rain-pent morning.

The butler man had brought them breakfast, ham and eggs—actual grilled ham, and eggs poached in a sauce—coffee and tea. And then another guy came out to exercise two fantastic bloody great wolfhounds—Viv squeaked, and Connor held her back, in case, but the guy said, "It will be all right." So then Connor let Viv go, and the two enormous dogs played with her, really nicely, and then ran off down the slope into the oaks.

Connor wondered if he would see Miranda again, but she must have come back some other way, yesterday. Not a trace.

Camillo had come down before noon.

He sat on one of the packs, between Connor and the fire. Viv had gone up to him and he tickled her idly, but he looked old and fragile, the way Connor remembered from that first time, on the beach.

Best leave Camillo alone.

Viv did so, too, all of them.

But there was a girl who had followed Camillo down. It seemed she was called Lou. She sat at his feet, on a piece of canvas. Short skirt, lots of hair, no brains.

Connor worked on a bad place near the forward wheel. Then he stood back. Water now. He picked up the bucket. The butler guy—Michael?—had shown him the outdoor tap.

Connor sluiced the Shovelhead and a gleam arose.

"My beauty," Connor said. Viv thumped her tail. "You too, you harlot."

Lou did not look at Viv. She had ignored Viv. Lou was stupid.

Red emerged from her tent.

Jesus.

She was wearing black rubber. Leggings showing every contour, down into her low black boots. And under her jacket, a rubber vest. Everything she had, and she had everything, was there to see, behind this film of glaucous darkness. And the red hair loose, back over one ear, with an earclip of a silver snake. She turned, and "saw" Camillo.

"How's your horse?" she called. She was glib, light as a feather.

Camillo looked at her.

"It bites."

"They all do," said Red. "The trick is to give them an apple, first."

"And a serpent in your ear," said Camillo. He was looking better.

"Serpent bites horse," said Red.

Camillo giggled. Red raised her long red eyebrows. They really were, and her lashes were like long shavings of new bronze.

Viv barked, and Red threw her a kiss. "Amour jadis de moi," said Red, "ah, vous dis-je."

Someone spat, up on the slope. A rip of sound.

They all of them, arrested, looked up.

It was Whitey—Malach. The one Miranda had got mixed up over. Camillo's son? She had said Father.