“Well now my friends, as you can probably imagine, this comely young whore was most grateful to her rescuer. And when the crowd had carried the second priest’s body away, she invited Quell to her home where she—” The storyteller set down his controls once more and wrapped his arms around himself. He gave a performance shudder and rubbed both hands on his upper arms. ”But it really is too cold to continue, I fear. I could not—”

Amidst a new chorus of protest, I took Sylvie by the arm again and led her away. She said nothing for the first few paces, then vaguely she looked back at the storyteller and then at me.

“I’ve never been to Sharya,” she said in a puzzled voice.

“No, and I’m willing to bet nor has he.” I looked her carefully in the eyes. “And Quell certainly never got to go there either. But it makes a good story, right?”

FIFTEEN

I bought a pack of disposable phones from an alcove dealer on the waterfront and used one of them to call Lazlo. His voice came through wavery with the squabble of antique jamming and counterjamming that floated over New Hok like smog from some early millennium city on Earth. The wharfside noises around me didn’t help much. I pinned the phone hard against my ear.

“You’ll have to speak up,” I told him.

“…said she’s still not well enough to use the net, then?”

“She says not. But she’s holding up okay. Listen, I’ve set the traces. You can expect a very pissed-off Kurumaya to come battering down your door later today. Better start practising your alibis.”

“Who, me?”

I grinned despite myself. “Any sign of this Kovacs then?”

His reply was inaudible behind a sudden thicket of static and flutter.

“Say again?”

“…in this morning, said he saw the Skull Gang up near Sopron yesterday with some faces he didn’t know, looked li—… south at speed. Probably get in some time tonight.”

“Alright. When Kovacs does show up, you watch yourselves. The man is a dangerous piece of shit. You keep it tight. Scan up.”

“Will do.” A long, static-laced pause. “Hey, Micky, you’re taking good care of her, right?”

I snorted. “No, I’m about to scalp her and sell off the spare capacity to a data brokerage. What do you think?”

“I know you ca—” Another wave of distortion squelched his voice. “… f not, then get her to someone who can help.”

“Yeah, we’re working on that.”

“…Millsport?”

I guessed at content. “I don’t know. Not yet, at any rate.”

“If that’s what it takes, man.” His voice was fading out now, faint with distance and wrenched with the jamming. “Whatever it takes.”

“Las, I’m losing you. I’ve got to go.”

“…an up, Micky.”

“Yeah, you too. I’ll be in touch.”