It was a wet night in Capital, and the collops was cold. I'd bought 'em for Uncle at a black-toothed street vendor; it didn't smell like rat, and I smell better than most.

So, when I smelled blood two floors below home, in the shit-heap of the back of beyond, I acted how I should.

I was in a stairwell, passing a couple of drunks sharing an overcoat, when I caught it. Coppery, kind of sweet. Hell, I said I could smell, not describe. So I took the bag in one hand, put the other on my pistol butt, and got running up. Staircases are big things around these parts, massive buildings, ugly stone. Size over substance, as the peeling wallpaper would suggest, and the lack of elevators. So I turned the corner to the corridor, kept the gun hidden under my coat, and instinctively (no choice-the lights had gone again) drew my flashlight. Clicked it on. Braced for impact.

The door to my office.

Footprints outside it, new ones.

The keyhole?

It would appear, from the positions of the levers, to be unlocked-a trivial detail to observe across a corridor in semi-darkness.

For one of my sight.

I drew the pistol, sprang across the corridor.

Silence.

Put down the bag, put a hand on the door knob. Pressed a clipped ear against the glass.

Silence.

(Music played two floors below. Laughter. A scream, four blocks off.)

Water being poured into a bowl.

Tense like cord, I open the door, pistol ready.

'An interesting meeting,' Uncle said.

He was seated behind my desk, with feet up. His eyes bled beneath their mask. His ears bled.

The shutters were swinging open behind him.

'Who?' I asked. Check left, gun out-nothing, just my filing cabinets of missed rent. Check right-Uncle's cracked mirrors. Check up-our flickering lightbulb. Rush across to the window-

'An interesting young human. I say it is interesting. I mean by the standards of these folk.' Uncle rose, hobbled over to the tap where his bowl was being filled, the great wraithbone dish. 'Not, as I suspected, the landlord's Scorpion.'

'Interesting?' I stared out into the darkness, but it was midnight, and it was the Capital, and it was Saint Zachary's. Too much light pollution, too little working street lighting. Too many people who wanted to hide.

'Indeed. Now be still, my dear niece, my runes are almost ready to be cast.'

I locked the door (but not before I set down the food), and began to mop up the blood from the table. I would progress to Uncle later.

'I was forced to cast them before,' Uncle went on, 'and do carry the bowl over to the table, I find myself weaker in the arm than I had thought.'

'Why so?'

'The interesting young man. The mirror, you see, it showed me a vision, so I had to grant myself some insight of the matter.' I gently took the bowl to my desk, and settled it down. Uncle reverently reached into a leather wallet, and laid the runes out onto the table.

Old, bits of slate and scratchings in chalk.

(I remember, for a moment, ancient glories of smooth wraithbone and arching columns and the songs of my children-but that was in earlier days. Not now.)

'And what did your ancient eyes see, Uncle-dear?' I ask, taking a quiet pace backwards.

'That it was the servant of an individual from Beyond, dear one-more than that, I could not say without your aid,' replied Uncle, 'so I was forced to take decisive measures.'

I redraw my gun, leap to my stance.

'I apoloise a thousand times, never will I leave you again-'

'No, nonsense, you have many jobs to do to earn our keep. Besides, you would get frightfully bored.' Uncle's mouth flickered into a smile. 'You are, after all, a Wanderer.'

'As you are a Seer, Uncle-dear, so I cannot let your sight dim.'

'But now-hush.'

So Uncle took up the runes, and shook them in his hand.

(Was that something moving in the mirror, or that damn bulb?)

And cast them into the bowl.

I watched for a little, to make sure he didn't choke, or rave, or bleed again, or that the mirrors did anything untoward; but they did not.

The runes settled ito the dish.

The bulb, finally, died; but our eyes cared not.

Not with the runes.

'So, I need your eyes. What do you see?' Uncle took a trembling hold of my elbow.

I gazed into the runes. I had done this for him often enough. His eyes were gone, his physical ones at least; so, for greater detail, he called for me.

So what do I see?

Come along, as you have done it before. Divide into quadrants, just like you were scouting.

And begin.

'Upper left. The lightning, pointing to the centre. It is accompanied by the Angel.'

Lower left. The whirlwind. It inclines towards the Heart, and to the centre.'

Lower right. The crow. Very strongly inclined towards the seeing eye.'

(Was that something flickering in that mirror, I wonder? I did not turn.

To be honest, it was because I did not dare turn.)

'And to the upper right, dear niece?'

'To the upper right is the… shifting sands.'

I fell silent.

'You aren't telling me something,' Uncle said chidingly. 'Speak.'

'It inclines away from them all,' I said. 'From the centre, and all the others.'

Uncle considered this.

And laughed.

'We live, my dear, in days of shaking! Much to consider, and I'll stop before I start bleeding again. Now for supper.'

The light turned on again, and we turned to our collops.

It was terrible, naturally.

It was never any different.

I lit a lho stick.

'I expect a few more visits, this time from an old acquaintance. An Inquisitor.'

'Right. I know where we can get good horses, the best.' I cricked my neck. 'I'll call in a few favours.'

'No, I daresay that this one will be rather more clement than the others.'

'Good.'

'There will also be Angels of Death.'

'Them?' I spat. 'Why don't we need the horses?'

'And more from Beyond. Much, much more.'

We were both silent.

'We will of course,' Uncle said, 'do our duty. But I am, let me be honest with you, very much afraid.'

And he left it at that; so I tidied the runes away, and washed the plates. The rest of the evening I spent field stripping my rifle, automatic, belt pistols, and trying to convince the floors below to turn their damned noise down, and their babies; for Uncle was sleeping.