Reginald did as he was told, and Urt once more approached the inn-keep, who was risking serious disease by biting her fingernails.

    "Excuse me ma''am," he said. "Where might one locate a book in this town?"

    "Ma''am is it? You charma you!" The woman tittered, spitting out clippings.

    Trying his best to keep a smile in his face, Urt waited.

    "Well, I''m not a big reader me''self," she went on, surprising nobody. "But if I was taken with it, I''d try the library, up the road yonder a ways." She pointed a dirty finger.

    "Thank you." Urt bowed slightly. It went against his code of evil, but zombies can''t be choosers, as the saying went. and right now he was down to his last shilling.

    Reginald joined him outside, followed by Lucy and the backpack holding Horace.

    "Let''s go," Urt said, and started off down the cobbled street.

    Almost immediately he was accosted by a small, grubby figure.

    "Wanna guide mister? Half a Groat and I''ll take you whereva you want! One Groat a day and you can beat me too! Witha stick!"

    "Tempting as that is, bugger off," said Urt, swatting at the urchin, who was wearing the latest fashion in filthy rags, complete with a torn flat cap.

    The lad ducked out of the way with practised ease.

    "Just a beating then sir? Two Bits to you! Witha stick," he reminded him.

    "How about I just dissolve your innards? Be away with you!" Urt waved his hand in a magical fashion, and the lad retreated. "The city is a strange place indeed," he said, checking to ensure his pouch was still attached to his belt. Old Mangle had warned him about pickpockets.

    "He seemed harmless enough," Reginald said, trotting alongside. "Reminds me of me, when I was his age, though with less fur."

    Urt made a tutting noise and they carried on until they found an impressively building with a sign that indicated the library was inside. Pausing only to straighten his robe, he entered, with Reginald and Lucy behind.

    The interior was a large room, lined with bookshelves. A wooden counter ran the length of one side. A bored looking middle aged woman sat behind the desk. She was clad in a putrid coloured green robe with a name badge attached to one sagging br??st.

    "Can I help you dear?" she asked as they approached.

    "Madam, I am not ''a dear''," Urt replied. "I am a wizard of some standing."

    "If you say so dear," she replied, totally unperturbed. "And I''m not a madam. What can I do you for?"

    Deflating a little, Urt replied. "We''re looking for a book, the Lexicon Tormentus. You''ve probably never heard of it, it''s an ancient tome, known only to a few…"

    "Yes ducky, we have it."

    "You have?" Urt''s shock overrode his irritation at being compared to a water fowl.

    "Well, not here, obviously."

    "Obviously," repeated Urt.

    The two stared at each other for a moment, until Urt realized she wasn''t going to say anything else.

    "So then, er…" he squinted at her badge. "Deirdre. Who would have that particular book at the moment, and when is it due back in?"

    "I''m afraid I''m not allowed to tell you that," she replied with a slight smirk. "Library rules."

    "Library rules, of course." Urt paused and thought for a few moments. "I can see you are a person of great moral fibre," he said deciding to try a different tack.

    "I like to think so," Deirdre replied. "Someone has to uphold good old fashioned values around here."

    "Of course, of course." Urt nodded in agreement, whilst wondering why people always thought that the ''old ways'' where better. When he was old, if things weren''t better than living in a swamp, something would have gone pretty badly wrong. He shook his head and brought himself back to the, apparently failing, present. "Yet I find," he went on, trying to phrase things in as delicate a way as possible. "That everyone has something in their lives that, for reasons that they are not at all to blame for, is… unjust. Wouldn''t you say that is the case, Deirdre?" He raised his eyebrows.

    "I''m not sure what your point is," the woman replied.

    "What I am saying is that everybody needs help at some point in their life. Like, for example, the location of a book." He paused. The librarian looked at him.

    "Go on," she said.

    "So, it''s only logical that in these circumstances that… friends help each other out." A bolt of inspiration struck. "Like it used to be, in the old days," he added.

    "You could certainly rely on people more back then," Deirdre agreed.

    "So, what I''m saying here," Urt said, struggling to steer the conversation to its ultimate destination, "is that the ''old days'' don''t have to stay in the past. I am a firm believer in helping out when others are in need." He didn''t mention that the person he believed in helping out was himself, and that someone in need was probably an easy mark.

    "So what are you saying here, exactly?" The woman frowned at him.

    The diplomatic approach didn''t seem to be working. Urt adjusted the conversation several levels of subtlety lower.

    "What can I do for you in return for the location of the book?" he asked.

    "Oh, I see," Deirdre finally climbed aboard the boat of understanding. She pursed her lips, and Urt wondered if he was going to have to resort to violence by werewolf. He hoped not. Reginald, who had been standing behind him during his chat, was busy scratching himself, and generally failing to live up to the image of a frightening magical horror.

    "Well," Deirdre looked left and right, as if she was standing in the midst of a crowd of people. "My ex-husband, that cheating weasel, has my antique clock. It was handed down to me from my grandmother, it''s an heirloom, close to my heart, but that bastard, pardon my language, won''t return it."

    "I see." Urt nodded.

    "If, by chance, it was to find its way back to me, I''d look very favourably upon the person who made that happen, if you see what I mean." She winked.

    "I do see." Urt straightened himself up. "Where might I… someone be able to find this clock?"

    "He''s moved in with some floozy down Rock street. Here, I''ll draw you a map." She pulled a piece of parchment from a drawer and started sketching on it with a quill.

    "This husband of yours…"

    "Ex-husband," she corrected him, making marks on the paper.

    "Ex-husband," Urt said. "He''s not a fearsome warrior or the like is he? Not that I would be put off or anything, but just out of curiosity."

    "Him? No way. He''s a clerk for the city council. A pretty boy who couldn''t fight his way out of a paper bag."

    "Good, good." Urt smiled, whilst wondering why a ''pretty boy'' would have married Deirdre.

    "Here you go." She passed him the parchment, which now sported a surprisingly well drawn map. Urt saw that his target was probably about half an hours walk away. He rolled the sheet up and nodded.

    "Very well. Now, what does this valuable clock look like?"

    ~ * ~

    "Here, careful, it''s hot." The Warden handed Samantha a tiny cup filled with some kind of light green liquid.

    "Er, thanks." She looked at the cup, which had flowers on. "What is it?"

    "Green Rose petal tea," he said, walking back across the room towards the kitchen area. "It''s good for your complexion."

    "Mmm." Samantha pulled a face and then, out of curiosity, took a cautious sip. It wasn''t bad. Then she noticed her little finger was sticking out, and frowned in annoyance. Putting the drink down on the small table in front of the sofa, she looked around.

    The warden, Bruce, as she knew him, had taken her down a small alley to a securely locked up cottage to the rear of Mudrut. Inside was like a different world. It had been tastefully decorated to resemble a cottage that some old dear spinster might live in, complete with embroidered cushions on the sofa and twee pictures of kittens on the wall. Samantha felt slightly ill looking at them.

    "There, the cakes are cooling; just give them a few moments to settle. Bruce re-entered the room and sat down on the chair opposite. He was wearing an apron with one of those humorous pictures of n?k?d br??sts on the front, intended to make the wearer appear topless. "So, have you spoken to dad recently?"

    "I haven''t spoken to him since I escaped," she said. "As I''m sure you''re well aware."

    "Yes, well, had to ask. I see you''re still stabbing people in the back for a living." He took a sip of his tea and smacked his lips.

    Samantha shrugged and picked her cup back up. "It pays the bills. What I want to know though, is what the hell you''re doing guarding this infestation of an excuse for a village?"

    "Oh, it''s my secret retreat," he replied. "I like to come here sometimes and get away from it all. The headman let me have it free in return for my protective services. To be honest, this is the first time I''ve been called out. It''s hardly a target for raiders, unless they''re particularly desperate and lost ones."

    "Yes, tell me about this necromancer." Samantha edged forward.

    Bruce wagged a finger. "He''s a sneaky one he is. Cool as a cucumber too. Talked his way right past Fluffy and me, didn''t he boy?" He looked over at his pet poodle, which was curled up in a basket, apparently asleep. "He was out of town before I knew what was going on."

    "How powerful is he?"

    "Are you after him sis?" Bruce looked at her.

    "Just curious." She smiled innocently.

    "Yes, right. I know that smile. People usually regret something shortly after you do that. Or die. Or both."

    "Stop changing the subject," Samantha said.

    Bruce sighed. "Well, judging from the remains I found, I''d not let him get a spell off. I''ve never seen such a mess. Powerful? I''d say so, though judging from the conversation I had with the grocer, he seems to be a little… confused." He brought his fingers to his lips in thought. "Maybe na?ve. Asked about Banesville too."

    "The necromancer place?"

    "The very one."

    "Interesting. Well, thank you brother dearest, but it''s time I made tracks." She stood up.

    "So soon?" he said, standing himself. "Well, I''ll tell dad you said hi, even though you didn''t. Hold on a minute, let me pack you some cupcakes."

    Samantha shook her head and fiddled with a dagger, but then decided to wait. Her brother may have been more good than evil, but he did make great food.