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that at the next budget meeting,” the warden said. Louie returned with the requested men, all of whom looked at me with a mix of respect and suspicion. They were big men, with the scars of former battles on their bare arms and faces. I suspected they were also one moral slip away from becoming inmates themselves. Luckily, all I needed them to do was have firm grips and strong backs.
    “Yank the rope twice when you’re ready to come down,” the warden said.
    As I started to step into the basket, Jane said, “The knife in your boot, too.”
    I glared at her. That knife had saved my life more than any other weapon I owned. But as I withdrew it, I suddenly knew what I could offer Hawk that might make him cooperate.
    “Ow!” Jane cried. “What was that for?”
    “Something to keep my courage up,” I said. She took my knife and tucked it into her belt. I enjoyed her annoyed scowl.
    I put one foot in the basket, then the other. The ropes from each corner joined at a waist-high iron ring, and above that a single rope led to the top of the tower. I grabbed that rope for dear life, the guards pulled, and I began to rise.
    Immediately, I nearly fell back and the whole contraption spun as I fought to regain my balance. Jane laughed uproariously.
    I rose into the mist. Jane and the guards disappeared below me, and for a few moments I was isolated in the haze, nothing visible above or below. There was absolutely no wind, and the faceless side of the tower made it hard to mark my progress. Only the squeak of the pulley above me, growing louder, assured me I was rising.
    I passed a chink in the stonework where a huge black crow, the one I must’ve heard earlier, sat preening her feathers. She cawed once and regarded me with the same vague suspicion as the guard below. Even the wildlife knew I was doing something stupid.
    Eventually the pulley stopped, and I hung in place outside a wide rectangular window. Vertical bars blocked it, and a heavy fishing net hung just inside them, making a double barrier. The room was painted bright white, even down to the window bars. Nothing moved, and of course in a round room, there were no corners to hide in. The combined net and mist made it difficult to see the dim interior, but I stared until I made out a cot, a chamber pot, and something on the floor.
    I risked one hand on the bars to steady myself and called out, “Hey! Rody Hawk!”
    There was no reply.
    I pulled myself closer to the bars. The basket creaked and tilted as my weight shifted.
    The sun chose that moment to flicker through the mist and flood the cell with light. The shape on the floor instantly resolved itself.
    It was a body.
    The man was sprawled on his back. He was tall and slender, with long dark hair, a long beard, and a black eyepatch. He wore white trousers and a loose tunic, with no shoes.
    The sun glinted off his exposed eye. It was wide open, and stared at nothing. I’d seen enough lifeless eyes to recognize this one at once.
    “Son of a bitch,” I muttered. Rody Hawk was dead.
    Then a sepulchral voice commanded, “Don’t talk about my mother.”
     

chapter SIX
     
    I was so startled that I lost my balance and pivoted wildly in the basket. I saw hazy sky, the barred window, then hazy sky again. I grabbed another bar and steadied myself. I looked around the room carefully, but saw no one except the corpse on the floor. There was also no place for anyone to hide. Where the hell had that voice come from?
    I risked a look up into the clearing sky. Was someone on the roof? Had it been a ghost? A god ? At that moment, as the chill sweat ran down my back, anything seemed plausible.
    Then the corpse of Rody Hawk sat up and looked right at me with its dead, milk-white eye.
    Before I could do anything undignified like scream, the corpse shifted the eyepatch to the other side, uncovering a perfectly good eye and reseating the patch over the useless one. Then he yawned.
    I looked down. Thankfully, the mist was still thick