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The apprentice looked at Rondeau.
“You’ve got every herb known to man and a few that aren’t in this place, right?”
Rondeau said.
The apprentice nodded.
“Then go, quick, and mix up something that’ll put your master to sleep for a good long
while. I don’t trust him to stay curled up for long.” The apprentice nodded again and
hurried toward the front room, as well as she could in the old man’s body.
Rondeau stood up and stretched, the bones in his spine cracking audibly. “I’ve been tied
to this chair for fucking hours,” Rondeau said, glaring at the prone Celestial. “If I
weren’t afraid of waking him up, I’d go give that bastard a kick.” He grinned.
“Assuming we don’t get killed by Mutex and the golden frog all-stars, I’m going to
make Marla help me, and we’re going to do the Thing on the Doorstep trick again, and
put things right. We’re going to give the apprentice her body back.”
B clapped Rondeau on the shoulder. “I think that’s a good idea. But, ah…isn’t there a
chance it’ll drive her insane?”
Rondeau nodded. “Yeah. There is. She knows that. But she wants us to do it. I think
being in that dried-up old body is driving her crazy anyway.”
The apprentice returned with a steaming cup of something, and paused long enough to
look at Rondeau. He nodded at her. “Yeah,” he said. “We’re going to get you your body
back.”
The apprentice smiled. It was the first recognizable expression she’d made since B
arrived. He went to help her tip the sleeping potion down her former master’s throat.
19
M arla parked the van just inside one of the southern entrances to Golden Gate Park.
“Snake time,” she said, and climbed into the backseat next to Ch’ang Hao, then
clambered over that seat into the rear compartment, where the steamer trunk rested.
Marla flipped open the latches and opened the lid. The trunk was filled with green
leaves, and smelled strongly of humidity and black earth. A long snake lay atop the
leaves, green banded with red, a color scheme Marla recognized from Mutex’s shorts.
She’d settle for something a little less tailored. She glanced at Ch’ang Hao, who was
pointedly not looking at her. She muttered a brief, nonspecific prayer of thanks, and
then snapped the snake’s spine. It didn’t even wake up. She drew her dagger of office
and slit the snake open along its belly, then peeled off its skin as deftly as she would
peel a banana. “Hand me my bag, would you, Ch’ang Hao?”
Without turning, he passed her leather bag back. Marla opened a side pocket and
retrieved a bone needle and black thread. She folded the snakeskin along its length, so
that the moist inside didn’t show at all, and quickly sewed it up. Then she sewed the